Refreshingly Stupid

Leaving Home & Madrid

2008-10-09T15:47:00.000-07:00

The trip began with a perfect warm up exercise. Rather than riding to the airport in the luxury of an automobile, it seemed far more appropriate to begin a 24 day backpacking trip through Spain and Portugal, during which we would no doubt spend countless hours wearing our backpacks and ride countless kilometers on various Metro systems, by strapping our fully loaded backpacks to our backs and “backpacking” from home to the 19^th St BART station in Oakland then BARTing to SFO.

Packs on, ready to depart.

Did I mention we flew business class? We did. All of those long miles flown on two business trips to India, finally put to good use. We quite enjoyed playing cribbage in the Toronto airport’s Maple Leaf Lounge, drinking free booze (Guinness and later The Glenlivet) during the 3 hour layover. The trans-Atlantic accommodations also were especially nice.

Mmm...lay flat seats.

Eat, drink, snooze, watch movies…Hey! We made it to Madrid! Now, where’s the Metro station? Oh, of course, it’s at the opposite end of the airport. After:

- 20 minutes of “backpacking” through the airport

- One consultation with the ever-so-helpful Metro assistance lady (yes, they actually have a staffed Madrid Metro information desk (with maps!), the sole purpose of which is to provide helpful and explicit directions from a human. This, it seemed to me, was a grand departure from the terse, angry, and poorly written hand-scrawled signs adorning the empty agent booths of most San Francisco Muni and BART stations),

- two transfers,

- and three train rides

we finally arrived at the Sevilla Metro station and emerged from underground to be greeted by this building:

The Banco España de Credito Building

Not a bad first glimpse of Madrid, I must say.

Upon arriving in Madrid, the plan called for meeting up with friends, let’s call them Todd and Lauren, who are on an adventure of their own: A whole year of tromping through various parts of the world. After spending August in Morocco (who goes to Morocco in August, anyway? Hot much?), they arrived in Madrid a few days before we did.

We were to meet them at an outdoor café in the Plaza de Santa Ana, near the hotel we’d be sharing with them. “We’ll be at a table outside, eating tapas and drinking cervezas, waiting for you”. A short walk from the Metro station, a quick scan of the tables in the plaza, and there they are sitting, sipping and eating.

Arriving at the Plaza de Santa Ana

(Photo by Lauren Girardin)

After throwing down our packs we get to the business at hand, drinking and eating. It wasn’t until a bit later we noticed the clean up activity near us. I guess the party got a bit out of control the night before and one of the cafes caught fire. But, these Spaniards, they are not easily discouraged. Immediately after the cleanup crews left the workers began restocking the charred bar in anticipation of opening again that evening.

Burned out bar.

(Photo by Lauren Girardin)

Me and Lauren, enoying our tapas.

Todd, deciding on tapas at the Cerveceria Lateral.

(Photo by Lauren Girardin)

We didn’t last too long at the café. The beers went right to our heads and by the time check in opened we were ready for a nap. Sleep, shower, then a tapas crawl through the neighborhood near our hotel. I’m glad Todd and Lauren had a few days in Madrid before us…in my jet lagged state I’m not sure how gracefully I would have handled the crowded tapas bar had they not been there to assist. Hard enough is figuring out what is actually on the menu, yelling out my requests in a foreign language over a noisy bar stacked 3 deep, and eating standing up with a plate in one hand and a beer in the other. Never mind understanding the total bill amount as yelled over the din. Uh, you mean I’m going to actually be expected to USE, in a real world situation, the Spanish I attempted to learn 6 months ago? Ok then, welcome to Spain (and please pardon my blank stares and mispronunciations).

Pounds

2008-09-30T14:39:00.001-07:00

How is it, that after eating and drinking my way through Spain and Portugal for 24 days, I have actually LOST 7 pounds?

Pics, words, and the occasional travel horror story to follow over the coming days and weeks.

Famous again

2008-02-01T15:34:00.000-08:00

This is old, but this post by the Oakland Trib's beer blogger (how do I apply for that job, btw?) contains a photo. Two photos, actually, but we're interested only in the second photo. In that photo are my lovely wife and me.

This photo was taken at the opening night of The Trappist, a fantastic, albeit narrow, Belgian beer bar in Old Oakland. This bar is dangerously close to my work. Belgian beers and no food served...what could possibly go wrong?

First I'm on the news, now I'm in the paper, and nary a crime committed. Perhaps it's time to hire representation after all.

Jay Cutler, You Handsome Devil

2007-12-04T16:55:00.000-08:00

This is a post about the Raiders. If you don't care to read about sports, what is your freakin' problem, anyway? Consider yourself warned.

Here's to the end of several nasty bad streaks. Between beating Kansas City on the road the week before, and Denver at home last week, the Raiders now have:
- A 2-game winning streak (don't laugh, we'll take it)
- A 2-game winning streak within the division (after a record-tying streak of intradivision futility)
- A divisional road win (in Arrowhead, no less!), and
- A divisional home win (against the hated Shanarat).

After enduring the travesty known as the last four seasons, those four accomplishments alone are enough for me to consider naming my first born "Lane".

It's not just that they beat the Broncos, but how they did it. They crushed their spirit. It's not like the sloppy KC game the week before where it seemed the teams took turns handing each other the game until the Raiders finally said, "Fine, Herm, we'll take it! Now, can we please leave?" This game bordered on an ass-kicking. And watching Shanarat's team lose in agonizing Raider-like fashion took the cake.

Extending an opponent's scoring drive with a roughing the punter call? Check.
Gifting opponents points by turning the ball over repeatedly deep in your own territory? Check.
Climbing back to within 4 points of the lead only to squander your chances in heartbreaking fashion via bone-headed plays and crucial turnovers? Check.
Heck, the Raiders' rookie QB made his very first NFL regular season appearance for two possessions and the Raiders still won the game.
Congratulations, Shanarat, your Broncos are the new Raiders, the very team you loathe more than any other.

Mostly, though, this post is an excuse to show the pic above. God, I love that pic. The helmet flying through the air, the befuddled look on Cutler's face (he looks like a stoned frat boy whose girlfriend just found his porn stash), it's perfect. Hey Broncos fans, it's your quarterback of the future! Feel the excitement!

Canadians are Scary

2007-11-28T17:16:00.000-08:00

This Canadian PSA is downright frightening. Don't watch it if you're feeling particularly vulnerable or fragile or squeamish or about to eat any fried foods. Seriously, don't. (Found via Deadspin).

Turkey Day

2007-11-26T16:11:00.000-08:00

We went up to Portland for Thanksgiving this year. We stayed with my wife's brother, his wife, and their new baby (4 months old). Man, is that kid cute. You may think I say that only because I am biased. But, no, he's actually very cute. Despite the fact our laptop is in what I fear to be its final death throes, here is a pic of the little dude, so you can see for yourself that he is, indeed, very cute.

We flew up to Portland Wednesday afternoon and came back Sunday afternoon. I know, I know, the two busiest travel days of the year, we're asking for it, etc. Well, ya know what? Nothing happened. Nothing. Smooth as silk. I've had far worse travel experiences on random days in the year. Wednesday and Sunday? No biggie.

One complaint about the trip: no turkey. Well, we had turkey, but not A turkey. It was just some turkey-ish loaf-like thing instead. Everything else was good (mashies, yams, stuffing, pie, etc) but to not have the bird...well...I dunno. There's just something very traditional about the bird coming out of the oven and everyone oohing and ahhing over it. It doesn't seem like a big thing to be missing, but try it sometime and see if you don't end up feeling empty and forlorn.

I managed to avoid over-consumption on Thursday, partly due to the fact that, due to late-arriving family, we didn't start eating until 5:30 (Thanksgiving dinner should start at 1 to allow proper grazing and napping the rest of the day. Everyone knows this.) Saturday, however, I nearly killed myself with food. At the Laurelwood Public House and Brewery I really did myself in. I showed up so hungry I ate part of my Nephew's car seat on the way over, even though the recent recall notice warned against doing this due to the choking hazard (I'm serious!). We got a beer sampler (6 oz of 9 or 10 different beers) and I could not resist the lunch special. Penne with chicken, prosciutto, sun-dried tomatoes and asparagus in a smoked Gouda cream sauce with little garlic bread toasts. Oh god yes. And a 16 oz stout. I ingested so many calories my distended belly lasted for hours and I didn't get my appetite back until after my workout this (Monday) morning.

The most exciting thing to happen (besides LSU losing to the Razorbacks) was my bro-in-law taking me for a spin on his new motorcycle. It's a Suzuki 650 something-or-other. I'm not really a motorcycle guy, per se ("per se" meaning "I've ridden a motorcycle, by myself, exactly one time") so I'm not sure of all of the details. It's blue. And has aftermarket fairings on it.

Before we set out he told me that, on a particularly remote and straight section of the road around the lake, he would tap my leg which meant "hold on, I'm going to open 'er up." Uh, ok. Perched on the back, during the mere motions of such daredevil stunts as starting from a stop sign or shifting gears, I felt as if only my death grip on the "sissy bar" prevented me from flying off the back. I grew convinced that I would feel the tap on my leg followed shortly by the pavement on the back of my helmet.

Turns out I survived. This, despite the fact that, after the tap, the front tire lifted off the ground for a bit, a happening I was not aware of until it touched back down on the pavement. My brother-in-law is fortunate I was late in noticing it, as he would still be dealing with the hearing loss caused by my screams of terror had I been aware of it as it was happening.

Indeed, I survived and now I am back at work, dealing with the fact that my product is in the final phases of spinning off from the mothership company and becoming it's own little startup. Um, hello, what do you mean I can't use the main office's sink anymore? I have to wash my dishes in the restroom now? But, does this mean I can no longer use the private, one seater bathroom downstairs in the main office? Stock, schmock. I want my private pooper.

Perspective. Get some.

2007-11-13T14:44:00.000-08:00

I can't help but think...what if something horribly tragic happens at these Olympics and this dude is walking around for the rest of his life with the Chinese equivalent of "September 11th, 2001" on his forehead?

Burning Man

2007-11-06T16:55:00.000-08:00

So, as I mentioned in my last post (over four freakin' months ago), we went to Burning Man over Labor Day weekend (and the week prior, too. 8 days in all). It was our fourth year going to "the event" as Burners sometimes call it. This year differed from the others, though, as we were part of an entirely new camp and went with a new group of people. Half of us were veterans of the previous years' Yum Camp, the other half were Burning Man virgins (10 people total in camp). Our camp this year was called The Society. Our overall theme was Steampunk, with the centerpiece being our artcar, The Perambulator. We chronicled the events, discussions, and overall effort of creating our camp's Burning Man experience here. Many photos of our experiences can be found there, so feel free to poke around, look at the photos, take it all in.

There were some phenomenal art pieces there, two of the larger and more impressive being Big Rig Jig, and Crude Awakenings. Crude Awakenings' visual display was just stunning, and when they burned it, well, let's just say it's not often in life one gets to witness a mushroom cloud in person. The heat nearly singed my eyebrows from 250 yards away.

But, as usual, it's the smaller things making up everyday life on the playa that make the event something I return to over and over again: People standing in the middle of the street in 100 degree weather giving away slices of cold fruit to passers by. The Hardware Camp guys helping us rebuild The Perambulator's 5th wheel in the middle of a ferocious dust storm. And just the overwhelming awe that comes over me when I think that, for three quarters of the year, there is nothing there but wind and a bunch of dust. When I stop to look around on Friday night and see all of the individual contributions put together to make the whole of the Burning Man community, it truly amazes me.

Every year, it seems there is one small experience that sticks out for me. Our first year we were coming back from a night out on the playa to our woefully inexperienced and disorganized camp. We're tired, hungry, and really not looking forward to scrounging through the piles and boxes of food in the truck looking for something to eat. I really did not want to eat another Clif Bar. We're nearly back to our camp when Christen grabs my arm, points across the street and says, "Does that say 'Fish and Chips' "? I look to where she is pointing and lo and behold, there is a banner over a rather nondescript camp saying "Jonah's Fish and Chips". Could it be? We wander over and find a couple cutting sweet potatoes with a potato cutter (like they use in In N Out) and dropping them into a generator-powered deep fryer. Are you kidding me? They smile at us, wrap some fries in a sheet of newspaper, sprinkle some seasoning salt on, squirt in some ketchup, and hand the whole glorious thing over. Those fries, still, to this day, are the best I've ever had, and will probably remain the best I ever eat. Salty, soft on the outside but still slightly crunchy in the middle...just, and I mean EXACTLY JUST what the doctor ordered. I learned then and there what is meant by "The Playa Provides".

And the girl who handed me the fries was topless.

This year's stick-out experience is not as exciting, but still resonated with me none-the-less. About a year or so ago my friend, let's call him "Jason", turned me on to the band System of a Down. They are very very good and I enjoy their music greatly. They have a song called "B.Y.O.B." One of the lines is:

Everybody's going to the party have a real good time
Dancing in the desert blowing up the sunshine

I thought that resonated pretty well with Burning Man, and as we were installing the sound system in The Perambulator I imagined playing that song. But, its metaliness is strong and maybe would not be enjoyed by my campmates. Well, Christen and I are out riding our bikes around the playa one day and we end up riding by one of the Burning Man radio stations (yes, people set up radio stations for the event). What song do they happen to be blasting out of their speakers at us as we ride by? You got it, "B.Y.O.B." I made Christen ride around in circles in front of the radio station until the song was over. I mean, really, what are the chances? The VERY song I wanted to hear at Burning Man more than any other and it just so happens to be playing as we ride by? Just fantastic.

It's those types of experiences (and they happen the entire time) that keep me from saying "I will never go back." It is a crapload of work, both in preparation and while there, but there is no vacation I have ever been on that makes me feel further away from my everyday life than Burning Man.

No posts, then no more posts, then, still, no posts

2007-08-20T11:16:00.000-07:00

Yeah, no posts for a while, huh? We're busy. Very busy. I even have a hilarious story about my friend Scott's impromptu bachelor party, but that will have to wait.

What are we so busy with? Preparing for Burning Man. Oh, and working on our art car.

So, the tales of debauchery and, yes, even the rest of the snow rescue tale, will have to wait until September.

4th of July - Update - News Clip Obtained

2007-07-19T17:12:00.000-07:00

A few days ago a friend told me she saw my little interview on the news the other day. So, thanks to the wonder of this here new fangled internet thing, here is the news segment. My killer sound bite is around the 1:53 mark.

A few comments:

Boy do I sound nervous. Is my voice shaking? Jeez.
I'm pretty sure I meant to say "set off", not "set up". Damn stage fright.
See, I'm not the only one who thought it sounded like a war zone. The lady around the 0:55 mark felt the same way. I'm not as fragile as you think. Maybe she wasn't cowering behind her loved ones like I was (thanks, honey!), but she was scared, too, damnit.
I didn't mention in my post that the camera man looked like he was recovering from a 4 day bender and might vomit on my shoes at any moment. Judging from his camera work, I'd say that diagnosis is not far from the truth. Way to chop of the top of my head in that shot. First time working the camera, dude? So much for using that clip in my portfolio.
"...in random, illegal, 4th of July glory." Work that drama, Leslie, you angry newswoman of the people.
I love how the Oakland po-po spokesdude shifts the blame on to the citizens at the end. Sweet. Hey jackass, we're not out there watching and applauding, we're out there making sure they don't throw fireworks on our roof. But, you're right, next time I'll just start busting heads. What could possibly go wrong?

4th of July

2007-07-16T20:27:00.000-07:00

The wife and I didn’t do much this 4^th of July. No boozy trips to San Diego. No getting married. Rather, in a fit of domesticity, we started the day gardening. My neighbor recently said something to me, as we were both out in our front yards pulling weeds, that stuck with me: “Gardening seems to be more about killing the things you don’t want in your yard, rather than nurturing the things you do want.” Indeed. While I frequently receive compliments from passers-by on the beauty of our garden, the damn thing is more work than I signed up for. Weeds, watering, dead-heading of the 25 or so rose bushes out front, and don’t get me started on the damn Bermuda grass. And that’s just the front yard. As we “inherited” the garden from the previous owner, it’s tempting to just let it all go to hell then use its hellish appearance as an excuse to rip it all out and start over. I don’t know if it’s some deep-seated set of gardening values implanted in my brain via the two summers of landscaping work in college or what, but I just can’t seem to let it go. So I water, and I weed, and I maintain the roses and curse at the Bermuda grass.

While toiling in the yard, we waffled back and forth about whether to go into San Francisco for a BBQ. On one hand, plopping our butts on the couch with season 3 of Deadwood greatly tempted us, but the thought of the 4^th without a BBQ started to feel overwhelmingly unpatriotic so off to the city we go.

Ah, the general craziness of mass transit. The BART train into SF was standing room only so we found empty space near the doors in front of the last row of seats. At first I barely noticed the elderly looking lady occupying those seats, until she began talking. To her bag of groceries. I think she was one of those people who carries on conversations with you, without actually looking at you, and regardless of if you acknowledge them or not. She discussed my wife’s shoes, the racists on the train (I could not locate them), the state of the country, etc. All in all, a harmless somewhat crazy person.

At the next station a black dude with a mouth full of teeth desperately needing braces and a snazzy leather jacket got on the train, strutted down the center aisle and grabbed an overhead bar. All the while, jabbering away nonstop on his Bluetooth headset. Shortly, I, and everyone within earshot, became aware of the following facts: He’s going to some 4^th of July breakdancing contest a friend is hosting but first has to stop by his house to pick up his old school breakdancing duds. Yes, he’s going to win it, as he has extensive breakdancing props to his name, including:

- Many competition wins. “I went to Chicago, they couldn’t beat me. I went to New York, they couldn’t beat me. I went to LA, they couldn’t beat me.”

- Video creds! “You know the guy with the high-top fade in the 1993 MC Hammer video? You’re lookin’ at him.” You're looking at him? Who says that to someone on the phone? This is our first hint that perhaps he’s a bit crazy.

He also knows many many many people in the music industry. If there was a “playa” name he didn’t drop, I missed it. Snoop, Dre, yes, even Diddy. They all know him and request him in their videos. Because, you know, all of the breakdancing going on in today’s hip hop vids.

At this point he’s been talking nonstop for about 5 straight minutes and we’re seriously beginning to doubt if anyone is actually on the other end of the phone. If they are, they’re either asleep or have put the phone down to go make a sandwich. (Tangential story: In college, my roommate Andy was planning his wedding. His mother-in-law would call ALL THE TIME to blather on and on about the napkins, flowers, and everything and anything having to do with the wedding. One day my other roommates and I were watching TV while poor Andy was stuck in the kitchen talking to her on the phone (none of us were rich enough to have one of those new fangled fancy “cordless” phones). Suddenly, Andy walks in and sits down. “Wow, that was a fast one, Andy, did you hang up on her or something?” “Nah,” he says, “I just put the phone down on the counter. I bet if I go back in there she’ll still be blabbing away and not even know I was gone.” He sits and watches TV with us for another minute or two, after which we all follow him back into the kitchen. He picks up the phone and gives us the thumbs up. We were in awe. Both at his scrotal fortitude in taking the risk of being caught doing that to his mother-in-law, and the absolute completeness of her self-absorbed conversation. I mean, most people at least expect to hear a bored “uh huh” every so often, right?). This guy, he's doing the same thing, so we’re pretty sure this guy is somewhat crazy, although he’s dressed pretty well. Just another harmless crazy person.

In order to cement in our brains his reason for being on the train with us, he once again mentions the 4^th of July breakdancing contest, but adds further that he considers it just a warm up for the big contest coming up in LA. He’s going to go down and stay with a friend in LA and “win this thing”.

At this point Ms. “Talks to Her Groceries” chimes in and says, “Well, you better call him first or he’s going to have a real big surprise when you show up.” Wait, is she talking to Mr. Breakdancer? I think she is! I think she’s telling him to call his friend in LA before he goes down there to visit. Now this is getting interesting. We have crazy Bluetooth breakdancer having a conversation with the grocery talker, but neither of them knows it. Ah, the serendipity of public transit.

He continues to blather on into his headset and she continues her end of the “conversation” for another station or two. When we get to West Oakland, he announces, “Ok, I gotta step off. Catchya.” And gets off the train. This “I gotta step off” comment pretty much solidifies our belief his conversation existed solely between him and Ms Groceries. If you’re having a (normal) cell phone conversation, do you really say goodbye to people on the train as you get off? Usually, no. It’s not out of the question he was talking to someone, but I seriously doubt it. Apparently, wearing a Bluetooth headset is the modern way of disguising the fact that you're unbalanced.

The fireworks themselves were exciting. Between BBQing in the Mission district of SF, then going home to Oakland, I think we hit the two places most active in illegal fireworks activity. Both places sounded as if we were in a World War II battle zone. The nearby firecrackers provided the rata-tat-tat-tat of close range small arms fire while the larger, more distant aerial pyrotechnics resembled the mortar fire and bombing runs. Not that I’m AT ALL versed in what a real battle zone sounds like. The closest I’ve come to a true battle zone is watching Band of Brothers in surround sound. But, hey, were I to find myself in an actual battle field, the first thing I might think to myself after I stop whimpering in my foxhole and repeatedly soiling myself is, “Hey, this sounds like the 4^th of July in Oakland!” If anything, this is probably a more realistic representation of what the Revolutionary War sounded like, as opposed to sitting in a stadium watching 150 people with painted faces arrange themselves on the field to look like the American flag and sing “Proud to Be an American”.

On the 5^th of July, during my lunch break, as I exited my favorite deli, sandwich in hand, a TV reporter and her camera man stopped me. She wanted to ask me “a few questions about the fireworks last night”. Ok, sure. This could be my big break! She was a very angry woman. She tried very hard to goad me into anger regarding the fireworks the previous night. I responded with, “Well, other than setting off my car alarm once or twice, I don’t really mind it so much.” “So, you think they should just be allowed to set off these illegal fireworks whenever they want?” Trapped. “Um…” I sputtered, “no, I, uh, well…good question. I, um, just think that there are other, more serious, crimes the police should be focusing on.” Then she tried to get me to keep talking by not saying anything (the old therapist trick!) but I kept silent and she thanked me, took down my vitals, and I went on my way.

What do I wish I had said? How about what came to me a few hours later: “It’s not so much the fireworks that bother me, it’s the blatant flaunting of the law. Everyone knows they’re illegal, everyone knows it’s illegal to set them off, yet it seems fireworks are going off on every block. It’s not the fireworks themselves, it’s these peoples’ blatant disregard for the law and their complete confidence that they will not be caught. That’s what bothers me the most. It’s not the fireworks. It’s what they say about the state of law and order in our city.”

Friend OK, The Culture Divide

2007-06-22T15:40:00.000-07:00

For those of you concerned about my friend, he's fine. For now. He's deathly afraid of another relapse, not that I blame him. Currently, however, he's fine, and has even resumed berating me for not inviting him over to drink my beer.

My haircut the other day differed greatly from any of my past haircuts. Since I chose that day to work from home I decided to check out the place near my house advertised as "Barbershop and Auto Detailing". You read that correctly, yes. In fact, a few weeks ago while waiting for them to complete the detail on our car they showed me around the place. It's quite nice. It's an old brick warehouse with a refurbished balcony. Downstairs is the detail shop and a plush "business center" with dark walls, dark wood furniture, and several computers with flat screen LCDs. The barber chairs are upstairs, with a bar area (they don't serve but you can rent it for a party, which I guess they do frequently), flat screen TVs, the whole works. Definitely not a "salon" but a "barbershop". And, yes, just like the movie of the same name, I was the only white guy in there.

This time, I walked in and asked if the barbershop was open. The first thing asked of me by the large black man standing by the door was, "You like it close and tight, right?". Only after answering "yes" did he tell me they were open and show me upstairs. Turns out Mr. Close and Tight would be my barber. He sat me in the chair and offered his hand, "My name's Aubrey". Taking his hand I introduced myself, and the unspoken culture divide presented itself. As he was standing on my left, I had to twist in the chair and reach across my body to shake his hand. Thinking the common introductory ritual completed I began returning to a normal seated position. Only at this time did I notice the quick movement of his hand turning into a fist. He was going for the post-shake fist bump! Being too far back into the chair already it was far too late for me to lurch forward and bump fists. Realizing the bump was not immediately forthcoming, he withdrew his fist with a slightly awkward smile. Only one option remained for the two of us: proceed as if the fist had never been offered.

How was I to know the bump follows the shake? Alas. The moment, it had passed, never to be recovered.

The cut went well, although it's much shorter than usual. After asking him to leave an inch on the top, the clippers came out, and not 5 seconds later he had run them all over my head. Zip zoom zip zip! Hair = short. In record time. The sides, though, that's where the artistry lie. He spend 18 of the 20 minutes 1. meticulously fading the shorter sides and back into the longer top and 2. shaping my sideburns and hairline. I swear at one point I could hear each individual hair being cut, so fastidious was he.

All in all, I look good, the cut was cheap and fast, and most important of all, the wife likes it.

Irritations

2007-06-21T09:05:00.000-07:00

Picasa, seriously. If, while using your fine application to browse my library of images, I come across one I really like and want to post to my blog, how nice it is of you to provide a "Blog This!" button. Clicking it with a picture highlighted opens Blogger and automatically adds that picture to a new post. Wonderful. But, seriously, why is the picture not uploaded to the blog itself? Instead, Picasa wants to use my home computer (the location of the picture file) to serve the image to my blog. Meaning, not only would I have to leave my computer on all day, but, even worse, open my computer to the world so the images can be served from it. Puh-lease. This is ridiculous. Just upload the pic to my blog (that's what happens when I upload the pics through Blogger, after all) instead of trying to serve it from its present location.

That's the long and fascinating explanation for why there are still no images on the post below.

While we're here in a somewhat ranting mood...I saw this again today on my walk to work and I just do not understand it: Why do pedestrians in Oakland stand on a street corner, not going anywhere, and only when the traffic light in front of them turns yellow do they begin crossing the street? What is the matter with you? Was the light too green for your crack-addled brain? Are you an anarchist rebelling against "society"? Are you trying to kill yourself? (If so, call the suicide hotline or something. Don't do it in a manner resulting in an innocent person (the driver) having to carry the guilt of killing ~~someone~~ an idiot for the rest of their lives.)

And when the guy attempting to drive his car through the green light skids to a stop and honks his horn at you, you are NOT in a position to yell back at him to "Watch where you goin', muthafucka!". YOU are the idiot in this scenario, not him. Try some self-awareness. Try to consider, for once in your god-forsaken life, how your actions impact others. Oh, that's right, other people don't matter as long as they give you their hard earned money just because you asked for it.

Hey, coworker, sit down, shut up, and get to work. You're already so far behind schedule on your task the sales team completely stopped mentioning it as an "upcoming feature". You make so much more than anyone else this stuff should've been done in record time. And for god's sake, no one wants to hear your unsolicited, inflexible, and "expert" pontifications. I know the low cubicle walls create a communicative environment. In fact, that's why we have them, to foster teamwork. But, when I'm having a conversation with the guy next to me about remodeling our homes, we do NOT want you to wander over and give us a 20 minute lecture on how we're hanging drywall incorrectly. Screw you, buddy. Come over and see my drywall mastery for yourself (in my (somewhat) new laundry room! Woohoo!) then tell me I did it wrong. On second thought, don't.

Have you really not noticed the sudden rapid appearance of headphones from everyone within earshot a mere two minutes after you begin speaking?

We also do not want to hear your soliloquy regarding Apple "shooting themselves in the foot" because they're only selling the new iPhone through their Apple Stores. It's not going to sell because "people will only buy phones in places where they can sign up for the service"? I didn't know you had a marketing degree. Strange, given your current role in the company. I think you may be right though. Apple has, over the past 5 years, proven they have no idea how to sell a product. There is no craze for Apple products. There's no hype around this phone at all. All early-adopters will shun this product because they will have to go to a different store to sign up for service. All the poor iPhones will languish on the shelves, unsold. Steve Jobs, consider yourself warned.

Bedside Manner Tip for All Prospective and Practicing Medical Professionals

2007-06-14T16:12:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I'm working on a big long post for your enjoyment, but maybe this will tide all three of my readers over for a bit.

My friend was really sick a few weeks ago. Fever for 5 days, sickness, doctor visits, the whole works. He gets better, we go out drinking, all is well.

I find out yesterday he's sick again, only this time with the added pleasure of vomiting yellow foam and delirious ramblings of hate directed toward his fever at 3am. Off to the doctor again. In the doctor's office Mr. Doctor (Dr. Doctor?) examines my friend's lymph nodes and exclaims, "Jesus! They ARE big!".

Mr. Doctor must have failed his Bedside Manner class in Med School. While examining your patient it is not permissible to exclaim in wonder at the advancement of your patient's symptoms. If you feel the need to marvel at how violently your patient's immune system is responding to the invading organisms, the proper response is, "Hm." Only after you're out in the hall and have closed the exam room door may you say to the nurse, "Be nice to the guy in Exam 2, he's fucked."

Boonville Beer Fest - Pics

2007-05-16T17:57:00.000-07:00

I'm sure both of my readers would like to know that I added pics to the Boonville Beer Fest post.

I'm Tired

2007-05-15T09:13:00.000-07:00

I'm tired of people jamming me into corners, despite my every effort to avoid it, and expecting me to do the impossible, time and time again. Guess what...it didn't work last time and I yet again painstakingly explained to you the reasons why. So, why are we repeating it all over again this time? And no doubt we'll repeat it next time, and the time after that...

I'm tired of people claiming they want to be independent, but then showing absolutely no willingness to do the things required to actually be independent. Guess what...being independent is hard work. We all have obstacles to overcome and when life throws you curve balls you are the only one who can adjust your swing accordingly.

I'm tired of people wasting my time by lecturing me about how to be more efficient. Guess what...if you want me to be more efficient, don't take 12 hours to tell me something that can be said in 3. Keeping me captive is only making me less efficient.

And I'm tired of people farting at the gym. I'm trying to breathe here, people.

Boonville Beer Fest - Recap

2007-05-12T20:58:00.000-07:00

Last weekend Christen and I took part in our 4th Boonville Beer Fest. It's held in Mendocino County at the fairgrounds in Boonville. We camp among the redwoods at Hendy Woods State Park outside of Philo, only 5 miles or so from the fairgrounds. The beer fest organizers are kind enough to provide a shuttle to and from the fairgrounds from the campground. It only makes sense as the first year we went some drunk driver drove UP a slightly leaning tree on the side of the road in the campground. Anyway, it's amusing to be picked up in a van reading "Mendocino County Retirement Home". Just 40 or 50 years early, no? But, I tell ya, after 4 hours of "sampling" beers I'm pretty glad the shuttle has an electric wheelchair ramp. It makes it much easier to roll any companions that may have been overserved into the van. I'm curious, though, if the old people notice the vomit smell on Monday when they get the van back.

We didn't go last year. The year before (2005) it rained nearly the whole time (except, thankfully, during the beer fest itself). We woke up in the middle of the night to drip-drip-drip in the CENTER of the tent. Yeah, that's right, the center of our tent leaked. We slept the best we could the rest of the night with a river running between our sleeping bags. Just after first light we rolled up the sodden sleeping bags, thermarests, and tent into one big wet ball, stuffed it into the back of the GTI and high-tailed it to the nearest diner for a nice hot cup of coffee and some flapjacks. (Does anyone even say "flapjacks" anymore? It's a great word. We need to bring it back.)

Last year, the lingering memory of the previous year's rain-soaked disaster combined with the still-raw psychological scars of the snow cave adventure served to keep us away from the beer fest. If we had been rained on again less than a month after surviving being lost in the snow there is no doubt I would have lit everything within reach on fire while running directly to the nearest 5-star hotel.

This year was far less eventful. Gorgeous weather and delicious beer. They rearranged the setup of the booths so it took us a while to find some of them. At one point I couldn't believe the Eel River, Deschutes, and Russian River breweries all were not there. Crisis averted as someone clued us in and we managed to drink our fair share of their beers, too.

Me and the wife at the beer fest.

It's amazing how drunk some people can get in only 4 short hours drinking 4 oz of beer at a go (you get a souvenier sampling glass when you walk in). This year I saw a first: I was in line for a tri-tip sandwich at about 1:15 (the taps open at 1:00) and this dude was so drunk in front of me he dropped his money all over the ground. In the process of fumbling around trying to pick up the bills more of them continued to spill from various points on his person. His friends gave him grief for his offensive display of coordination (as well they should) and, in his distracted and inebrated state, while flailing for his money he dropped his sampling glass and it shattered on the ground. This caused everyone nearby to let out a big "ooooooooooooooh" in unison. It's a tradition at the Boonville Beer Fest; someone breaks a glass, the crowd does a big "cheers" in unison. I've just never seen it done 15 minutes after the gates open. This dude was wasted. Is it a good idea to yell at the overworked tri-tip guy because you no longer have a glass and your friends have convinced you it costs $30 (lie) for a replacement? It's no one's fault but your own, buddy. Maybe next year exercise some restraint and don't get wasted on bloody marys before showing up to a flippin' beer fest.

Cole, come on, show some restraint.

The winner this year was Lagunitas. They had great beers and many of them are normally unavailable in bottles. Mmmm...specially brewed beer fest beers. I don't go to a beer fest to drink Redhook IPA or Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, I go to drink the special beers, and Lagunitas' special beers were delicious. The loser was Pacific Coast Brewery. It pains me to say so as they are located a mere block and a half from my office in Oakland and I frequently lunch there and ruin my afternoon's productivity, but running out of beer at 2:30? Really? How can you miscalculate so badly that you run out of beer before the beer fest is even half over?

Cameron and Sierra dancing at the beerfest.

We camp every year with our friends Jed and Megan and Dan and Michelle. Between them they have 4 kids all under 6 years old. 8 month old Cole, 2.5 year old Connor, 3.5 year old Sierra, and 5 year old Cameron. Christen and I like to call it the Birth Control Weekend. Saturday night, after waking up to Cole's screams of hunger, I decided I'd take advantage of my wakened state to empty my bladder. Hearing Jed and Megan struggle in a tent to fill a bottle at 2:30am caused this exchange between Christen and I the next morning:
Me: "Let's never have children."
Christen: "Ok."

Me and Cole in a happier moment.

Cameron is a sweetheart and ridiculously smart. Cole is a chunk. I mean, they really need to wrap his knuckles in white tape and put some fake blood on him for Halloween. He'd look just like a UFC fighter. Connor and Sierra are in full-on potty humor mode these days. We'd be hanging out by the fire and hear, "Sierra, I'm going to pee on your head." followed by "Connor, you are made out of poo with pee inside." Hilarious. They'd both get in trouble for it, but you just can't stop it at that age. Heck, I can't stop it now and I'm 35. At one point it was discovered that they were in the big tent showing each other their "privates".

Sierra, Cameron, and Conner doing what kids do.

The funniest thing was Connor's mom, Michelle, in the tent Sunday morning, rolling up sleeping bags, yelling out the tent flap, "Connor, are you misbehaving?" to which Connor replied, "Yeah." Give the kid points for honesty, at least. After a few seconds Michelle poked her head out the tent with a slightly befuddled look on her face and said, "Well, get over here I guess."

All in all a good trip, and we added to our small glass collection.

The whole silly group.

Busy

2007-05-01T17:31:00.000-07:00

I've been kinda busy lately. Sorry for the lack of posts. I'll try to get more India/Sri Lanka/Singapore posts and Part 2 of the snow shoeing rescue up soon.

Poor Fred

2007-04-25T11:51:00.000-07:00

Here's a completely hypothetical situation for you to consider:

Let's say an employee, Fred, has been asked by his company to attend a series of training seminars. Not so bad, happens all the time. Now let's say there are more than 4 of these seminars. OK, a little excessive, but, again, not too bad. Now Fred is told these seminars will occur during lunch. Well, now, this is a bit more presumptive, as the company is now asking Fred to attend these seminars on his own dime, as he does not get paid for his lunch hour. But at least he's getting a free lunch, right? Well, no. It turns out that, if Fred wants to actually eat during lunch, Fred is responsible for bringing his own lunch to the seminar. Additionally, Fred has heard from many others who have already been to the seminars in the past that they are completely useless and totally worthless wastes of time. So, now, let's review...the company is asking Fred to: Give up some of his lunch hours, work through lunch without pay, and bring his own lunch to seminars that will bore him to tears and provide absolutely no benefit to anyone.

Seems reasonable that Fred would want to get out of this situation, no? Well, Fred, using certain circumstances regarding his position and his smooth talking skills, manages to talk his way out of this session of seminars, postponing, or perhaps entirely avoiding, his fate. Phew, good work, Fred.

But wait! Our hero's boss has heard this! He is of the notion that Fred needs to attend these seminars, even after hearing from others who have been through them before that they are a "complete waste of time." Fred's boss intercedes and signs Fred up for the seminars anyway, telling Fred, "You will thank me for this later".

Oh, Fred does not think so. Fred does not think he will ever thank his boss for this utter and complete betrayal. Fred is angry beyond repair. This very well could be the last straw for Fred.

Sucks to be Fred. I'm glad I'm not Fred.

Happy Rescue Day

2007-04-17T12:29:00.000-07:00

Today, Tuesday April 17th, marks the one year anniversary of me, Christen, Jon, and Natalie being rescued in the El Dorado National Forest, after wandering lost in a snowstorm for 24 hours. To mark the occasion I have started writing the story of the experience, told from my perspective.

This is part 1 of many, probably 4 or 5. It has the most pictures of any of them, since they were taken during the less stressful part of the trip. No promises on when the installments will be posted, but I will finish the story at some point, I promise.

PART 1:

It all started innocently enough. A trip to El Dorado National Forest, above Pollack Pines, to stay in a no-longer-in-service Forest Service fire lookout tower called Robb’s Hut for the night. It’s Easter weekend of 2006, mid-April. The forecast called for some light snow, but nothing major.

After waking up Saturday morning in Oakland, hemming and hawing about whether we actually wanted to go (something about Natalie misplacing the combo for the lockbox at the ranger station containing the key to the cabin), somehow we rallied and Christen and I head up Highway 50 with Jon and Natalie.

At the ranger station we luck out as someone is there to give us the key. Jon and Natalie grab a map, we ask a few questions, and off we go. The rangers confirm what we’ve heard about the forecast; some light snow, nothing to worry about. After taking our exit and following a two lane road another 20 or so miles into the Sierra foothills, we park at the trailhead, strap on our backpacks and snowshoes, and off we go.

As the approach to the cabin is a three mile all-uphill snowshoe trek, I find myself thankful that the cabin has mattresses and propane heat, lights, and stove. This allows me to leave behind my lanterns, Thermarest, tent, stove and a few other heavy things, lightening my backpack considerably. Since Christen does not have a “real” backpacking pack, per se, we have no trouble stuffing her things into Natalie’s smaller backpack and strapping her sleeping bag to the bottom, with me carrying the rest of our supplies.

The four of us make good time up to the cabin, following the trail of blue diamonds nailed to the trees, with some snow flurries beginning as we approach tree line. As this cabin used to be a fire lookout tower it is naturally located above tree line on an exposed ridge, for visibility. It turns out we’re not staying in the tower itself (which is boarded up), but in the outlying cabin. As we approach the cabin I notice it is barely visible. The snow is nearly up to the roof of the cabin, with a partially visible picture window. We hike up to the roof level of the cabin, around the side (at which point I could have walked onto the cabin’s roof) and down some snow steps into the vestibule to get into the cabin. Once inside the vestibule, sheltered from the increasing snow, we unstrap our snowshoes, drop our packs and head inside. Jon turns on the lights, fires up the heater and in no time the four of us are peeling off our layers and lounging around, enjoying the warmth.

On the way up.

The cabin, with the lookout tower in the distance.

Into the vestibule.

The snowfall continues to increase over the course of the remaining day and into the evening, making trips outside to go to the bathroom a very cold and windy experience. Every time we try to venture outside, opening the door reveals a wall of snow where the snow steps used to be. This requires the full-bladdered person to stomp, lie on top of, and otherwise smash all the new snow into some sort of steps or ramps, just to get outside. Once you’ve squeezed yourself between the snow and the eave, you are now out in the howling wind and driving snow. The girls are no longer making the 20 ft trek to the outhouse, opting instead to brave the elements and drop trou outside. Those not paying attention could pee right on the roof of the cabin and not even know it. By the time we’ve eaten dinner, played some cards, and bemoaned the fact we didn’t bring more vodka, the picture window is about half-covered by an ever-growing snow drift.

Eating dinner.

Waking in the morning finds the picture window almost completely covered. There is one small corner in the upper right still allowing light through, but the rest is a cross-sectional view of striated snow pack. An attempt to get outside led to the discovery we could no longer see the sky. Overnight, snow had completely covered the opening we had crawled through the day before. I had to poke through the snow with a snow shovel just to see the grey clouds overhead. Opening the kitchen window revealed the screen covered in ice. Only by banging on the screen to free the ice could we get airflow moving in the cabin.

The picture window before.

The picture window after.

These new developments, coupled with the burning of the propane lamps and heater inside the single-room cabin, led to an ever increasing feeling of claustrophobia. It is not a comfortable feeling to have your little cube of living space be slowly buried by snow. In 12 hours we all would have welcomed that feeling with open arms. But right now, we all just wanted to get out and get home.

We eat some breakfast, pack our things, clean the cabin and head out the door. Of course, the hole has been covered by snow again. I scramble my way up the powdery snow slope, poke a hole through the snow cover, and exit into a near whiteout of blowing snow. It was like being at the top of a ski resort during a storm. The wind blew so hard the snow stung my eyes. Jon and I, working together, he pushing from below, me pulling from above, managed to drag everyone and their packs up out of the vestibule and into the storm.

The exit hole from inside.

The exit hole from outside.

Me and Christen are strapped in and ready first, and rather than stand in the blizzarding conditions, we trek to the outhouse to take shelter and pee one last time. Jon and Natalie meet us there, and in the lee of the howling wind we yell to each other through our cinched-tight hoods; Do we really think this is a good idea? Should we just stay here until the weather breaks? Christen is visibly shaken and favors this idea, and I can’t say I would complain if we stay. After some discussion, we take comfort in the fact that the car is only 3 miles away, downhill. All we need to do is head three miles down the trail to the car. If we struggle too much we can always drop the packs and speed to the car, coming back for the packs later. Additionally, we hope the wind will lighten up as we descend into the trees.

With this small comfort, and the overwhelming desire to be back in the comfort of our own homes, we begin to head down the hill to intersect the trail at the tree line.

I Never Posted This? Poker Recap From a Month or so Ago

2007-04-17T11:53:00.000-07:00

So, poker went pretty well, and the faulty kegerator tower held up without any additional disasters. Although we put much more of dent into the keg than I expected. Probably because no one else brought any beer with them. I thought for sure my mention of the fact that Prohibition Ale would be the only beer offered would spur someone, anyone, to bring some sort of lighter beer. It seems we always have a case or so of Bud Light show up at these things.

Well, no one brought any so everyone was stuck with the Prohibition. Not that it's such a terrible beer to be stuck with. It was described at various points of the night as "chewy", "thick", and "sticking to my liver". Several people asked, at different points, and with various levels of slurring, "what's the alcohol content of this beer again?". Prohibition is 6.1%, for the record. If you're used to drinking a sixpack of 3.8% crap light beer and coming out relatively unscathed, I could see how Prohibition might hit your faculties harder than expected.

Maybe that's why I cleaned up. Like Merry Maids. The cards certainly hit me right, which no doubt contributed to most of my winnings, as my already mediocre poker skills were being further eroded by the aforementioned Prohibition Ale (what's the excuse for refusing a "fill up" of your glass when you're in your own house again? It escaped me all night). I caught two 4-of-a-kinds, the nut flush on an unpaired board, seemed to always hit trips when holding a pocket pair, once even with pocket rockets when an ace fell on the turn (with no straights or flushes possible)...it was a ridiculous run of cards.

Mike also did very well, so he and I spent the last few hours beating up on the small stacks and studiously avoiding each other. No reason to tangle with the only other person at the table capable of severely denting my stack at 1am.

Burning Poop, Buzzed on Beer

2007-04-13T11:36:00.000-07:00

Working in downtown Oakland provides me a wealth of choices from which to obtain my midday sustenance. One of which is Quizno's. Never, in a million years, will I eat there. Every time I walk by that place I'm assaulted by a smell of such utter foulness, I really don't see why anyone goes there. It smells like burning poop. Literally, like some dropped some #2 on the floor and set it on fire. I'm sure it's just the combination of melting cheese and other assorted ingredients burning in the toasters (am I? Am I really?), but damn, the smell, it's foul. Why anyone eats there is beyond me. How does one walk in, smell that stench, and think, "Mmmm...I can't wait to eat me some of THAT!"?

The kegerator is back up and running. Freshly filled CO2 bottle, new keg of Prohibition Ale...and guess who disconnects the keg every night. This guy. The replacement tower arrived last night from Avante. We'll see how long this one lasts. Especially if I manage to install it before the poker game starts tonight. It may last only a few short hours, given the quality and sturdiness of its predecessor.

It also no longer smells like beer in the house, or, specifically, in the kitchen. Thanks for the new tower, Avante, but it would've meant far more to me if someone had come over and pulled the bottom drawer of the stove out and scraped the gag-inducing coating of dried beer/dirt/mouseshit off the floor underneath the stove and the adjacent cabinet. Just sick. If that doesn't qualify as "pain and suffering" and "emotional distress" I don't know what does.

While at Speakeasy last Friday getting the new keg, Christen and I were offered free beers. You know how, at Peet's, if you buy coffee beans you get a free coffee? Apparently it works like that at Speakeasy, too. But with beer. I asked for a full keg and two beers and he gave us the beers for free. Sweet. Christen got a Prohibition and I got a Double Daddy IPA. It turns out Double Daddy is 9.5% alcohol by volume. And I drank it in about 5 minutes. And it was 6pm. And I hadn't eaten since lunch. That beer hit me like a shot of tequila. I babbled and slurred and tripped over my own tongue for the next 2 hours. I just did not have enough warning to prepare myself to be buzzed like that. If you're on your third beer, ok, you can expect to be buzzed and increase the filtering of the brain-to-mouth censor accordingly. One beer? Not ready. I'd like to apologize to Mike, Kelly, and Carlos for any and all inappropriate, derogatory, or insulting things I may have said that evening. And, Christen, I'm sorry we can't hang out with those particular friends of yours anymore.

Sri Lanka, Day 1 (Friday, March 16th, 2007)

2007-04-10T17:43:00.000-07:00

Thursday evening I went to the airport and picked up Christen. Totally uneventful, but it sure made me smile to see her come out the door. Luckily I had prepared her for the chaos that is the arrivals area of the Chennai airport, and the craziness was at a minimum. All told, no big deal.

Friday I worked half a day, then we were off to the airport (again) to fly to Colombo (the capital city of Sri Lanka). Before we left we had a final lunch at the Raintree (the hotel I stayed in for the previous 12 days). All week the hotel employees harassed me about my wife’s impending visit. They just could not wait to meet her. At lunch, the servers tripped over each other introducing themselves to Christen. To top it off, at the end of the meal they brought out a cake with “Bon Voyage” on it. They put it in front of Christen, but, whatever, I know the cake was presented in sadness of my departure. Right? Right.

Off to the airport…poor Christen…after almost 24 hours of transit getting from Oakland to Chennai, what do I do to her? Haul her to the airport again and force her on to another plane (at least the flight from Chennai to Colombo is only an hour and a half). As I rounded the last turn of the jetway and walked on to the plane I very nearly grabbed Christen and bolted back the way I came. Smoke billowed from the vents both above and underneath the overhead bins. After overcoming my fight-or-flight instincts and inspecting more closely I noticed the “smoke” dissipated very quickly and was actually more fog-like. Almost like the vapor from dry ice. I went from thinking I was walking into my death to feeling as though, with the billowing fog and the white blankets on the bright blue seats, I was walking through heaven.

After sitting down we discussed various theories for the fog. One idea proposed and quickly discarded was that it was a calming measure. Um, so they attempt to calm people by making them think the plane is on fire? As I said, quickly discarded. We ultimately decided it was a dewpoint-type effect of cold air from the AC meeting very warm, humid air. Anyone with a greater understanding of thermodynamics than I possess is welcome to add their thoughts.

The uneventful flight ended at the very nice and modern Colombo airport. I wasn’t sure what to expect, what with a civil war raging and all, but it was quite pleasant. Especially as compared with the dingy chaotic mess that is the Chennai airport. Things went smoothly through duty free (to stock up on quality booze while we still had the chance), immigration, baggage claim, and customs. Unfortunately, Doug, who thought he would be able to pick us up from the airport, was no where to be seen.

After waiting an hour at Passenger Pickup and still no Doug I decided to try his cell phone. Why not earlier? Well, this involved going through the process of exchanging money and then somehow obtaining coins for the pay phone, which, in turn, involved leaving Christen alone with our loaded luggage cart. Not my most favored situation, but at least so far the airport seemed civilized with a distinct lack of unscrupulous characters.

I headed to the information booth to ask about pay phones and they directed me to the little post office window. And quite a full-service post office if I do say so. Not only did the guy exchange my Indian Rupees for Sri Lankan Rupees (without ripping me off on the exchange rate) but they had phones I could use, too. There were three everyday white phones sitting on a counter. I picked one up, dialed Doug’s number and after several attempts finally connected. During the call the post office guy sat there with a stopwatch and timed my call. After hanging up he charged me a total based on the per minute phone rate. That’s an entirely new and unique take on a “pay phone”.

Good thing I called Doug. Plans had changed considerably and now involved us taking a taxi to a hotel. Doug said it should cost about 2000 rupees and take about an hour to get there from the airport. So now I have to go haggle with the taxi people. I go back into the airport, walk up to a counter and ask how much to take me to the address Doug provided. The guy says 2000 rupees. Sweet. I was fully expecting him to say 5000 and me having to assert the fact that, although I may look like a lost American tourist, I am not a mark and will only pay 2000. My relief soon vanished as, after handing him a 2000 rupee note and asking for a receipt, he told me there would be a 200 rupee “service charge”. Mm hmm, and then what’s next? A 500 rupee “destination charge”? A 300 rupee “luggage charge”? Now I really needed to assert my unwillingness to be blatantly ripped off, so I grabbed the 2000 rupee note out of his hand, said, “no way”, turned around and walked back out of the airport with the guy following me saying, “Sir! Sir!” Probably an overreaction on my part, but what the hell, it just came to me.

I walk back to Christen and the luggage cart muttering about how this guy is trying to rip us off and with no idea how we’re actually going to get to the hotel. After standing there for 30 seconds or so Mr. Service Charge sidles up next to me and says he’ll do it for 2000. Soon he’s writing me a receipt, the taxi is pulling up, the driver loads our stuff into the back, and we’re climbing into the van. Strangely, the guy I negotiated with gets into the van, too, saying he’s coming with us. Ok, fine, whatever.

After driving for about 15 minutes the van pulls over and the negotiator says something heavily accented about “getting out”. Um, no, I don’t think so. Doug distinctly said it would take about an hour to get to the hotel and we’ve been on the road for about 15 minutes. And, we’re stopped on some random corner in a rather remote and industrial part of Colombo. And, it’s dark out. I mean, I know I didn’t fall for your tourist trap game, but is that any reason to abandon us here, presumably without our luggage? Christen stiffened and actually grabbed my arm, non-verbally saying, “There is no way on god’s green earth I am getting out here.” I agreed. The negotiator turns to us and says, “Bye, have a nice trip” and gets out of the van, shuts the door, and the van continues on.

Oh.

HE’S getting out here. He’s not telling US to get out. Well, carry on then. Off to the hotel!

We eventually arrived at the hotel, met up with Doug and Jana (his girlfriend), had dinner on the beach (while being bitten by sand fleas, the little bastards) and slept soundly.

That's Just Swell

2007-04-03T15:43:00.000-07:00

After being gone nearly a month in a part of the world with mediocre (at best) beers, one of my main objectives in life revolved around getting my kegerator operational again. I had an empty keg from Speakeasy Brewing lying around so I decided their beer would work nicely to welcome my kegerator back into operation.

It’s not that easy to get Speakeasy kegs. You have to go to their brewery in the lovely and not-at-all gang infested Bayview section of San Francisco on Fridays between 4pm and 8pm. Not a small task for someone who lives and works in Oakland, gets off at 5:30, and has no desire to fight Bay Bridge traffic to get to SF on a Friday during rush hour.

Oh, but Prohibition Ale is so very tasty. One of my top 5 beers. Maybe even top 3.

I persevered. I worked from Tim’s house in SF on Friday, and then left to Speakeasy to exchange my empty keg (and $50) for a full one. Since Sunday was the gluttonous event known as the Belgian Beer Dinner, I didn’t hook the keg up until Sunday night, and then poured only enough to clean out the hoses. The point here, which will be sadly relevant later, is that the keg remained almost completely full.

Forward to Monday evening. Christen and I walk through the front door after work and the first thing I notice is that it smells like beer in the house. Lots of beer. I’d say it smelled like a frat house, but it smelled like good beer (not Natty Light) and the underlying scent of vomit was missing. As the kitchen is in the back of the house, if I’m smelling beer at the front door this cannot be good. Trying not to panic I head to the kitchen where my worst fears are realized; there is beer all over the kitchen floor.

The kegerator is essentially a fridge slightly larger than a dorm fridge with a cylindrical tower attached to the top. This cylinder holds the tap handle from which the nectar of the gods is dispensed. This cylindrical tower no longer pointed to the heavens but now lay on its side on top of the kegerator. Due to its incredibly crappy design, it must’ve fallen over (perhaps nudged by one of the cats), and in the course of landing its valve opened, spilling all 5 gallons of my precious Prohibition Ale uselessly on to the kitchen floor. Now there is a goddamn LAKE of beer in the corner of the kitchen. I was using a rolled up beach towel like a broom and sweeping WAVES of beer out the back door. While crying. (Jason was a big help cleaning up. I guess that what he gets for harassing me non-stop until I finally accepted his invitation to come over and drink my beer).

So much beer hit the floor the beer made its way under the linoleum, between the planks of the sub floor, and was dripping on to the dirt under the house. Mother loving crap.

How long do you suppose my house is going to smell like beer? 3 months? 6 months? 2 years? I don’t swear much on this blog, but…Fuck.

And now all my CO2 is gone, too, because, after ALL 5 GALLONS (did I mention it was a full keg?) of beer spewed out, the open valve did nothing but vent CO2 into the kitchen. Opening the kegerator revealed a frozen mass of beer and ice. You know how paintball CO2 cartridges freeze over when they’re empty? The same thing happened inside the kegerator, but with a 5 lb tank of CO2. You think it’s hard to get a keg of Speakeasy beer? Try getting a CO2 tank filled on the weekend.

The kegerator company (Avanti) has been good so far. They’re sending a replacement cylinder, although, it is probably of the same crappy design. Compensation for my lost beer, CO2, and perhaps damaged floors could be far harder to obtain.

That was my Monday.

God Bless America

2007-03-29T09:39:00.000-07:00

Yep, we're back in the US of A. Jet-lagged as all get out, but back safely and really enjoying drinking the water from the tap and eating whatever I feel like eating. In fact, I had a bacon cheeseburger for lunch on Tuesday and fajitas for lunch on Wednesday. Mmmmm...American food. (Yeahyeah, fajitas are Mexican. Whatever. I ate them at Chevy's so they might as well be American food).

I will update with full reports on the rest of the trip at a later time. For now you should know that the flight back from Singapore was freaking long. And my seat back would not lock upright so I had to fight the slowly reclining seat for the whole flight. Goddamn irritating.

Oh, and the LTTE Sri Lankan rebels bombed the airport in Colombo just a few days after we left. My biggest fear while visiting the civil war torn country, even if we were far far away from the actual fighting, was that the rebels would seize the international airport and make it difficult or impossible for us to leave. Nearly happened! Yikes. Doug is crazy. Every US State Dept. and travel advisory bulletin I read regarding Sri Lanka said that all Americans in Trinco (where Doug is living and a place we got absolutely nowhere near) should leave immediately. And here's Doug telling us, "Eh, it's not that bad, really. The fighting is a good 4km away from me." Super Doug is insane. Although his blog has a nice recap of the sea turtle sanctuary we visited, so go check it out.

The Belgian Beer Dinner is Sunday at the Toronado in San Francisco. It's a five course meal with three Belgian beer pairings per course. Like wine pairings at a fancy schmancy restaurant. I like the beer pairings better. Some of the Belgians taste like mold, or like the inside of a used wetsuit. Those I don't like so much. But most work really well with the food. Anyway, it should be a drunkenly decadent good time.

More later, if I have anything interesting to say.

I Just Need a Stamp

2007-03-15T05:06:00.000-07:00

I went to the post office the other day. Gripping, I know.

We left the office at about 11:30 in the morning. After a ten minute walk, complete with cars and motorcycles whizzing by my elbow (a feature of any walk to any destination here) we arrive at what best could be described as a “postal annex” and more accurately described as a “shack”. It’s a tiny little building featuring the requisite Indian chaos. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the organization of the papers, envelopes, and other objects I could see through the old-school, Clint Eastwood-style barred teller windows.

I tried to “speed post” the birthday card to my Mom (awwww, what a good son) but it was not to be. Apparently, we had to go to the “main” post office to do that. We determined this after a rapid-fire exchange of Tamil between my guides and the postal worker, who were soon joined by several onlookers, all who seemed to have an opinion or contribution to telling us how to get to this place. The rapidly spoken and nearly full volume Tamil flew everywhere and somehow I ended up right in the middle of it all. If I was a language-learning savant I would have looked like Trinity learning to fly the Apache.

Armed with our new directions, we hire a tuk tuk (or auto-rickshaw) for the ride. These things provide quite an exhilarating ride. The one wheel in front and motorcycle-style handlebars inside make them very maneuverable. We darted in and out of traffic and were making turns between two other moving vehicles. I think they’d be kinda fun to drive around. They’d be great for a version of bumper cars but they probably tip over easily.

We arrived at our new destination and this one looked more like a government office. Run down, peeling paint, signs everywhere, stacks of papers and folders all over, and more chaos. The concept of a “line” here is a bit different than in the US. If someone is conducting a transaction and there is a brief delay for, say, getting your money out of your wallet or some translation of the prices of the different delivery methods, the next person in “line” will just walk up, nudge you out of the way, and hand their letter to the clerk. I nearly, and I mean NEARLY, elbowed this guy out of the way the first time it happened. I mean, it’s so different than the American “please wait behind the yellow line” approach that my natural, almost instinctual, reaction was, “Dude, hello, WTF?!? Go wait your F’in turn, buddy.” But, hey, that’s how they do things here and it didn’t really slow down my transaction at all. I think it’s a product of having so many people in one place. I think. Dave says China is even worse in that regard, with cutting in line and other types of madness.

Christen comes in tonight and we’re off to Sri Lanka tomorrow. The blog posts will no doubt decline in frequency and may stop completely. We’ll be back in the US on the evening of March 25^th. I will no doubt be ready to come back to the US by then, although I am looking forward to lounging on the beach for a few days.

Temple and Random Thoughts

2007-03-13T09:48:00.000-07:00

I did some sightseeing today after work. Manickam and Anwar took me to a temple not far from the office. The largest temple-type structure served as the entranceway into the complex itself. The vast majority of the structure consisted of a pyramid-shaped top, probably about 100 ft tall, on top of a cube, about 20ft square, with a 20 ft tall opening to walk through. Many, many carved and intricately painted figures depicting various gods and characters from traditional stories covered the pyramid roof.

After taking our shoes off, we walked through the entrance into the main complex. This was a courtyard type area with various shrines and smaller temples to various gods, also covered with the carved and painted figures. The stones making up the floor were pleasantly warm on my feet, although the thought of stepping on a wayward sharp foreign object did concern me a bit.

Some people wandered around, some sat on the ground, others waited in line to pay their respects to certain gods, still others bowed and kissed the ground at what seemed to the uninitiated (me) to be random spots on the floor. It was a much more chaotic, disorganized, and free form type of worship than that found in your typical Christian church. Some of the smaller shrines had certain routines associated with them. For example, at the shrine to the 9 planets of the solar system I could see a path worn in the stone where people walk (and were currently walking) in a circle around the 9 figures representing the planets.

Pretty cool experience. Too bad I couldn’t take pictures (not allowed). I did take a few from outside of the big entrance temple. Not like you’ll see them.

Iron Maiden is playing in Bangalore (about 2 hours from here) on March 17^th. Too bad I’ll be in Sri Lanka and unable to play with Indian madness.

At lunch the other day the water poured from the metal pitcher, presumably filled from the tap, was a nice shade of yellow. Um, can I have some bottled water please? Thanks.

There’s a brand of car out here called “Tata”. If you own two of them do people ask, “How are your Tatas?” Heh heh.

I spent all of Thursday on the way out here from California in the dark. I took off at 5 after midnight on Thursday morning. Darkness followed us all the way to Hong Kong where the sun finally came up on Friday morning as we reboarded our plane.

People out here point a lot with their middle fingers. It’s disconcerting and I still am not used to it. “Oh yeah, buddy? F you too, pal. You wanna go? Oh. Right. Sorry. Here’s your hat back.” Though I did just read it’s rude here to point or gesture towards someone with your left hand. I don’t know if it’s quite the equivalent of flipping someone off, but, well, I’m an American. Isn’t it just assumed I don’t know anything about anyone else’s culture? They can cut me some slack.

Shady Dealings

2007-03-11T05:27:00.000-07:00

I spent today (Sunday) lounging by the pool on the rooftop of my hotel. I’m trying to get as much lounging practice in as I can before my trip to Sri Lanka. That and I need to tan my pasty white American skin.

Christen and I have one night to kill between Sri Lanka and Singapore. We’re staying in a beach resort south of Chennai. Very posh. It better be for the prices we’re paying. It’s spendy by American standards.

Paying for the room turned out more difficult than necessary. I booked the room over the phone, since the website wasn’t working. The lady on the phone told me I had to go to the 2^nd floor of an office in Chennai to pay for it. Why I couldn’t pay over the phone I don’t know.

So, Saturday morning, before going to work (total BS) I gave my taxi driver the address I was given and we were off. Turns out, this city is so confusing even my cab driver couldn’t find the place. It took the two of us, collaborating in very broken English before we could even find something that looked like the right building. It had some closed clothing store on the first floor. No obvious way up to the second floor immediately presented itself.

My taxi driver kept motioning me to go around the side of the building and into a darkened doorway. I couldn’t help feeling like Loraine Bracco in Goodfellas when Robert DeNiro is telling her he has some dresses for her “…just around the corner. Go ahead. Through that doorway. It’s ok, go ahead, right through there.” I have never seen a more dilapidated staircase. Broken marble, piles of trash and construction materials, the building looked abandoned. I just couldn’t picture giving my credit card info to someone in this building. I almost turned around and left but figured I might as well at least go up to the second floor. Up I go and I’m greeted not by an enclave of squatting feral children, but by the standard security guard seen in front of most offices. I ask for my contact and he directs me through a set of glass doors into an ordinary office. I went from “condemned building” to “everyday office” disorientingly quickly. Everything else went smoothly (I even got a receipt), although I’m still confused as to why I had to go to this strange office building to pay for my hotel room.

Did you know the mom from Six Feet Under shows up at the end of Scent of a Woman? And why does the HBO here have commercials? What kind of crap is that?

By the way, thanks to everyone for the comments, they make my day.

Road Rage

2007-03-11T05:25:00.000-07:00

I finally witnessed my first fender-bender today. Witnessed it from inside one of the cars with the bending fenders. It wasn’t so much a bend as a scrape. The other car thought its dimensions would allow it to squeeze by my taxi. It was wrong. I just happened to turn my head as the car started going by and I thought, “This is gonna be close.” But so often I’d seen the maneuver done successfully in the past when I was convinced it would fail, I figured this time it would work out, too. Nope. Sckeee-rape.

More intriguing was the aftermath. If I haven’t made it clear before, these roads are narrow and jam packed with a variety of vehicles. The “traffic light” had just turned green and we were the second car in “line”. After the scraping did the two cars pull over to the side and get out of the way? No. They stayed just where they were, rolled down their windows and started yelling at each other in Tamil. I couldn't understand a word of their shouted exchange but I'm pretty sure it wasn't, "Pardon me, dear sir, for my vehicle's most terrible obstruction of your glorious right-of-way." "Think nothing of it. Here, allow me to pay for the damages to your most splendid conveyance."

It’s at this point I’m thankful I’m in India. I mean, at least I didn’t have to worry about seeing the barrel of a .38 poke out one of the back windows (Hi, my name is Eric and I live in Oakland). Meanwhile, everyone else is honking, and honking some more. The motorcycles and bicycles that managed to squeeze by either yell at the obstruction or make some sort of arm gesture. (Gee, I wonder what that means?). After 2 minutes or so of yelling the windows roll back up and the cars drive off. That’s it. No exchange of info or anything. Unless, of course, they were yelling insurance information at each other.

At least we didn’t hit a pedestrian. One of the travel sites I read said that if you’re in a taxi that hits a ped or a cow you should get out and run as onlookers have been known drag the driver (and sometimes the passengers) out and beat them. Dave suggested I take the initiative and drag the driver out and start beating him myself.

Interviewing the Liars

2007-03-08T07:07:00.000-08:00

I’m working too much. How am I supposed to treat this as a boondoggle if they’re working me all day every day? I’m interviewing people like a coked up Larry King. Or trying to, anyway. The HR manager at CTS, Ragesh, has been lining up interviews like crazy. If 50% of the people actually show up, the day is considered a success. Whether or not those candidates are actually qualified is another matter entirely.

Apparently, it’s ok here to blatantly lie on your resume. “Familiar with” or “knowledge of” a product does not mean “I’ve heard of it” or “I saw the box once in a store”. We all exaggerate our resumes, but if you can’t even tell me what it does, don’t list it. Why put it on your resume only to flail in the interview? Most of these people can’t even answer the equivalent of “where is the on button?” about this stuff. One guy today, when I asked him to describe his specific usage of a piece of software his resume (of course) claimed he used extensively, started reciting what I now believe are the marketing bullet points from the website.

And the language barrier…I mean, I don’t want to be an insensitive American prick about this, but if you’re going to be working with a development team in America, and conference calling your American boss once or twice a week, when I very slowly and with perfect enunciation (I swear!) ask you “Where is your current development team?” you should not respond with 5 seconds of blank staring followed by “I work in QA”. Good lord.

Some of these people I actually feel kind of sorry for. Some are so nervous and twitchy and desperate seeming I want to hire them out of pity. What do I care? I’m not hiring for my product. One dude was practically deaf. I almost burst out laughing when I caught myself yelling simple phrases towards his good ear. It’s like I was interviewing a 7 year old Helen Keller with rudimentary QA skills.

Was that too far? Eh, you’ll be fine.

This extraordinarily shallow talent pool makes me just that much more thankful for the rockstar team I have right now. Too bad for the other managers that my product is all staffed up with the good ones and these other products have to choose from the dregs. Bwahahahahahahaha! *cough*

In more pleasant news, I booked tickets to Sri Lanka for Christen and me. Hooray for vacations. Doug is feverishly planning our tropical beach paradise itinerary, right Doug? I keed, I keed…but it will be nice to relax on the beach for a while. Civil war, schmivil war. My next vacation is gonna be in Sudan. I would have said “Iraq” but from what I hear there is no civil war there.

You’ll notice there are still no pictures on this magnificent blog. That’s due to the fact that, apart from not going outside as much on this trip, I broke my f’ing card reader. That’s what I get for bragging about it costing only $8. It broke due to operator error, not due to any sort of product defect…but still. Karma is a bitch. Not like it matters. They work me like a Himalayan Sherpa here, allowing me only glimpses of the sun through a dirty window as I trudge my way to the printer to pick up another superlative-laden yet criminally misleading resume.

Tuesday, Monday, and Last Week

2007-03-06T07:20:00.000-08:00

Another day, another near death experience. Ok, not really, but yesterday I rode in a tuk tuk for the first time. (If you don’t know what a tuk tuk is, check out the December 2006 archives). The crazy Indian traffic intensifies further when one weaves through it in a three-wheeled tin can. Considering one of the guys in the office, Natarajan, offered me the choice between riding on the back of his motorcycle or taking a tuk tuk, I believe I chose wisely. Part of me really wants to take him up on that offer at some point before I leave.

That reminds me...today I saw two guys re-painting lane lines in the middle of a road as my taxi courteously gave them a 6 inch berth. Hahahahahahaha. That's a good one. I'm assuming they were part of a performance comedy troupe since the disregard for lane lines here is total and complete.

You may have noticed the lack of pictures on the blog for this trip thus far. There is a good reason for this; I have not taken any yet. Perhaps my sense of wonder and amazement is diminished as this is my second trip here in three months. Perhaps I continue to forget to bring my camera with me when I go outside. Perhaps they are working me like a dog on this trip with nary a moment to spare wandering around outside. I suspect it’s a combination of all three. I do have some pictures of Singapore but I have yet to determine if they are blog-worthy. A high probability exists they are not as I was extremely hungover when I took them and could barely see.

Today we ate lunch at a place called The Rainforest. At the risk of offending my coworkers who took me there, the place was quite silly. I think I ate in a similar place at Disney World once. Fake thunder noises, rain sounds, walls made to look carved from stone, as if you are eating in a cave. The best part had to be the stuffed animals. Tigers, snakes, and monkeys all scattered around the place. One poor monkey hanging from a clothesline looked as if he was strung up by his thumbs. Good food, though. Mmmm…tikka masala.

I don’t have malaria yet. At least, no outward symptoms.

It’s not as hot here as I expected. It’s toasty, but I experienced worse during the summers of my youth in Contra Costa County. Of course, it’s only March. It is, however, a drastic change from where I was a week ago. Where was that, you ask? Driving through a flippin’ blizzard. Coming back from Tahoe I drove through some of the worst conditions of my life. This from someone who lived in Colorado for 9 years. It was daytime and the falling and blowing snow prevented me from seeing more than 2 cars in front of me and sometimes only one. If someone up ahead had panicked or become disoriented or even blinked I think we all would have followed her off the road one by one like a pack of lemmings. After dumping snow for the previous 24 hours it dumped the whole way from Truckee to Auburn and showed no signs of letting up (in Auburn it turned to rain making the visibility even worse, which was quite a trick). When trying to leave on Sunday afternoon I shoveled a good two feet of snow from around the car. After being defeated on that attempt (no, really, I love spending 45 minutes traveling 50 yards in traffic that moves only when someone bails out and pulls a U-turn), I shoveled another two feet the next morning. I mean, seriously, if you’re not going to close 80 in those conditions, when do you close it? Some portions of the highway looked like Beirut with cars scattered all over, facing every which way, people wandering around in a daze. If the weather had been like that during the snow cave adventure I’m not sure I’d still have fingers with which to type this mediocre blog entry.

Snow cave? What is this snow cave adventure of which he speaks? That’s a tale for another day, perhaps when I’m sitting on the beach in Sri Lanka, drinking a mai tai.

Don't Touch My Stuff

2007-03-05T02:00:00.000-08:00

Well, here I am, back in Chennai. And super tired, since I got in at 11:30 last night. Which is actually 3:00am in Singapore or something. And, if you'll recall, I was up until 4am the night before. Wah wah wah.

I hate the aisle seat. Why do people covet this seat? I had to get up about 6 times during a 3 hour flight to let my row-mates in and out. What a pain in my ass. And you, Mr. Window Seat, when Mr. Middle Seat gets up to go to the bathroom, THAT is the time for you to make your move. NOT 30 seconds after Mr. Middle Seat returns and he and I have settled back into our seats. What other conclusion can I draw but that you're doing this to us on purpose? No one is that much of an idiot.

Oh how I wish that last sentence were true.

And there was luggage drama. First, it took for-freaking-ever to get through the immigration line. By the time I got to the luggage carousel I could barely see the luggage meandering along on the belts due to the crowd gathered 3 or 4 people deep. We always hope, in this situation, to walk up, see our bag, grab it off the spinning treads and be off. Alas, by the time the same haphazardly duct taped box reappeared my bag had not made it's glorious re-entry into my life. 5 more sightings of the sad little box and still no bag. 10 sightings and now the crowd is thinning and I've moved beyond the "hoping my bag appears soon so I can get out of here" phase to the "please, god, I just want to see my bag even if it comes out looking as if it's been run over repeatedly by drunken baggage handlers" phase. Let's just say that there is no Singapore Airlines Customer Service counter in the Chennai airport baggage claim area. Half an hour has gone by and the last of the people are piling their bags on their carts and heading for customs. I'm all by myself. And now the baggage-moving belt has stopped. Terrific.

The only people left not going through customs are a group of about 8 people gathered in one spot, arguing loudly. I meander over that way hoping to find a customs official to start pleading my case to when what do I see? My backpack lying on the ground just outside of the circle of loud people. I can only assume they were fighting over whose turn it was to detonate the "unclaimed" bag. I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to whichever motherloving fartbag made the courteous and helpful decision to take my bag off the luggage carousel and just leave it on the floor, out of view. I hope Dick Cheney personally gives you a full body cavity search in Guantanamo.

Oh, and hey, how about waking up at 5am in India scratching the side of my head where the mosquito who somehow found her way into my 5th floor hotel room bit me repeatedly? Fun times. Especially since it brought about the realization that I forgot to take my "24 hours before you arrive" malaria pill. If I get another fever on this trip I will not be calm about it. I will most likely panic.

I'm tired and I want to go to sleep. Not ask the same questions and pretend to listen to the same answers. Yep, I'm interviewing people.

Clubbing in Singapore

2007-03-03T18:07:00.000-08:00

Sounds fancy, doesn't it? I can now cross it off my list of things to do in life. And it was pretty bizzare.

Let's get right to the meat of it. The last club we went to had an entertainment act called "Double Penetration" - a dance team consisting of a skinny Asian dude and a fat white guy. They danced around on stage in a variety of spandex outfits that revealed waaaaaay too much. They were, however, surprisingly good dancers. The chubby white dude even, at one point, strapped on a pair of old school roller skates and busted out some fancy moves. He did some nice backwards crossovers (not easy on such a small stage) and at one point did the Running Man. On roller skates. A whacked out DJ who looked like Crazy George from the old A's games provided the music. He also had a penchant for gold spandex, and, unfortunately, at the end of the show, a thong.

(This is perhaps the first time in modern history a paragraph containing "double penetration", "strapped", and "thong" remained PG-13.)

After their show ended the real dancing began. A new DJ took over, spinning earsplittingly badass beats and looking disturbingly similar to Jesse Goffin. Only 1 of my 3 readers will know who that is.

We stayed out until 4am. I'm amazed that there are no "club drugs" here, as the crowd was still pretty lively when we left. I'm only assuming the lack of drugs given as I just read about a Nigerian whose death sentence was carried through in January for 700g of morphine.

Working backwards, we ate dinner first at a wine bar along the river walk called The Wine Garage. Really, was "The Wine Hardware Store" name already taken? Regardless, they had good food, and I drank a LOT of wine. I don't remember the last time I drank that much wine. The servers kept coming by and refilling glasses making it nearly impossible to keep track of how much I'd consumed. Always trouble. Especially with such a delicious pinot.

At the Wine Smog Check Station I met many of Dave's friends, all ex-patriots, or "expats". In the past, whenever I'd heard of an "expat" I'd pictured some 50 year old white guy with a 16 year old Vietnamese girlfriend, sweating in the back of some smoky bar in Saigon, doing his best to keep a low profile and probably on the run because he accidentally killed a man during a flashback in 1978. Not the cute 24 year old girl from New York having the time of her life and the rest of the very attractive people in their late 20s and 30s eating, drinking, and heading out to the clubs.

Near 3am some crazy looking local type began forcing his way into our little group of dancers consisting of Dave, me, 2 expat guys, Dave's friend Tamara (who is just crazy and a trouble-maker, in a good way) and 2 or 3 local girls. This guy, looking about 50 or so, appears from no where, butts his way in, and forces himself between Dave and the local girl he'd been dancing with for the last half hour. All the while he's got this crazy looking smile on his face and his awkward bobbing and shadowboxing is completely out of time with the music. Nice windbreaker, dude. My only guess is that he was tired of seeing the expats dancing with the local girls and decided to step in and finally "do something about it". At one point he actually pushed Dave out of the way, leading to one of those silent exchanges between me and Dave that went something like: "Can you believe this guy?" "He's an idiot" "Should I kick his ass?" "Whatever, man, I'm ready to leave either way". Basically this club was like any other club, aside from the crazy dance show in the beginning.

In other news, congrats to Grant and Emily Watkins on the birth of their first child.

Off to Chennai tomorrow.

Safe in Singapore

2007-03-02T19:10:00.000-08:00

It's Saturday morning and I'm hanging out at Dave's and hanging in there. After arriving yesterday at about noon, napping, then heading out to dinner and a few drinks, I grew tired of Dave making fun of my "slits for eyes" so I turned in. I dropped an Ambien since I didn't want to wake up at 4am and be unable to go back to sleep. Well, they call it "hammer in a bottle" for a reason. I was out cold for 10 hours. Good stuff.

If you deem this post not up to my usual breathtaking standards of wit and charm, I've just given you many reasons to screw off.

This was all after the taxi driver I took from the airport couldn't find Dave's address. He dropped me off in the general vicinity but I was left to my own devices to find Dave's actual building, carrying both of my backpacks. Some of the area looked familiar from my (romantic) midnight stroll with Dave the last time I visited, but as I continued to search and dig up memories I found myself wondering "what happens if I can't find his place?" I don't have a working cell phone and I don't know Dave's cell number...do I just wait in one of the many bars here for Dave to come searching for me? Climb in another cab and hope they can do a better job finding the place? I decided my first plan would be to call Eric Strasser's cell and go from there. But, all of this was unnecessary as, using the crudely scribbled map Dave provided on the back of a business card I was able to do what the local cab driver couldn't: Find Dave's building.

So, here I am. It's almost noon and we're going to go out and eat some food, maybe jump in the pool, and see what happens.

Take care.

---Eric

Poker

2007-02-27T16:04:00.000-08:00

Played poker on Friday night. It was a good night for me. Ended up winning more than twice the amount for which I bought in. The best hand was when I hit my flush on the river (which just happened to also be the nuts on the unpaired board), and as I was trying to figure out how to extract the maximum amount of money out of Scott he says, "I'm all in". Well, alright! Call. Scoop chips.

Another hand I had a pair of 3s in early-mid position with 4 or 5 limpers. The flop comes 10-J-Q, clubs and spades. I check, hoping to catch a 3 on the turn. It was not to be. A bet, a raise and a call drove me from the pot. The turn came a three, of course, and the river a 10. D'oh! The two remaining players went all-in with a straight (don't ask) and a flush. So, I folded a moneymaker, but I'm ok with it. Who stays in with a pair of threes on that flop? Not this American.

Jason lost. I hate to say it, but he's funnier when he's losing. His semi-drunken bad beat rants are things of beauty.

2006-12-22T03:40:00.000-08:00

I'm off to the hotel to pick up my things, then it's to the airport with me. Woo hoo!

See you all back in the US.

Happy holidays.

---Eric

2006-12-22T02:43:00.000-08:00

12.22.06, 11:00am – CTS Offices, Chennai, India.

It’s my last day here. I fly out tonight at 11:30pm.

I have now been here long enough that the servers in the hotel restaurant (who are always so very helpful and smiling) know that Mr. Eric (as they call me) likes black coffee and chilled bottled water with his breakfast.

A woman ironing clothes at a street cart.

Speaking of breakfast, I finally had my first cringe-worthy run in with an Ugly American. I haven’t seen as many westerners here as I had expected. Even in the hotel there aren’t very many. Those I’ve seen are typically Euros. I don’t think I’ve encountered a single American that I’m aware of. All of this made this guy this morning even more painful to watch. At breakfast this morning, a few tables over from me sat this fat dude wearing a burnt orange University of Texas T shirt. First off, way to blend in, dude. When I sat down he was talking loudly to the servers (because yelling helps people better understand English) and said something like, “Bombay! Bombay! You know it?” For the love of god, these people are Indians, of course they know one of the biggest cities in their country. That would be like an Indian coming up to him, in Austin, and saying, “Chicago! You know it?” Idiot. Oh, and they call it Mumbai now, and have for years, dumbass. Then he proceeded to yell something about being from Texas and national champions. Good lord, you’re talking to these people about college football? American college football? Let me ask you something, jackass, you ever heard of cricket? No? Well it’s bigger here than college football is in the US. Ok ok, I’ll stop. It just pained me how hideously he represented an “Amurkin”. Thank god that’s the only one I’ve seen.

This cracked me up for some reason.

My cab driver asked me this morning if tonight I am “going back to my native”. He chatted up a storm today. In his very broken English he asked if I liked India, when I am coming back, etc. He perked up when I mentioned I may bring my wife with me next time. He told me his name is Lenin, but “not the Russian Lenin”. He’s the Indian Lenin. Then he told me his brother is named Karl Marx. Funny guy, this cab driver. At least, I’m relatively certain it was a joke. Maybe his parents are die hard commies, I don’t know. Anyway, I’m going to be sure to ask for him next time I visit.

The Indian, not Russian, Lenin.

I’ll miss the nice weather here. Although I’ve been told this is the “cool” season and during the summer it gets to 40 or 42 C. That’s 104 to 107 F. I’ll stick to visiting during the cool season, thanks.

A dilapidated bus station.

My hours here are down into the single digits.

---Eric

2006-12-21T23:15:00.000-08:00

Look! Videos of the traffic I see here on a daily basis.

This is part of what I see on my ride to work (sorry for the crappy quality on this one):

These are tuktuks in action with motorcycles thrown in for fun:

---Eric

2006-12-21T20:37:00.000-08:00

12.21.06, 9:00pm – Rain Tree Hotel, Chennai, India.

It’s my last night at the hotel. Finally. It didn’t come a moment too soon. Today was a long day at work and I'm ready to come home. I even checked into my flight already on these here newfangled internets tubes. It’s actually going to be pretty relaxing to have nothing to do on the plane for 18 hours or however long the trip is. I can just sleep, watch movies, and read.

Today we ate lunch at the restaurant downstairs in the office building. Senthil and Ram told me the place served up some mean fish as their specialty so I ordered it. The entire fish came out. Head, tail, eyeballs, the works. I suppose I should have expected it. For as unappetizing as it is to have the vacant stare of a glassy, crispy fish eyeball on you while eating, the fish itself was delicious. The sauce’s flavor knew no end of scrumptiousness.

A vegetable vendor with his product.

Four ladies ate at the table next to us. Their 5 little kids (probably between 6 and 8 years old) ran around the restaurant with reckless abandon. Being hungry and cranky I found myself thinking, “Control your freakin’ kids already!” I mean, they were running around and screeching and causing major havoc. Two waiters carrying trays laden with food almost bit it on the pint sized hellions. Culture, schmulture. Rein in your damn kids.

Every day the taxi drives by a construction site on the way to the office. Today I saw a bunch of people in normal Indian dress but with bright yellow hardhats on working there. They didn’t look like seasoned construction workers and many of them were women. They were moving a pile of sand or small stones from the front of the site to the interior. But, instead of using wheelbarrows or buckets, they filled bowls and carried them on their heads. The hardhats had cylinders (roughly 5 inches in diameter and 3 inches high) sticking straight up from the crown of the hat. These women balanced bowls full of sand on these cylindrical protrusions and walked through the construction site over piles of debris and uneven ground, without using their hands to steady the load. Amazing.

A typical Indian construction site.

The elevator at the office stopped working today between the second and third floors. Luckily I was not in it at the time. I took the stairs down after fruitlessly waiting for the tired old thing. Halfway down I passed the repair crew working on it. Seeing the actual components of the elevator exposed and being worked on my barefoot repairmen, coupled with the fact it had quit working entirely, further eroded my already dubious faith in the dilapidated transport.

Clothes ironing services.

The power went out at the office three times today. Again, not inspiring a great deal of confidence here. On the way to the store at lunch I walked past some guys repairing the electrical substation. They were climbing all over the metal structure and fooling with the insulated connectors and capacitors and whatnot. Again, as with the guys on the runway, OSHA would not be pleased.

I made the mistake of trying to put the flowers Manickam brought over the other day into water. I unwrapped the paper and plastic case only to realize the job of the plastic and paper is to hold the arrangement in place. Once I removed the wrapper it became obvious that the stems of the flowers did not all reach to the bottom of the wrap as in a typical bouquet. The flower stems were all about 5 inches long but the flowers were carefully arranged throughout the entire 24 inches of the piece. This story is the long way of saying I took off the wrapper and the thing fell apart. One good thing came from it though; some of the filler turned out to be an evergreen of some sort so it smells like a Christmas tree in my room now. A random bit of unexpected Christmas spirit.

Speaking of Christmas, I’ve seen some random Christmas decorations. Mostly I see these glowing hanging paper stars. But mostly it’s a halfhearted attempt at decorating. A scrap of tinsel or a bedraggled tree haphazardly decorated in perhaps 5 minutes. There’s even a slightly leaning gingerbread house in the hotel lobby. I did see a group of 15 or so Santas on the back of a flatbed truck. They all wore plastic Santa masks instead of fake beards. It kinda creeped me out.

A clash of religions.

While having a drink at the rooftop bar I saw more denim in one place than I’ve seen here yet. No, I didn’t see Dorothy (inside joke for Kevin and some other Navis people). Very occasionally will I see someone here in jeans (and it’s usually a woman). The entire serving staff at the rooftop bar wears jeans. Strange. Is it some way of communicating the western image of “casual and relaxed” since we’re at a rooftop bar in a hotel that caters to westerners?

A sugar cane juicing machine. Diesel powered.

Speaking of the rooftop bar…I was told to expect rain during my stay. I’ve been here 12 days and nary a drop have I seen.

Coming home tomorrow!

---Eric

2006-12-20T08:38:00.000-08:00

12.20.06, 9:00pm – Rain Tree Hotel, Chennai, India.

I just got back from more sightseeing after work with Manickam and Anwar. They took me to an enormous beach. They said it’s the second largest beach in Asia and I would have a hard time doubting them. The walk from the car to the waves was about 15 minutes and they say the beach stretches for kilometers (although they wouldn’t tell me exactly how many but it’s definitely more than 4).

A little further down the beach we encountered the “touristy” area, with rows of carts selling various things, but mostly popcorn, drinks (sodas and water), cheap toys and trinkets, and bracelets. Every set of 4 carts repeated the same sequence. Now’s that’s competition.

Beach shops.

Near this touristy area were a couple of memorials to some famous Tamil Nadu politicians. I think they were both Chief Ministers of the State. The bigger memorial honored M. G. Ramachandran (MGR). He was an actor-turned-politician (sound familiar, Californians?) who was, and still is, quite revered. He served for 13 years, which is quite an accomplishment as most last only one term (5 years). He was entombed there in 1987 and they say his watch still ticked when they laid him to rest. Now visitors to his shrine press their ears to his tomb because legend has it you can still hear his watch ticking. That must be one heck of a battery in that thing. Manickam and Anwar were unimpressed with the legend’s validity.

Tick tick tick.

The smaller memorial honored a different Chief Minister (whose name escapes me at the moment) from an earlier period. Apparently at one time something like 2 million people gathered on the beach there to hear him speak. It’s some sort of world record for a beach gathering or some such. This entire paragraph is likely strewn with inaccuracies as I didn’t quite grasp the whole story on that one.

UPDATE: The second guy's name is C. N. Annadurai and 15 million people attended his funeral. That set a record for funeral attendence at the time (1969). Wikipedia says so.

The general area of the beach and memorials had some of the grandest architecture I’ve seen here. Aside from the soaring monuments to the Chief Administrators (both were at least 100 ft high and 50 yards across), an arch separated the main road from this area and it, too, must’ve been at least 100 ft high. Across the street was a university building with onion-type domes and rows (colonnades?) of large pillars and arches. If it had been daylight I would have taken some grand pictures of it. Alas, I am a working stiff, even half a world away, and they don’t let me out until it’s dark outside.

The MGR Memorial.

The next stop was St. Thomas Basilica church and shrine. A large and impressive building, that. It was kind of odd to be in a Christian church in India, but there are more Christians here then you’d think. At least, there are more than I was expecting. But, then, my research prior to coming here could accurately be described as “minimal”, so what do I know? The inside of the church was typically magnificent for a church of its size and there were quite a few very serious worshipers inside. Across the parking lot from this impressive structure stood (or, more accurately, leaned) a primitive construction site. It was quite the contrast.

Barefoot genuflecting.

The church of St. Thomas.

The construction site.

I seriously stood in one spot for those last two photos. All I had to do was turn 180 degrees.

Now I’m back in the hotel. Room service just arrived so I’m gonna go eat.

48 hours from now I’ll be getting ready to board my flight home. Joy.

---Eric

2006-12-20T08:27:00.000-08:00

12.19.06, 5:20pm – Navis India Offices, Chennai, India.

I’m still sick today. The good thing is I’m not worse, therefore lessening the chance of it being some strange bloodthirsty exotic Indian virus. I again woke up in a puddle of sweat this morning and now I have a stuffy/runny nose, but, really, it’s nothing to cause any undue alarm.

The medicines I got from the Doc yesterday are sort of strange. They’re over the counter drugs (so that wasn’t an actual prescription he wrote on the hotel notepad yesterday) but they’re not in boxes or anything. They’re just foil packets with the drug name on them. No dosages or even explanations of what they are. I googled some of the names but not much came up. I figured out one is a B-Complex vitamin, so I’ve been taking that one. The others I’ve decided to forgo injesting. I mean, there’s like 4 separate medicines. Am I really supposed to just down them all in some sort of a cocktail? I’m gonna pass.

The meds. They were delivered in a brown paper bag.

Last night Girish and I went to dinner at a restaurant in a hotel called Raj something or other (I’m so bad at remembering these crazy foreign names). It is in a building that used to be some sort of British palace or other type of high-falutin’ place. It really was a pretty cool place. Big and palace-y. The dinner accompaniment consisted of musicians playing traditional Indian songs on various unusual instruments. A young Indian lady joined them occasionally performing some sort of traditional Indian dance. For being so relatively young (early 20s maybe?) her performance was solid. These dances essentially told stories and were very complex and involved a long series of dance steps, complete with facial expressions that made it look like she was talking to people. She must study and practice a lot.

Girish and I talked about quite a few things; politics, including the sorry state of George W’s current position and how it mirrors Clinton’s 8 years ago (remember the impeachment and the Republican takeover of the House and Senate?), the new office, and various aspects of Indian life, such as:

- Learning English is considered essential to achieve a successful career. Even Indians who speak very little or no English send their children to schools where most, if not all, of the subjects are taught in English.

- Cramming an entire family on to a motorcycle is not something these people would prefer to do (not that I ever thought they were doing it just for kicks), it’s just that most of them don’t have a choice as the motorcycle is their only vehicle.

The family truckster.

- The reason there aren’t more accidents on the Indian roads is because, due to the unpredictability of the Indian traffic, Indians are very cautious, vigilant, and ready for anything while driving. He also verified my belief that they have an incredible amount of faith in the awareness and ability of their fellow drivers.

We also made fun of the Navis employees who have visited CTS in the past.

Today I’m working from the Navis India offices. I wish I could be here more on this trip and not for only the one day. It’s so nice to finally meet all of these people I’ve worked with over the past 3+ years. As I’ve been introduced to more and more people today I’ve realized I’ve forgotten that I’ve worked with a good number of these people on various projects at one point or another.

This trip in general has been very good for the relationship between me and my testers. It’s good to put faces and actual humans with the names and emails. It’s so easy to treat someone who is mostly an email presence with a sense of detachment. Being here has reinforced the human element of this relationship. I’m getting a very good sense of who these guys are, what’s important to them, and what they’d like to accomplish. All things I’d like to maintain.

Music I’ve heard at one point or another through the hotel’s PA:

- Peter Cetera. I think they played an entire album of his.

- Kris something or other…he sang that song “Saaaaail-ling, takes me awaaaaaay to where I’m going…”. More than once.

- I don’t know who sings it but that song, “’Cause I’m your laaaaay-daaaaay”. I’m pretty sure they played that whole album, too.

Joseph here at Navis India tells me the American popular music from the late 70s and early 80s is still very popular here in India. Ok then, to each his own I suppose. We can’t all be enlightened to the majesty of Slayer.

Coconuts for sale.

I am really starting to get used to the pace of life here and how things are done. It definitely helps that I’m not trying to actually LIVE here. No apartment to deal with, no grocery shopping, no day-to-day hassles. I have a frickin’ hired car that takes me everywhere and a hotel staff that is ridiculously doting. Not too hard to get used to, really. That said, I am REALLY starting to look forward to coming home. I want (in no particular order):

- To not have to choose between Indian food and poorly prepared “western” options for breakfast. A bowl of cereal would be kick ass.

- To eat some goddamn fresh fruit.

- To have more than 4 options for clothes in the morning.

- To eat a frickin’ sandwich (there are none here. None.)

- To grill some burgers on my BBQ.

- To watch SportsCenter in English.

- A latte from my espresso machine.

- To pet my cats.

- To use my own damn cell phone.

- To drink water from the tap.

- To be somewhere where there are smog regulations.

- To watch Tivo.

- To drink off my kegerator.

- To kiss my wife.

---Eric

2006-12-19T03:48:00.000-08:00

12.18.06, 4:45pm – CTS Offices, Chennai, India.

Well, I’m sick. Sniffles, sneezing and it feels like I have a fever. Waking up at 5am sweating buckets and light-headed caused a bit of concern. It didn’t help that I kept remembering everything I’d read about all of the exotic bugs here and every single one seemed to have symptoms that started with “fever”. Should I book a flight to Singapore now?

I rang down to the hotel front desk to see if they had medicines available and they suggested sending a doctor to my room. Um, ok. He showed up and examined me and basically told me to stop acting like a baby. Ok, he didn’t say that, but he insisted I don’t have a fever. I could swear I do. It sure feels like I do. But, hey, he’s the one with the thermometer training. He wrote me a “prescription” on a piece of hotel notepad paper and told me I could send a bellhop to go get it. A half hour after the Doc left the front desk rang my room to tell me a bellhop had been dispatched to pick up the medicines. I hadn’t even gone down to ask for them yet. Doc must’ve stopped by the front desk and told them what I needed. Then they asked if I wanted room service or tea. I’m tellin’ ya, the service in this place is freakin’ awesome.

I ordered room service and after the bellhop returned with my meds I just happened to be perusing the paper when I see it: on ESPN at 7am, Monday Night Football! Oh lordy, could it be true? I frantically flip on the TV and there it is…glorious, wonderful, western culture. It’s probably the only time in my life I felt joy upon hearing Joe Theisman’s voice (still, by the end of the game the hotel TV was very well aware of the fact that I think Joe Theisman is an idiot. Is there a worse announcer in all of football? I think not).

The game just happened to be one of the two or three MNF games all season that were not terrible matchups and a game I actually wanted to see.

I told my taxi I wouldn’t need him until 1:00, took a nap, took a shower, and now here I am at work. Feeling ok, I guess. Just sick.

A few observations on some everyday differences between India and the US:

- At home, if you don’t deal with your trees the power company yells at you, then eventually comes by and chops your tree into some hideous shape (usually an exaggerated “L”) solely for the purpose of keeping your tree out of the power lines. As I wandered around (lost) the other day I noticed they purposely use the trees here to support the power lines. I took a picture of it but it’s really blurry. If my photo skillz improve and I walk by another example of such fine urban planning I will post it. (UPDATE - Photo added.)

Not up to code.

- How about the guy I saw cooking something in a pot over a sizeable open flame in a thatched roof hut? I seriously doubt his hut insurance covers blatant negligence.

- Three of us went to lunch the other day at a busy restaurant and sat at a table for four. 5 minutes after we sat down some random dude sat at the empty chair. Neither of my lunch mates said anything to him, nor he to them. He ordered his food, ate it, and left on his way. Needless to say, that would never happen in the US. Although it happens in some European countries, I hear.

- The power outlets here are different than home. That fact in itself is not unusual nor was it unexpected. The advance purchasing of an adapter is proof of this. The outlet configuration is two small, round holes about ¾” apart with a larger hole above and centered between the two small holes. My first day in the office I was having a hell of a time getting my plug adapter to fit in the holes. I couldn’t understand because it had worked in my hotel room. Girish informed me that the large hole is actually a child-proofing mechanism. You need to stick something into that hole while simultaneously plugging in your device. He suggested using a pen. Well, now. You child-proof something by making the adults stick something into the outlet? What, are you trying to create a society of orphans? I did as he suggested and it worked but only after a nice blue spark flew from the large hole at the conclusion of the procedure. This happens every day when I plug in my laptop (when the security guard is not around insisting he do it for me).

Girish is taking me to dinner tonight to some place with food and dancing and singing (a show, not participatory singing and dancing). It might be interesting.

And because my wife wants to see more pictures, here are more pictures.

---Eric

A templey-shriney thing I saw while lost.

Another shot of the crowd at T Nagar.

Fruit stand at T Nagar.

A thatched roof hut down the street from my hotel.

More wedding revelry.

Men clustered around a street vendor.

2006-12-18T06:59:00.000-08:00

12.18.06, 8:30pm – Rain Tree Hotel, Chennai, India.

Back to work today. Nothing much new to report. The jetlag is nearly gone and I’m settling into a bit of a routine now. My old taxi driver is back and today he decided to entertain me by playing a CD of some sort of Indian music and singing along.

My culture shock is easing, too. I’m getting used to how things are done around here. It really helped to get out and sightsee with some locals.

Because I have nothing else interesting to say, here is a picture I really like. There are images in most of the old posts now, too.

---Eric

This is how 75% of the women here dress.

2006-12-17T20:15:00.000-08:00

12.17.06, 8:00pm – Rain Tree Hotel, Chennai, India.

Back from another day of sightseeing. This time with Manickam and Anwar. Manickam arrived with a bunch of flowers as a gift. How nice. I like both of them. They are really cool people.

We headed out to do some more shopping as I wanted to get some silk. They took me to a place called City Centre. Guess what it was? Another shopping mall. Yay. This one was far more upscale than the one yesterday. We visited a few clothing stores then I had had enough.

Next we headed to and area of Chennai called T Nagar, which is the closest thing I've seen to what could be called downtown Chennai. It was easily the busiest part of the city I had seen yet. Crowds and crowds of people. Anwar claimed it was due to the Christmas shopping season. Um, aren't most of these people Hindus? Anyway, it reminded me a lot of Times Square in New York. The street was just jammed with cars, close to what should be 5 lanes in each direction.

The crowd at T Nagar.

We went inside into a store with so much silk it was mind boggling. Silk in so many different forms and colors I was frozen into place. Luckily my guides were able to ascertain my desires and led me to the proper place. Excellent service. I believe the counter guy would have kept showing me things until I keeled over.

Lunch was next, but only after we walked back to the taxi. Manickam says, "The taxi is across the street, is that ok?" Um, sure, why not? No big deal, right? Soon I realized why he asked; the taxi is on the other side of that very same street jammed with 10 lanes of crazy traffic, and we're about to cross it. Crosswalks? Pshaw. Waiting for the light? That's for suckers (and we'd probably still be waiting there). My street crossing adventures of the morning near my hotel were nothing compared to what I was about to do. We stood on the side for a few seconds, then, after checking to make sure I was ready, my guides led the way. There is nothing quite like standing between "lanes" 3 and 4 of traffic moving 20mph while waiting for a "gap" in the traffic so you can dart in front of a car into the next "safe" area. Cars whooshing by, motorcycles swerving to avoid you, and the ever present honk honk honking. I mean, I was standing in the middle of 5 lanes of oncoming traffic. Just breathtakingly insane. But no big deal for these people.

The view while crossing the street. I'm between lanes of traffic.

For lunch they took me to a westernized hotel called the Regency something or other, I think. The restaurant inside looked like the shopping area of a Vegas casino. The ceiling was painted the sky-and-clouds motif and the walls were made to look the outside of shops. If you’ve even been inside the New York, NY or Paris or Venetian casinos in Vegas you know what I’m talking about. Except I think this was supposed to look like an American city (not that New York isn’t American, but you know what I’m saying). Uncle Sam posters telling me to buy war bonds, faux vintage Texaco signs, you get the idea. The food was mediocre.

We piled back into the car and headed south. This time we went past Dakshina Chitra (yesterday’s historical stop) another 45 minutes into an even more remote area. The few remaining shops and semi-rural buildings finally giving way to flat coastal grasslands and bluffs and cows. Hey, it’s the ocean! And, hey, there’s a bus in our lane and it’s coming right at us! I hate to keep trying to describe the traffic, but when the freakin’ center line on a two lane highway is routinely ignored it tends to rattle me. What percentage of the US driving population is terrified of passing on a two lane highway? 75%? 80%? In India, it’s hovering close to zero. Just flash your headlights and move on over, straddle that centerline and if the car in the other lane has room on the shoulder, well, they’ll move over. If they don’t, well, just slow down a bit so you can sqeeeeeze on by at the cautious speed of 45 km/hr. But, Mr. Taxi Driver, is it really necessary to pull this maneuver on a two lane bridge with 1ft diameter posts where the shoulder would be?

It didn't help that as I was staring out the window I caught a glimpse of two twisted chunks of what I assume used to be vehicles about 15 yards from the highway. They were down the slope and behind the screen of some trees. It turns there was an accident there just a few days prior involving a bus with a capacity of 10 was carrying 14 people crashing headlong into a lorry (truck). After that I contented myself with taking in the sights and resigning myself to the thought that I probably didn’t want to see it coming.

Our destination was a touristy area called Mammalapuram with some really really old stone temples originally made in 700AD. The major temple in this area is called the Coast Temple. It sits amongst the sea breeze and ocean grasslands about 100 yards from the coast line. After wandering in this area for a while we left and drove about 5 minutes to another temple site. Most of the temples and statues in this area were carved from solid rock. Giant boulders up to 20ft high carved into temples with colonnades and pilasters and filigree. Both places had many tourists walking around and most of them Indian. My guides refused to leave until I had been photographed with nearly every statue, temple, and blade of grass.

In front of the Coast Temple

Before we left Anwar bought me a coconut from a cart and the seller chopped the top off, stuck a straw in it and handed to me. Mmmm…coconut water. When I finished he took it from me and with three or four expert chops with his large curved machete he exposed the flesh and carved it out. So this is what they’re eating in Survivor. I didn’t realize how little of the coconut is actually edible.

Back in the car to reverse the semi-terrifying drive, only this time, to increase the difficulty rating, we’ll be doing it in the rapidly growing darkness. Good times! When we got back into Chennai we hit some of the worst traffic I’ve experienced. I guess that’s what happens when your roads narrow and widen for no particular reason. I tried to get some good video footage of the craziness that is Chennai traffic. I got some decent stuff but it seemed that every time I hit stop something ridiculous would happen. For instance: A motorcycle speeding past our creeping taxi at at least 20km/hr and swerving through the nearly stopped cars. Or, a family of 5 on a motorcycle going by with dad driving, little bro and sis (they looked around 3 years old) in front of dad between him and the handlebars and big sis (roughly 8) between his back and mom at the rear. Damn but I wish I had caught that.

Now I’m back in the room and Chelsea has just tied their football match with Everton in the 52^nd minute.

Back to work tomorrow.

---Eric

2006-12-17T20:11:00.000-08:00

12.17.06, 10:15am – Rain Tree Hotel, Chennai, India.

I got lost this morning. I can hear my wife both groaning and giggling at me.

This morning I decided to wander the streets near my hotel to get a more personal experience of the shops and general street scene I’ve seen only from my taxi. I also wanted to buy some packaged fruit juice since my restriction on fruits at breakfast is starting to kill me. I walked one direction from the hotel and bought some juice at a standard issue street shop. Relatively uneventful experience with one exception: crossing the street. It’s mayhem and requires complete awareness. The first time I tried it I noticed an Indian man about 10 meters away trying to cross the same way. I just tagged along with him and walked when he walked. The next time I tried it myself and was nearly run down by a tuktuk. After that near miss I kept imagining myself lying in the street with a broken ankle which then caused the words from the Travel Doctor in Oakland to start running through my head, “If urgent medical care is needed, every effort should be made to get to Singapore”. Let’s be careful out there. As such, I no longer walk on the side of the road in the direction of traffic, I cross over to the “wrong” side of the road and walk there. It is so much easier to deal with insanely piloted vehicles of uncertain trajectories when I can see them coming. Walking with the traffic is just too crazy. Beep beep from behind and you’d better immediately make every effort to move over to the left (yes, the left, they’re backwards over here) or at least hold your exact course, hope for the best, and be ready for the brush of the handlebar on your elbow.

A tuktuk. How embarrassing to be run over by one of these, huh?

Having acquired my juice I walked by to my hotel after successfully remembering to make the turn on to the correct street.

There is not much here to distinguish one street from another and there are no, and I mean NO street signs. I really don’t know how people know where they are or what street they’re on. Alley, alley, side street, side street, alley, hey the cab is turning onto this side street. How did he know that was the right turn to make? I have no earthly idea. I know that part of it is living here and driving a cab for a living, but, really, what about people who move here from Bangalore or Delhi? How do they know how to get around? There is definitely something navigational in the culture I’m not picking up.

Full of navigational confidence, and being under no particular time constraints, adventuresome spontaneity takes hold and I walk past my hotel and down to the next major cross street. That’s where the Park Sheraton is and I’ve heard it’s quite swanky. It’s by far the biggest building in the area. It sits at a kind of crazy intersection (5 or 6 streets all intersect in the general area) with some busy street stands and shops clustered nearby. My curiosity not yet satisfied, I roam further down one of the streets. More shops, many still closed, probably because it’s a Sunday morning. I turn around and start walking back. I take some photos, admire some stuff, smile at some people, feel slightly self-conscious walking past the group of men clustered in front of a street café (and I’m a guy), and am generally distracted. After walking for about 10 minutes I realize, hey, I don’t remember that building. And I certainly would have remembered that shop over there as it’s painted bright blue and the entrance is adorned with bright orange flowers. I think I took a wrong turn. Great.

I walk a bit further just to be sure but, really, at this point it’s pretty obvious; either I was asleep on the walk out and missed all of these shops and stalls or I went the wrong way. I’m lost in Chennai! I’m lost in Chennai! Eh, well, despite the complete lack of navigational aides available to me, there are far worse places to be lost on foot. Like East Oakland. Here I am in a relatively safe environment (except for the traffic), I have so many freaking tuktuks at my disposal it’s silly, I have the hotel’s business card in my wallet (thanks to Dave for that tip) and, if all else failed, I’m sure I could just ask someone for directions. I opt for none of the above and instead turn around and walk back the way I came. Soon I realize that, while distracted by the group of men earlier I walked past the road I was meant to take. I took it this time and was shortly back at my hotel. Crisis averted.

Women selling flowers.

Some random thoughts for no reason:

- Somehow the broken glass they use on top of fencing and walls is even more menacing than barbed wire. They stick it business end up into a top layer of mortar. There is an elegant brutality in its simplicity and there is no mistaking its message. Bravo on the nice reuse of materials, too.

Keep out.

- I just cannot get used to moving over to the left when passing someone on foot coming the other direction. I don’t know how many funny stares I got in the mall yesterday as I moved over to the right and ended up having to cram myself between the person and the wall as they confusedly got out of the idiot westerner’s way.

- My wife would really like the design of this hotel. Out front is a curtain waterfall falling into an infinity pond with floating blossoms. Inside, light-colored marble floors meet frosted glass wall panels with brushed nickel fixtures that accent and offset the warm wood tones of the walls and furniture. Modern light fixtures, clean lines, simple but elegant furniture, she would really dig it. Even the bathroom sink is essentially a big white bowl atop a wooden table (with a drain and all that, too, not just a basin). Top all of that off with its sustainable business practices (it’s an “Ecotel”) and it’s almost like she designed it herself.

- On the flight to Singapore, just before we landed, they handed out the immigration forms. Down at the bottom it says, in bright red block lettering, “Smuggling drugs into Singapore is punishable by death”. Um, wouldn’t the time to tell me that be BEFORE I got on the plane with all of my illegal drugs? Thanks for the info but we’re about to land and now it’s too late for me to do anything about my stash. That is, if I were smuggling drugs.

- The coffee here is good. But the flavor seems to change by the day, if not by the cupful. I swear, my first cup this morning was light and flavorful (if just a bit too watery) and the next cup was dark and sweet and thick as syrup. It’s tasty though and one of my favorite parts about breakfast.

- Sometimes I feel like I’m backpacking. And not the staying in hostels backpacking but backwoods backpacking. I think it’s the combo of walking around smelling like mosquito repellant all day and brushing my teeth using a bottle of water.

- My testers do not drink enough water. I didn’t see them drink hardly anything or go to the bathroom all day yesterday.

- I went downstairs to the lobby yesterday to exchange some traveler’s checks (or cheques, if you prefer European flavours and colours). They didn’t have any 500Rs notes so they gave me a stack of 100s (100Rs = ~$2.30, so don’t get all excited). It was a bundle like you see in the movies, with the rubber band around it and everything. I felt like a drug dealer or some sort of hotshot about to hit the town in Vegas. How am I supposed to walk around town with this thing? Between my digital camera and my fat wad of cash I might as well hang a sign on my neck that says, “rob me!” Even the most well-behaved society has their moments of temptation and weakness, no?

That’s all for now. The car has arrived and Manickam and Anwar (my Navis India testers, as opposed to the CTS testers I’ve been hanging out with to this point) will be here shortly. Time for more explorations of Chennai.

---Eric

2006-12-17T20:09:00.000-08:00

12.16.06, 8:15pm – Rain Tree Hotel, Chennai, India.

Today started out with a gorgeous sunrise out my window. The sun appeared as a cloud-scuffed red ball barely visible above the horizon. The tops of the swaying palm trees and taller buildings in the area thrust through the early morning layer of haze still clinging stubbornly to a city in its last minutes of relative tranquility.

Then I farted.

Hazy morning view.

Then it was off to the office to interview some people, check emails, etc. New cab driver today. He used his horn more aggressively. It was more of a “move your ass” honking than a “heads up” beep beep. Ram and Senthil came in and we were off to sightsee. Our first stop was a place called Dakshina Chitra. It’s a cultural history preservation museum of sorts. Mostly having to do with the history of the 5 southern states of

India

, of which Tamil Nadu is one (Chennai is in Tamil Nadu). This place is about 30 km south of Chennai so it was a bit of a drive. It sure was nice to get out of the city for a bit. As we got further from the city itself it became almost suburban. Less density, fewer shops, more thatched roofs, but no visible tract houses or soccer moms. Then the scene became nearly rural. More cows hanging out on the side of the road, green grass, farms, etc. We even got up to speeds nearing 100km/hr (let me tell you, it’s much more heartstopping when a truck is coming at you, in YOUR lane, when you’re doing 100km/hr as opposed to 40km/hr (at max) in the city.) Next we drove past the beach resort area. Some nice looking places including one called, and I kid you not, Dizzee World. Complete with cartoonish smiling characters and the full-on kid theme.

The culture museum was interesting to a point. Some good history there, I guess. It reminded me a lot of learning about the Miwoks or any other old Native American tribe. The old mortar and pestle for grinding meal, the ancient tools, the timeline of events. One difference that struck me is that the Indians survived the British and now rule themselves, whereas the Native Americans were pretty much wiped out.

Ram and Senthil atop the amphitheater at Dakshina Chitra

We ate lunch at the culture center’s restaurant. Again, eating only with my right hand and I still suck and tearing naan one-handed. The food was awesome. I couldn’t help thinking that if we were in America we’d be eating some crappy food like a hot dog or something that had been deep fried into oblivion.

We drove back into the city where our next stop was some shopping. I’d been hearing of this place where all of the shopping is. I pictured a town square kind of place, or village market, with rows of stalls selling trinkets and silks and flowers and jewelry. Um, no, it was a shopping mall. A flippin’ shopping mall. Are you kidding me with this? I bought some stuff, but, come on, it was like a disorganized, poorly maintained, slightly disorienting version of Nordstrom’s in San Francisco. Three levels, blah blah. NOT what I had in mind. The prices on some things were very good. I got a 100% silk shirt for $40US and a nice sport coat for $60US. (Sorry, Kevin, they didn’t have anything even close to a 50 long or whatever freakish size it is you wear. Nothing even close. I guess you’re out of luck in a place where I’m considered tall.) And it did provide a glimpse into a more modern India as it appears that, even half a world away, the hip kids still hang out at the mall.

The next stop was the hotel to drop off my stuff, then off to Ram’s place for dinner. Could it be that I’m actually getting used to the traffic here? I’m not nearly as shocked now when I look out the window as we’re doing 30km/hr and see another vehicle 4 inches from my window. You think I’m exaggerating. I am not. I still do flinch, though, when a motorcycle pulls out in front of us from a side street or we come ever so close to rear-ending a bicyclist. How can there be so many people in this country when they have so little regard for their own personal safety on the roads? How have all of these people not been hit and killed yet? How has my taxi not killed anyone yet? How does it not even have any scratches on it? I swear, if that little twitch of the handlebars didn’t happen at the last possible second, or if that truck’s angle into our lane was just a little bit sharper, or if our taxi driver was just the slightest bit distracted by something (say, his fare flailing wildly at a mosquito)…I just don’t see how they pull it off, day in and day out. Aren’t they continually rolling the dice? I think the thing that gets me the most is they have such unflagging faith in everyone else’s reflexes. Yet they are so unpredictable in their actions no one can anticipate the “safe” thing to do. It’s both amazing and ridiculous.

Signs seen on the road today:

- Wear seat belts (damn right)

- Wear helmets while driving (for the inevitable trip through the windshield)

- Drinking kills driving skills

- Stop here or you will meet the end

- Please don’t hit this tree (wrapped around trees that were growing out of the road about 3 ft in from the curb)

- Don’t drown infant females (um, yikes)

- Spic House (Security Professional Information Community or something similarly non-racist)

- Ganga Sweets (some type of store but not THAT type of store)

- State Bank of Mysore

It was nice to see other parts of the city. I was going to complain about how dirty it is here, but I’m pretty sure the area between my hotel and the office (especially near the office) is the dirtiest in the city. Piles of trash in the gutters, run down buildings…blah. Today, though, I saw some almost quaint parts. Better maintained, more street character and a more neighborhood feel. Still dirty, still crazy crowded and chaotic as hell, but not quite so, well, gross. Still, it’s strange to see a large concrete building visible over a low wall that looks like it’s been abandoned for 40 years, then pass a gleaming sign in front of the building that says, “Chennai Indian Technological Research Center”. Juxtaposition…too…much…

The neighborhood where Ram lives with his grandparents had the narrowest streets I’ve seen yet. Very lively street scene, but I don’t know if that’s because the same number of people were jammed into a smaller space or what. Our taxi could barely even make it down the road, and I saw some alleys that it for sure would not have fit through. And it’s not like we’re in a Town Car or something. There were also quite a few more cows and goats hanging around than I’ve seen in other parts.

Ram lives in a two-bedroom apartment on the second floor of a building in what could be considered a “residential” area. No first floor retail in any of the buildings on his street. I walked in and was “namaste”d by his non-English speaking grandparents. One thing nice about hanging out with non-English speakers: no small talk. I think his grandfather said 5 words the entire time I was there.

After Ram showed me around his modest apartment his grandmother forced food on us. Then forced more on us. Then more. I guess grandmothers are the same the world over. I’m not entirely sure what I ate but it was good. I broke a lot of rules though. One, my plate was wet when she started slapping food on it, and I’m pretty sure she hadn’t just washed it with bottled water. Two, I had to at least TRY the milk and carrot and spiced drink she offered (and if you don’t know which two of those three are nonos you’ve failed the Eric in India pop quiz). Three, the curds we ate with the spiced pickles…well, I don’t know the exact ruling on curds but I’m pretty sure they’re dairy.

It was a very business-like operation by his grandmother (his grandfather mostly just sat around except when he was swapping his wifebeater for a shirt prior to a picture) and neither one of them ate with us. When we were leaving they both namasted me again and his grandfather busted out “It was nice meeting you”. Sneaky bastard probably has a master’s in English Lit and sat silently correcting my grammar all night.

Grandma, Grandpa and Me

Now I’m back in the hotel and it’s time for bed.

---Eric

2006-12-15T08:27:00.001-08:00

12.15.06, 8:15pm – Rain Tree Hotel, Chennai, India.

I don’t know why I’m putting the location on these post headers. It’s not like I’m going to be web-logging (I’m going to shorten it to just “blogging” and save myself a few keystrokes) from the taxi or anything.

I just finished dinner up on the rooftop restaurant. Have I mentioned the weather yet? No? Well, it reminds me almost exactly of Hawaii. Humid, warm, and never ever cold. It was a little breezy on the roof but certainly not cold. The main difference being Hawaii is like this year ‘round whereas this is the “cool” season here. Welcome to “a few degrees north of the equator”.

Dinner was good. Some sort of yummy spinach and cheese patties grilled in the tandoor oven. Yes, I know technically you “bake” things in an oven, but the menu said “grilled” and “oven” so I’m going with it. I even ate some of the mint sauce that came with it. I actually did so before I realized, “Hey, mint sauce, probably made with mint, which was probably rinsed with tap water”. I continued to eat it. I’m slowly taking more food risks. I’m not sick yet, so by the end of the trip I’ll probably be munching on half-cooked chicken legs from the street vendors and drinking lassis by the dozen (right, Dayna?) (Okok, a lassi is a mixture of milk (unpasteurized in these parts) and fresh fruit. Both nonos for the delicate westernized GI tract. It’s funnier when I don’t have to explain it.) And apparently I love parentheses.

When the taxi dropped me off at the hotel tonight there was quite a colorful and loud commotion out front. I asked Ram (one of my testers who bummed a ride as far as the hotel in the splendor of my taxi) what was going on. He yelled into my ear, “Wedding!” Did I mention it was loud? Yesyes, I took pictures, and even video, of it. You all would be able to revel in my photography skillz if Windows wasn’t coded by monkeys (shout out to Tim “Prickly” McNerney for that one). No, I haven’t solved the Windows Ignoring My Camera problem yet. You’d know if I had. (UPDATE - Problem solved via the purchase of a USB card reader for only $8).

The wedding procession

Anyway, the bride and groom were all decked out and sitting atop a decked out horse. They were in the middle of a procession of dancers and musicians and general revelers, slowly making their way down the street. The bride looked simply resplendent. The groom looked like a dweeb. I keed, I keed, I’m sure the groom is an upstanding young man and ever the cricket batsman (with many “overs” and “boundaries” and “fours” to his credit. Cricket is weird.)

Decked out on a horse

Sometimes I walk around with a smile on my face. I can’t believe I’m really here. In freakin’ India. Crazy.

There are fireworks going off intermittently outside (if they were inside I would probably have led with that fact). I don’t know why, but they seem to move around. Perhaps part of the wedding?

I’m getting tired (something about that 650mL Kingfisher I drank with dinner) but this is just hilarious. I’m getting a kick out of the security guard at the office. He’s always smiling and so very helpful. When I come in in the morning he opens the office door for me, then opens my private office door, then wants to help me plug in my computer and Ethernet cable, then he turns on the AC in my office. The main office already has AC which I can fully enjoy with my office door open, so I usually just turn the individual unit off shortly after I’ve shooed him away. Today, though, I happened to arrive when he was not at his post. This meant he didn’t have a chance to turn on my AC. But, being the sharp and observant security guard he is, a half hour later or so he walked by, poked his head in and said, “Oh, may I turn on your AC unit for you?” I politely declined. Seriously, it’s like an igloo (snow cave?) in there with that thing on. Then he comes through this afternoon with some air freshener and sprays it around. Really? I know TJ's deodorant sucks but, dude, really? My office door does not stay open on its own. So, he fashioned a doorstop for me out of some scrap of wood. I had to close the door to conduct a phone interview and afterwards I was struggling a bit replacing the scrap. He appears out of nowhere and says, “Please, sir, let me”. I mean, is the dude a security guard or my personal manservant?

I get “sir’ed” so much here it’s silly. You all better start practicing because I’m becoming quite accustomed to it.

I’m going into the office tomorrow to do an interview (yes, on a freakin’ Saturday), then I’m off to explore Chennai with my two new employees. Maybe I’ll even buy a thing or two since some sort of gift-giving holiday is approaching.

I might even have a story or two from my adventures. Not that you’ll see any pictures. Grrrr.

---Eric

2006-12-15T08:27:00.000-08:00

12.15.06, 2:20pm – CTS Offices, Chennai, India.

Just got back from lunch. Senthil took me to a vegetarian place down the street. It was about a 10 minute walk. That’s the most I’ve walked around Chennai to this point. It’s just crazy interesting. Busy, loud, people everywhere, some dude pushing a covered cart selling something dark, looked like rice, out of a cast iron bowl that he would hit with an iron spoon and make a sound like a bell. A small little food stand next to a guy ironing clothes at a roadside table next to a shop selling LCD Sony Wega TVs. I really wish there was a way to capture the environment here. I have a feeling I’m going to get back with a bunch of pictures of street scenes that will all look the same to everyone. If I ever take any pictures, that is. I’m so bad at that. However, Girish has informed me that there is no social taboo around taking people’s pictures, so now I have no excuse. Time for whitey to bust out the camera.

Shops near the office.

Goods on display at a hardware store.

The restaurant was good. Easily the best food I’ve had since I got here. Mmm…channa masala. But, no fork and none even offered, so time to eat with my hands. Or, I should say, hand, since they only eat with their right hand here in India. I’m fine with that, but have you ever tried to tear a piece of naan into smaller pieces with just one hand? Try it sometime. I made a gallant effort but didn’t succeed too well. It didn’t help that the food came out on a misshapen plastic plate that spun around when I pushed against it. I would occasionally sneak my left hand up to stop the plate from spinning, but I managed to avoid using my left hand on my food.

As I was in the elevator coming back up I realized that Kevin and Scott would have a hard time here. That elevator makes ME feel tall. I swear there’s maybe 8-10 inches of clearance between my head and the ceiling. The offices, too, have low ceilings. I can reach up and touch the ceiling with my arm still bent. In fact, I just did so. I’m guessing 7 ft ceilings?

The trim piece on my desk is about a quarter-inch too wide for the table top. This results in an edge that sticks up all the way around the border of the desk. Mother lover but that sucks to rest my wrists on. I’m totally going to come back with nerve damage.

---Eric

2006-12-15T08:26:00.000-08:00

12.15.06, 9:15am – CTS Offices, Chennai, India.

Back in the office and my freakin’ network connection is down again. It’s amazing how much I can not get done without the network. No email, no access to the network files, no nuthin’.

I have an update from Girish (who, I realized I have failed to tell you, is the manager here at CTS) about the guys on the runway. He didn’t have a definite answer, but he seems to think maybe they are workers at the airport. Something about upgrades and construction being done at the airport (maybe to the runways) so when a plane comes in they get out of the way and go sit in the shade. Excuse me? Seriously? Do they get hazard pay for that? I’m dubious. OSHA would have a field day with that one.

The first evening cab ride I took (back on Tuesday, I think it was) I staring idly out the window at the passing sights when I noticed a mosquito flying around in the cab. My first reaction was to brush it off and ignore it, but then I remembered, Malaria! Dengue Fever! And I had completely spaced applying repellent that day! Suddenly I was swatting and clapping and making a general ruckus in the backseat of the cab. My driver looks back at me and says, “Mosquito?” “Yes”. Resume flailing. Now there are like 10 mosquitoes in the cab. They’re multiplying! I’m doomed. As a last ditch idea I open the window. It works. They all get sucked out the window and I’m saved. I’m an idiot.

Don’t worry, Mom, applying repellent is part of my morning ritual now. That and my Malaria pill and my EmergenC packet.

This morning someone was smoking in the restaurant during breakfast. I didn’t even really smell it (they must have good ventilation) but it was a shock when I looked over and this big euro-looking dude with a mustache is puffing away. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone smoke in a restaurant since I was in Europe with the seestor. No one seems to smoke here, it seems. I haven’t seen a single Indian smoking. As opposed to Europe where everyone smokes. Everyone. And India is considered the third world country. Indeed.

More from the flight out here: Singapore Air (a very nice airline, by the way) has that cool thing where they show you where you are during the flight. I looked at it at one point and it said we were over Siberia. I opened the shade and looked out at a snow-covered hilly wasteland for as far as the eye could see. Just breathtaking. There were a few rivers but no roads anywhere. It was a truly amazing sight.

Ok, I’m off to the conference room to see if the network connection in there is working.

---Eric

2006-12-15T08:25:00.001-08:00

12.14.06, 1:50pm – CTS Offices, Chennai, India.

I just had lunch with Senthil. He seems nice. He was explaining cricket to me. I managed to get a feel for the game while watching it early this morning (the England vs. Australia Ashes series) but Senthil filled in some of the gaps. We ate at the restaurant on the ground floor of the office building. I had beef marsala. It was pretty good. I regretted getting the beef though. The meat was of questionable quality. At least it was cooked to death. I bit into a pepper at one point that was freakin’ hot. Luckily the heat didn’t last long, but it did make me hiccup. That’s a first. I’ve heard of people hiccupping from hot food but that’s the first time it’s happened to me.

Senthil is nice. He lives in Chennai with his mom and cousin. He commutes by motorcycle (7km to the office). If the traffic is bad it takes him 45 minutes to go 7km. That’s crazy slow. He has a bachelor’s in math and a master’s in computer applications. I guess that’s why he has this cush job as a QA grunt. I wonder if he feels like his talents are being wasted? I’ll try to keep him busy with some technical stuff to keep him occupied.

The elevator in the building is crazy. It’s all old school style with the two sliding doors you have to slide by hand. An outer door that is baffled and an inner door that is the standard metal diamond lattice (I’m sure my wife knows the correct technical name for it) you see in the old movies. Anyway, the elevator is tiny and, um, doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence. The emergency light is just an empty socket. I thought about taking a picture of that. It’s a good example of a pretty typical sight. Everything here seems to be rundown. It’s hard to believe anything was ever new. The buildings look like they’re going to collapse and everything is so dirty. My hotel is really the only exception. I think I will take a break later this afternoon and go snap some pictures outside. Western tourism on display. Screw it.

When I walked past later there was laundry hanging on a line in front of the building.

This place is next door to the one above.

Back to work.

---Eric

2006-12-15T08:25:00.000-08:00

12.14.06, 12:20pm – CTS Offices, Chennai, India.

Well, my network connection is down, so it’s a good opportunity to write another entry. Unfortunately, the connection went down right in the middle of an IM session with Christen. How rude. I hate conversations that end abruptly when I’m half a world away.

I just interviewed my first candidate. He was pretty strong technically. He gave me some hope that maybe we will be able to replace Joseph (the current NI WinRunner guru) if and when we lose him.

One strange cultural thing here is when people are agreeing with you, or making generally affirmative body language, they shake their head back and forth. It’s almost looks like the western “no” head shake but it’s more of a side-to-side motion with the top of the head. It’s as if they are trying to touch their ear to their shoulder, then the other ear to the other shoulder. But not so extreme. More like little shakes side to side. It was hard to get used to, but once I remembered their culture does this to mean “yes” I calmed down. “Why are these guys shaking their heads at me? What could they possibly be disagreeing with? Do what I say!” Ok, just kidding on that last one.

Nothing new to report on the jetlag front. I managed to sleep until 3:30 this morning. I guess it’s getting better. I really should’ve brought some melatonin or something. I even read about it on Lauren’s blog and still forgot to buy some. I guess I could check to see if they have it in any stores here.

I tried the Chinese restaurant in the basement of the hotel. That was the spiciest Szechuan Chicken I’ve ever had. It sure was good though. I tried the rooftop bar last night. Nice views. It was packed so I didn’t get served after waiting about 5 minutes, so I just left. It was 10pm and I was tired anyway.

I wandered around in front of the hotel this morning before my driver showed up. I tried to take some good pictures of the crazy traffic and the scene around the hotel. It was hard to do. I felt like such a western tourist. I suppose I should just suck it up and act like a tourist for 10 minutes to get the good pics. I don’t know what the camera culture is here. This isn’t the culture that thinks cameras steal your soul, is it? I can’t remember. I’ll ask Girish.

The street in front of the hotel in a quieter moment

I’m hoping to get a tour of the city and some shopping, etc from the Navis India guys this weekend. I need to send an email and coordinate that.

Big step today…I told my driver not to come back until 5pm. That means I’ll be eating a meal outside of my hotel. Or I’ll eat the Clif Bar in my backpack (weak). There’s a restaurant in the ground floor of my building. Maybe I’ll try that.

I’m going to go check and see what Ram and Senthil are doing for lunch.

More later.

---Eric

2006-12-15T08:24:00.000-08:00

12.13.06, 8:45pm – CTS Offices, Chennai, India.

Kevin just cancelled the demo that was schedule for 9pm, and my hired car doesn’t get here until 9:30 at the earliest, so I have some time to kill.

Yep, hired car. I guess that’s the easiest way for me to get around out here, but it’s kind of strange. I feel a bit like a rock star. A rock star in a third world country, but a rock star none the less. My driver is nice, but doesn’t speak much English. We say times back and forth to each other “hotel 8:30, office 7 o’clock” things like that. I tried to ask him if he drives a cab all day (because I was curious if he just sat around all day or took other jobs while I’m working, etc) but he wasn’t getting it so I gave up. Quick, if someone doesn’t understand “all day”, what do you say instead? I tried “morning, afternoon, night” and “full day”, even “entire day” (like if he didn’t understand “all” he was going to understand “entire”, nice) but to no avail. That pretty much ended my attempt at conversation. It’s too bad, as we’re going to spend quite a bit of time together.

I must say, I’m glad I have the car. All of the buses I’ve seen are PACKED, with the windows open, etc. I wouldn’t know the first thing about using them. I guess I’d figure it out, but, yeah…

Finally broke one of the bills I’ve been carrying. The poor cashier at the store had to go in the back and get an envelope full of bills to break my 500 Rs note. Of course, I was only buying 24 Rs of bottled water, but, really, I had to break the thing at some point. She just happened to be the unlucky victim. I don’t know how I’m going to break these 1000 Rs notes. Maybe the hotel can do it for me.

Work is going well. I spend a lot of time talking to these guys about the app. Honestly, I don’t know how I ramped up the other crew without visiting them. These guys have so many questions and the explanations can be so complex…no wonder I spend half my days writing emails to my testers.

It’s funny the things that remind you of home. When I was up in the early morning watching soccer, one of the graphics they used on TV had a sound effect every time it came and went. The sound effect sounded just like Finn’s cough when he drinks water too fast.

I’m feeling better today, sleep-wise and adjustment-wise. It was good to IM with the wife for a while. It was also good to go shopping on my own. Just a little affirmation that, yes, I can take care of things. Still haven’t eaten anywhere outside the hotel yet, though. Baby steps. It gives me more respect for what my sister and Brooke and my folks have done. Of course, they prepared a lot more than I did, but, then, they had to.

---Eric

2006-12-14T17:57:00.000-08:00

Hello to everyone from Chennai, India.

This first post is going to be a long one, as it includes my entire travel log up to this point, spanning several days. Oh, and sorry for the lack of photos. My computer isn't recognizing the camera and I didn't bring the camera software with me. If I find a solution I'll start posting pictures.

Enjoy.

12.13.06, 5:30am – Rain Tree Hotel, Chennai, India.

Jeez, what a long trip to get here. The flight from SF to Seoul was loooooong, Seoul to Singapore was longer than I thought it would be (like 6 hrs). Walked around Singapore with Dave (in the middle of the night), slept a few hours at his place, showered, then back on a plane to Chennai.

The Chennai airport was a stark stark contrast to the Singapore and SF airports. Low-ceilinged, dingy, muggy, smelled like my Grandma’s basement. I was pretty sure my bag was not going to show up since it had to hang out in Singapore for 7 hours and make the transfer of airlines. But, after waiting only 15 minutes or so, there it was. A quick trip to exchange a traveler’s check (involving some sort of phone call on the guy’s part) and I was off to figure out…Red Zone or Green Zone?

I had no idea which customs line to get in. I decided I was going to attempt the Green Zone figuring if I was wrong someone would let me know. I walked up to the customs official and handed him my declaration. He barely even looked at it or me so I just walked by him and out of the airport. Why would anyone subject themselves to the Red Zone? I don’t know. I suppose if you have something to declare? Chalk this up to my relative ignorance of international travel. At least I didn’t wait in an unnecessary line.

First impression of Chennai? Third world. For some reason I thought it would be more modern here, but it’s not. Some things are, like the internet, my hotel accommodations, etc. But, really, it’s a far cry from my western comforts. I’m sure it’s just a matter of adjustment, but, wow, what a shock. I guess that’s why it’s called “culture shock”. Oh yeah, I forgot. After we landed and we were taxing to the gate I saw, in the shade of the navigation signs next to the runway, what I thought were monkeys. I don’t even know if there are monkeys in India (I don’t think there are). Nope, it was people. WTF were two guys doing hanging out in the shade next to the runway? Seeing who could go deaf first? I thought I imagined it but then I saw another dude in the shade of a different sign. I need to ask Girish about this.

I found my taxi driver (hired by the hotel) among the throng of other taxi drivers. He was holding a sign with my name on it. That’s a first for me. He offered me bottled water (seal intact!) and we were off to the hotel.

It was about a half hour drive to the hotel and wow, what a trip. I now understand why my mom does not like to look out of the taxi windows when she’s in India. The traffic is just crazy. Tuk tuks (small, motorized, three wheel taxis), motorcycles (almost all with two people on them and very few helmets), taxis, buses, even an ox-drawn cart, all sharing the road. And the lane lines? Why they even bother to drawn them on the roads is a mystery to me. They’re not even guidelines, they’re completely ignored. Even the center stripe (when present, which is seldom) is routinely ignored. Just don’t hit anyone, that seems to be the rule. And these drivers know the dimensions of their vehicles to the inch, or even millimeter. I found myself very surprised that the car I was in didn’t have any scratches or dents on it.

My hotel is nice. Very western, which is comforting. God forbid we should shock all of Eric’s delicate western sensibilities.

I called Girish, we had lunch at my hotel, then we went to the office. I met the QA guys, Senthil and Ram, and the rest of the staff in the office, checked emails, talked a bit with Ram and Senthil, then at about 4:30 I hit the wall. Hard. I went back to the hotel and could barely keep my eyes open.

I miss my wife. Tremendously. Last night was tough. I slept from about 6pm to about 1:30am (with a call from Manickam at about 9:30, welcoming me to India). Then I was up from about 1:30 on. Not good. I watched 2 Barclay’s Premiere League soccer matches on whatever ESPN channel they have here (yay, western culture) and dozed intermittently, when I wasn’t missing my wife or feeling lonely or stressing about work or just being here. It’s kind of stressful being here. Can’t drink the water, can’t eat salads, fruits, dairy. I have to rely on other people to get around. Even something like getting more bottled water…I guess I just go into the store next to the work building. Where's the darn 7-11? It’s just so different here it’s stressful. I’m sure I will settle in but this first chunk of time is tough.

I wish my wife was here. She and I are a good team.

My “wake up” call should happen any minute. I guess I’ll go down and eat breakfast. The hired cab is coming to pick me up at 8:30. I think I’m going to hit the wall early today. I may have to go back to the hotel and nap at some point.

Time to get dressed and go eat some food.

---Eric

2006-12-14T08:58:00.000-08:00

Hello there from rainy San Francisco! I've logged in & set up a username and password - now it's your turn to post the goods. I love and miss you lots! Your lonely wife, Christen