Movie Mania Mercredi - knock a self a pro, Slick!

Okay, so this is a cop-out.  I apparently picked the wrong week to quit drinking, because I couldn't do something as simple as post Monday's post on Monday.  But that's okay, my eight years of French class have come in handy to bail me out here.  Oh, how I love technicalities.

Oh, I love trick questions, too.  Last week's quote, though used in the classic Airplane!, was actually a quote from Zero Hour!, the 1957 suspense film used as the basis for much of Airplane!'s storyline and dialogue.  

So there you have it, kids.  I'm hoping to return to regularly scheduled programming next week, stay tuned!

Some Reflections on Business Travel

Friday night, I arrived home, late, on my last commercial flight in the forseeable future.  We move in ten days, to a place driving-distance from family and friends.  No security lines, weight limits, narrow seats or mucus-filled oldsters.  As such, this trip made every effort to stick in my mind for a long time.  Let's talk about some of the highlights.

I've never had problems with hotel rooms since they started offering non-smoking rooms.  However, I managed to wake my first morning with a glorious glowing rash on my chest.  I'm quite happy it didn't appear elsewhere, and very happy it went away after a few days, but I don't think they're using enough ammonia and arsenic in their detergent, since I still had skin. 

And I know housekeeping is dealt a difficult, thankless task, making the room appear new every day.  However, if I take the velour decorative pillow off the bed and hide it in the corner, it is not necessary for you to put it back on the bed every day.  If I move the coffee table into the opposite corner, instead of in the middle of my path, it is not necessary to replace it to perfect shin-contusing feng-shui position every day when I go out.  And I am eco-conscious.  Not always eco-friendly, as evidenced by my rental car, but at least conscious.  You do not have to throw away my drinking cup every day and replace it with a new one by the coffee machine, leaving me to realize once the aspirin are dissolving in my mouth that I have to find a new one and extract it from the military-grade plastic bag in which it is contained. 

I will say that the desk staff at the hotel are great, and after spending 14 nights there in the last 25 days, they know me by name. 

And yes, I had a "grand" time in my g-man car for the week.  I'd love to tell you I got some wonderful 7 MPG or something, but since the car didn't have a trip odometer, I can only guess.  I still can't get over the size of the trunk on this thing, but while I like lots of storage space, it sours me some when I have to lift it back out, over a two-foot ledge.  On the plus side, my car didn't burst into flames on the interstate.  The same cannot be said for the pickup truck 1/4 mile ahead of me on said interstate.  I've never seen flames shoot from a car, and that they were shooting down and licking up between the cab and bed, where the driver and passenger were unaware of them, only made it more interesting.

I may have mentioned, some time back, that I was felt up by a security guard at the Tampa airport.  Hey, my sex appeal knows no bounds.  However, as if I didn't already know I needed to lose some weight, I was again given the special privilege of entering the glass box at Akron-Canton Airport, and having my tummy-tum felt up with a little too much excitement by a man with a bad '70's mustache.

At least I didn't get the extra-special double-secret security check in the back room, like the young woman behind me in line.  She emerged from security sobbing and red-faced, fumbling for her cell phone, surely to call mommy and daddy.  Amateur travelers.  Gotta love 'em.

We hit what was the most turbulence I've encountered in 18 years, and I was afraid to even take an in-flight beverage.  Because bad things could happen. 

I have one more business trip this week, but at least I get to drive my own car.  I assume it won't burst into flames.  I also assume I won't get felt up.  But hey, the week's still young.

Random Acts of Thursday - Ready For the Madhouse

Ah, April 1st.  Le jour des imbeciles d'Avril!  Convinced anyone that Coca Cola is going back to classic Classic, complete with coca leaves in the mix?  Planted a thumbtack on your favorite cow-orker's chair?  Get cracking!

In my own little reckless way, completely ignoring convention and putting together a quiz based on famous firsts, or famous fools, I thought I would instead regale you with a happy little story, Mad Lib style, using our current quest to sell old and acquire new housing as a basic theme, and using film titles old and new to fill in the blanks.

The Home Viewing - First Impressions

Today our Realtor took us to the House on Haunted Hill.  We had high hopes for this one, not like that Nightmare on Elm Street.  Did you see the wallpaper in that one?  Walking up to The Doors took forever, this house had The Longest Yard I'd ever seen.  The Realtor handed the Keys to Tulsa, who turned the Lock Up and over to let us in.  Immediately we knew this was the Home of the Brave.  

The Wall in front of us was stories high.  Even though the house only had Four Rooms, we had to climb The 39 Steps just to get to the second floor.  As I walked to the Rear Window, though, I could see the appeal of this home.  It was right On The Waterfront.  And still, there was space for The Shaggy Dog to run around and do his business.

The downside, since there is always a down side.  The Basement and the Kitchen both showed some signs of past water damage, but nothing major.  Certainly I could overlook the Stain on the floor, at least there were no Cracks in the Ceiling.

When the breeze picked up, the metal roof crackled and groaned in the sun. It was almost like there was a _________________________________________________ .  (It was a stretch, I know.  I just can't bring myself to fill it in.)

Think you can do better?  Give it your best shot in the comments.  I'm on the road for the next week, so I may not get to your comments right away, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't leave them.

Fun Fact(ish) Friday - Smells Like Teen Spirit, Tastes Like Chicken

Ah, the first post of a new year. Yesterday was long and painful, I managed to dump my little airline cup of Diet Coke into my crotch on the first leg of our trip home, where I was firmly planted in the middle seat. That was pleasant, at least I know what I'll look like when I'm eventually old(er) and incontinent. As will the next person who got that seat after me, I suppose.

The Popeye's Chicken in the Atlanta airport has the best chicken of any I've found so far, it must be the copious amounts they sell so I always get freshly fried chicken. Mmmm, chicken.

We landed just before midnight, it was fun to see all the fireworks going off around the city from that vantage point. We got home and, to be celebratory, opened the bottle of 'Asti of Unknown Origins', since it's nothing I'd ever buy purposely, and found that I have misplaced or given away our champagne flutes. They might be in a box, along with many of our other possessions.

But oh, what greater pleasure is there after a long trip than coming home to a clean, quiet house and sleeping in your own bed, with your own pillows and your own surroundings? I'm still a little crispy-fried from the trip, trying to rehydrate and make this throbbing headache subside. The rain is plopping and glorping against the concrete outside, and it sounds like an active deep fryer against the solar cover on the pool.

Happy new year, dear readers.

You can't always be a winner in Vegas

I'm old. I'm 38 going on 83. I complain. I grouse. I drive slowly. I suddenly enjoy Barry Manilow music. I forget things, like the things I want to write for you, oh dear reader.

I wanted to tell you about our mini-vacation last weekend, a beautiful time in Nevada. But it just kept deteriorating into a full-blown old-man rant about unrelated and generally unimportant things, so this is the third draft.

To sum up, first, the Bad (so you'll end on a high note, like the French resistance!):

No free rental car upgrade. Skippy would have gladly charged me 50% more for a slightly larger car, but really, I'm not going to pay more for something I don't want to drive, when I'm already getting something I don't want to drive. The exception here is if the only car they had in my class was a PT Cruiser, I do have my limits. His response to me became the title.

No hotel reservation when we arrived at the hotel around midnight.

A nearly two-hour adventure in the hotel's only open restaurant in order to get our food. He comped us, apologized profusely, but when I haven't eaten in ten hours I don't really care. Bring me my bacon and eggs. If necessary, I'll cook it myself.

DFW is a monstrous airport, just allowing them to put connecting gates further apart, I suppose. It's an impressive feat of engineering, but how can you enjoy it when you have 20 minutes to travel to another time zone in the airport?

And really, can't we join hands across America to stop people from bringing their yippy dogs and screaming children on planes? I understand that children need to get places, too, I really do. But is it really a good idea to take them on the latest flight you can possibly find? Overtired children plus overtired me will get me banned from an airline some day, I'm sure of it.

Funny how travel takes everything out of you. As nice as the core of our trip was, seeing the strip and the mountains and everything between, the periphery of a trip can really take its toll. In fact, I know this is a lousy post, but hey, they can't all be winners.

The Good:

Believe it or not, my Ford Focus. The Ford Focus with the bad wheel bearing and jangling rattle in the door. Of course, I could have taken the Rondo, but we already know how I feel about that. Truth be told, though, if I were an economy car kind of guy, and wheel bearing aside, it was a zippy little car. Not much for offroading in the desert, but zippy nevertheless. I'd actually give this car a B, for what it was.

Had a nice Thanksgiving dinner at my boss' house with his family and friends, phenomenal wine that I could never afford myself and pumpkin pie. Mmmm, pie.

Had a great drive out to Red Rock Canyon, though we failed to see any of the wild burros they claimed were roaming the land. Because Friday was their busiest day of the year, filled with people avoiding the mall, they let us use Friday's receipt for admission again on Saturday. We went back in the morning, when the crowds were gone, and it was still stunning that something so wild could be so close to civilization. That just doesn't exist here in Florida.

Drove the strip, still quite the experience, we even drove past the 'civilized' areas and on to the cliched wedding chapels and motor lodges. It's important to have perspective.

Had some great Mexican food, first thing we've had that rivalled Jalisco's that didn't come from a truck by the side of the road. Though I love me some truck tacos.

Even though it was just a long weekend trip, we got to look at houses. There's some surprisingly affordable new construction out there.

And the best part of any vacation, returning home and sleeping in my own bed, with my own pillow, nestled against my sweetie.

Dreaming of luxe rental cars, posh new houses and wild burros.

It's a Thanksgiving Miracle!

Not really, just sane booking. We fly out to Vegas in a few hours, and our flight change is actually ALONG THE ROUTE from Tampa to Vegas. Like someone planned it.

What are the odds?

Last time I flew Phoenix to Tampa, I changed planes in Philadelphia. Oooh, THAT'S direct. Likewise with my flight from Milwaukee to Kansas City, via Atlanta.

Click here for a map if you're confused by why this might cause me stress.

Wherever you're going, have a safe journey this weekend, even if it's just across town or across the kitchen. And feel free to vent about your worst flight connections here. Really, it will help the healing begin.

You can then be thankful tomorrow.

Cleveland...um...Rocks!

Regular readers know I travel for work. I travel a lot. Sadly, I rarely get to actually spend quality time in the cities I visit, instead spending all day at a client and all night in my hotel, driving back to the airport on my last day.

However, because I'm here to visit two clients on opposite ends of the city, I get to see a lot in my drive every day. Oh, and what a drive.

They were going to make me drive something called a Kia Rondo. Rondo is apparently Korean for 'unbelievably homely mini-minivan'.
However, because one of my clients is a national union, and I respect American labor, I couldn't show up in a Kia, so I begged for an American car. Can you say free upgrade? Hertz did...
Sure, the Sable is slightly stodgy-looking, but so far, my only complaint is that the turn signal branch is too high up. Apparently I should be clutching my steering wheel at 11 and 1 in fear of the unexpected. I'm a solid 8:00 driver, one-handing it like I'm cool like that.

Because I am.

The car is also fully-loaded, with XM radio, leather seats, auto-headlamps and a sunroof. A-, thanks, Hertz!


Now of course, getting here meant flying, and we all know how much I enjoy that. Of course, I got special treatment in security. Apparently Mr. TSA liked me in the bad way, since I got felt up. Either that or he was just rubbing my belly for luck. What the hell? I don't even own this shirt:
Oh, and I had to go through behind a girl that looked like this:
...only with frizzy hair in place of the bucket. And enough metal jewelry to take down ALL the metal detectors in the place, not just ours.

Late out of Tampa, later into Atlanta, all the while hearing Brook Benton during a bad-weather landing. I had eight whole minutes to travel the three timezones from concourse C to concourse D...until I got there to find that flight was delayed as well. At least that gave my luggage a chance to catch up.
And I got a very nice hotel room, so there's that going for me. (Yes, that's it right there.) I might even have to walk the two blocks down to dance on the steps of the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame.

In-Flight and Inexplicable

I travel a bit for work, and since both of our families are in Wisconsin, we travel a few times a year to visit them, too. As such, I log quite a few air miles every year, and despite having a Sony reader along with an extensive physical library of favorites, I still wind up reading SkyMall.

Because how can you not?

I know their game. "These people are trapped in a pressurized metal tube (not Michael Jackson's decompression chamber, in case you were wondering), they're breathing the recirculated expulsions of 200 other passengers, and they're in the most uncomfortable seats in the world. Let's sell them shit they'd never buy at ground-level!"

Really. Some of the worst products I've ever seen, I've seen in SkyMall. Don't get me wrong, one of my favorite Christmas presents came from SkyMall, and now I never have to turn around three blocks from home to see if I closed the garage door. If I forget, it shuts itself.

This does not mean I, or anyone else, needs any of the following:

The Canine Genealogy Kit

For a mere $59.95, SkyMall will send you a Q-Tip so you can swab your dog and send it (the swab, not the dog) to "a professional laboratory" for analysis. They'll compare the makeup of your dog's DNA against the 63 pure breeds they have in their computer to tell you exactly when your dog will develop some debilitating doggy disability. Oh, and they can help get your dog out of jail if he's ever accused of killing doggy Nicole Brown and doggy Ron Goldman.

The Mademoiselle Floor Lamp
Robert Palmer's estate called, they'd like their lamp back. You too, can flash back to 1985, fake Ferarris and pastel-colored blazers with this thing for a mere $375 (plus additional shipping and handling). Part of what kills me about this are the suggestions for additional items you might like when you search for this on the website: A suit of armor? An elephant-head wall sconce? The Ed Gein do-it-yourself lampshade kit?
'POOF' Toilet Deodorizing Drops

This is a classic SkyMall item, but even they realize that no amount of oxygen deprivation and $8 shots of Canadian Club will make sane travelers buy this and they've pulled it from their website. The description indicates it was created for the 'sophisticated and bathroom-conscious', I think it was created by someone who really, REALLY wanted to convince everyone that their shit really didn't stink. Who buys this stuff?

The Week In Review (so far...)

Sure, it may seem premature to blog about the week in review on Thursday morning, but the last few days have been somewhat eventful, so I figured I'd get my random nerdiness out of the way so I can bring you officially single-minded nerdiness tomorrow.
Maryland, or at least Germantown, Maryland, is quite a peaceful town. So relaxing. Really...is there something politcally incorrect to just say 'Speed Bumps'? The best part is, you can see how far apart they are, and there was a sign before EVERY ONE.

I thought I'd share my restaurant experiences with all of you, in the event that you wind up in this little corner of the planet some day.

Old Shanghai is an all-purpose Asian bistro, as is the trend these days. Pan-Asian, I think is the term. Great service, too many good choices to pick from. Read Sunday's post for details on my meal.

The next night, I ventured across the strip mall courtyard to Agradolce. I was actually headed to Old Shanghai for a repeat of the dumplings, but they had seafood risotto on the specials board and a bar in front of the wood-fired brick oven, so I was sold. Ah, memories of Rome. I actually wound up with the duck confit risotto, though what I got was more of a melange of every risotto they had on their menu, with wild mushrooms and an assortment of other vegetables. Excellent texture, great flavor, though I could have done without the frozen corn. Did a comparison between an older Montepulciano d'Abbruzzo, one of my favorite varietals out of Piedmont, and a younger Sicilian red. Both delicious, though the Sicilian would have worked better if my dinner had a little spice to it.

Tuesday I ventured the opposite direction, and saw Bailey's Pub and Grille. Beautiful stone and copper building, I was expecting something like a Ruby Tuesday's, only not so generic. What I walked into was what I can only imagine is a Hooter's where they stopped caring about anything except the wait staff. The place stank of stale beer and vomit, a smell that only got worse as I pried open the drink menu. This was a dime-a-dozen place, a restaurant that probably renames itself every time the health department shuts it down - the menus didn't even bear the restaurant name, just a myriad of generic TGI-McFunsters fare. I walked out without ordering, and even then I felt as though I needed a shower.

Yesterday's lunch, however, was a highlight not only in the trip, but possibly in my life of casual dining experiences. EN Asian Bistro was clean and simple, the staff friendly and outgoing. I could eat their crab fried rice every week and never tire of it. Real crab, not the pink stuff spelled with a 'K'.

Glad to have carbs for my long journey ahead, I raced to the airport yesterday afternoon to make sure I was checked in on time. I needn't have worried, as we finally took off almost two hours late on the following plane:

As if crying children aren't bad enough on a plane, try keeping them up a few hours past their already generous bedtime. And then, let's cram a fidgetty 10-year-old named after a damn dirty hippie in the seat next to me. "Where do you live? Were you on vacation? There's some good articles in there. Mom, what book are you reading? Have you been here? I need to go to the bathroom. Do you still subscribe to this magazine?" All the while popping hard candy like it was Ritalin. The worst part of these experiences is when I worry that people think these rude kids belong to me. My children are not rude in public, talk to the crazy woman in printed socks and orange shoes behind me. It was a blessing to finally get back to the truck that Lori left for me in long-term parking when she left for Ohio, get in peaceful air conditioning, hit the Taco Bell drive-through so I didn't pass out (since I last ate 12 hours earlier), and come home to an equally silent house.

Quincy seems to be happy to be home as well, after I sprung him from the pokey this morning. He's already fallen back into being his lazy, smelly self. And he seems to have a new little brother or sister.
Brody (after Adrian) has apparently taken up residence in the pool. Lori fished him (or her, how do you tell?) out of the pool earlier this week, and when I went to check this morning, he/she/it was happily doing laps again. I put him/her/it back after this picture, since it seems he (enough already) likes it there, and I won't have a terrapin fritter on my deck when I get home tonight after a day of brutal sun.

The great cross-over post!

Ah, yes. As we embark on this newest venture, I felt I could at least share my most recent posting from my original blog, created back when I was young and full of interesting things to share.

By the hair not on my chinny-chin-chin

All gone. Yes, my face is bereft of all but the minutest stubble of the day for the first time since August 1996. My chin is cold. So cold. It was a whim, something that I probably should have waited to do until I lost the chubsy-ubsy double chin that, apparently, the goatee was hiding. Who knew?

Good grammars is everywhere:

Following is a direct quote from a news article I read earlier today: "Poor visibility was poor near the top of the mountain, which about 15 miles northeast of Santa Fe, state Department of Public Safety spokesman Peter Olson said." Really?

A-pub-calypse Now

As is tradition on our visits to Milwaukee, we must find at least one trashy bar upon which to inflict our rowdiness. It was Bob's pick, the New Yorker, across from the Greyhound Station. Immediately we knew (well - after the ten minutes it took Bob to parallel park) this was a bar like no other. Oddly and fluorescently lit, battleship gray from head to toe, with a subtle 'Jazz and NYC as drawn by preschoolers' theme. The three patrons along with the bartender all showing signs of what movies have told me is shell-shock. The jukebox blaring the soundtracks from Apocalypse Now and Platoon. There were four of us, so I ordered four drinks, got five. An extra vodka-cranberry that was 90% vodka, and Bob's 'Fuzzy Navel'. I don't know what actually goes into a fuzzy navel, but I'm certain it ISN'T 90% vodka, 5% OJ, 5% of some other clear liquid - peach schnapps? - and finally, a shaky, tentative flourish of grenadine. Sometimes you just know when you should be drinking whatever tap beer is available. I was.

My Blue Hawaii

In case you were curious (and I know you are), Boone's Farm Blue Hawaiian, with a bouquet and oily finish like Coppertone 30, is NOT the worst choice of alcoholic splendor when compared to some of the small-run Chardonnays and Pinot Gris from Trader Joe's. Go figure. Perhaps because one EXPECTS Boone's Farm to suck and therefore sets low expectations, but at least it couldn't be used as pancake syrup or hand-to-hand combat. Good times, nevertheless, after our visit to the tavern of the damned.

Separating the White and the Colored

Congratulations, Stephanie! Steph graduated high school last Sunday, and was given a crisp, white cap and gown to wear for the ceremony. As were the rest of the girls. The boys were given burgundy ensembles, and they were split by gender on stage, so they formed two separate blocks of color. They were even called alternately, boy-girl, boy-girl, to receive their diplomas from opposite sides of the stage. Because alphabetically is just so 2008, apparently. The PA system was sub-par, or at least sub-volume, everyone sounded like adults in a Charlie Brown special. Only the first three rows of people directly in front of the podium could hear, as evidenced by their occasional laughter. On another note, how does someone with a last name of 'Stoner' actually manage to get himself elected to the school board? Was the other candidate's name Tweaker?

Government-Sanctioned Torture

Commercial flight, of course. What did you think? I'm convinced that the rows of seats move closer together, like tectonic plates, each time I fly. Yes, I am of an amply-rumped Midwestern build, but this hasn't changed, and yet I feel like somehow I keep getting assigned to the child seat. Half a plastic cup of warm, flat Diet Coke? Yes, please. Rat Bastard who thinks the 'Turn off your cell phone' announcement doesn't apply to him, as he's texting during takeoff? Of course. The guy at security who disposed of his water but kept his juice, because that's not a liquid, right? Whiny woman complaining when her 'window' seat in the last row of the plane didn't actually have a window, and again when the window seat she decided to take had a scenic view of her reflection in the side of the engine? Why not? All manner of miscreants who chose our flight home to be their first taste of commercial flight? Damn straight.

Finally, the highly-anticipated Rental Car Review

It's been some time since my buttocks graced the overused seat of a rental car. My last few trips for work had me staying across a parking lot or across a street from my clients, and this last week was the first personal travel we've had. We live in Florida, people should be visiting us! Anyway, Hertz was decent overall, though the line couldn't have moved slower if they tried. Not the clerk's fault, with one customer barging in line to complain about the oil change light, and another being credit-card impaired. Then there was the father at the Avis line next to us who couldn't actually remember WHERE he booked his car, but was certain that it was one of the agencies in Milwaukee. He hoped.

I booked a full-size car, same price as Standard and Compact this trip, and we're never compact travellers. Given our experience with Enterprise in January, I inquired just what qualified as 'full-size'. Apparently what Hertz considers a full-size car is neither full-size nor a car, I had my choice of a Subaru Forester or a Ford Escape. Opting for the Escape, and walking past a slew of what I would have considered both full-size and car-like, we found our vehicle, loaded the luggage and we were off. Hertz has this thing about renting non-local cars to non-locals, so there's no chance of fitting in - this trip we were from Mississippi, further south than last summer's Lucerne from Tennessee.

For a little SUV and for all the poor reviews I'd heard about them, I had few complaints about the Escape. Hertz now includes Sirius/XM radio on all of their cars, so we had that going for us. Decent mileage, lots of room, could have used a little more pickup up hills. Not the soft luxury ride I'm used to in the Buick, but all in all, a very nice non-full-sized non-car. B+

And now, a BONUS MOVIE REVIEW!!!

The Hangover. Funny, funny, stuff. See it.