And so it begins.

Despite my prolific attempt to garner an audience six months ago, I
was rapidly overcome by a bad case of writers block.

For a while I put it down to just being too busy. Then I foolishly read
some article ( probably a blog ) that put forward the point that people
who wrote blogs were just on a catharsis trip and using it as some form
of therapy.

So I stopped for fear of being labeled a self indulgent looney.

Then I got all caught up in the facts that my rants were "too long" but
brevity didn't give me the literary freedom that I required.

But recently I realised that it is because that just not a lot of
interesting crap happens in late summer. Fall, autumn, beltane or whatever
you want call this time of year. It is a quiet time where we all just get
shit done and don't bitch about it.

Of course, I'm realising all this in hindsight. Silly season is kicking
in and I'm in the middle of it

Tonight, I'm doing my best to stay one step ahead of a bartender who plans
to keep me liquored up, while outside the rain has stopped, the
temperature has dropped and the forecast is for snow. ( Sounds like a
line from a country and western song)

Tomorrow is the day before thanksgiving and I have to fly ( sounds like
the chorus ). So I've had to deal all day with people saying things like

"Hope you get out before the blizzard comes"

Fokkers

This is going to suck. I know it is. Tomorrow I well get up to three feet
of snow, dig myself out of the hotel and spend all day in a departure
lounge next some loser from Michigan who has had a personality bypass
and a screaming case of halitosis. He will try to keep me entertained
with stories of his hockey days while I make every possible phone call I
can in the hopes of getting the fuck out of dodge

Then, just as the sky clears and our ground-hold is lifted, I will be
unable to get the phone number of the supermodel who has being trying to
get my attention all afternoon because my PDA has tanked and my phone is
sans battery.

Been there, done that, still have the scars.

But at least I'm prepared. Start low, finish high.

You may now ransack my room.

In case you hadn't noticed I tend to travel a bit, a lot actually.

It tends to make me a tad high maintenance about my hotel room. This is
understandable since I could be on the one place for more than a week but
I get particular about a few things: too close to the elevator, too noisy.
Too far, too far to walk. is the bathroom big enough? Are there enough
towels ? etc etc.

So I expect things to be in a certain order, and I don't expect my
hotel to fight me or cause me stress. Unfortunately I also don't take
much luggage, and I'm very neat. This has, on occasion, led the hotel to
believe that I've actually checked out.

Mostly this is amusing, you get the odd phone call "Sir, would you mind
paying your bill", or your key no longer works. But last night, things
got a little out of hand.

I came back to my room and discovered that all my stuff was gone. My key
still worked, but there was no evidence that I'd ever been there.

Somewhat panicked and angry I called reception and they did their best
to track down the problem. In the mean time I did a quick inventory and
realised I was missing a few shirts and all my toiletries. You'd be
surprised how annoying this is.

They called back a few minutes later with the bad news

"Housekeeping thought you had left and threw all your stuff out"

Gone, no lost property, no note, just straight into the dumpster.

As my eyes clouded over and I was filled with visions of lurching around
town trying to find a toothbrush and a clean shirt, I spent a few minutes
at being a very irate customer

"... you don't quite get it, that was an expensive, badger fur shaving
brush your minions just absconded with, you can't just get those at the
corner pharmacy..."

And the hotel decided that it was in their best interests to replace my
items. ( and pay cash for the receipts )

But they left me with the actual exercise of getting the stuff. So about
an hour later I had surprisingly found substitutes for almost everything
and was somewhat back on track, but late for dinner.

This morning, on the way out, I left my newspaper on the bed as an 'experiment'

When I came back tonight, it was gone.

And yes, from now on, the shaving brush stays at home.

Keep the engine running...

The conversation finished like this :

"... And if you pay me cash now I can keep the car here on the street. "

Respect the valet, For they are God.

I've lost count of the number of times I've sat in a car while someone
drove around the block sixteen times looking for a parking space. It
strikes me as insane. It really does.

I just don't have the patience for it anymore. For me, a simple
transaction and a modest tip ensured that my car was taken care of. It
could be because I live in California (when I'm actually home) but I have
really come to depend on valet parking.

It is so simple. You get out of the car. Do what you need to do and get
on with your life.

Don't park - valet.

Perhaps I should get a bumper sticker...