tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67757097070829305912024-03-14T09:33:34.464-07:00mandatory gratuitysandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-31002397068012837602019-03-17T05:59:00.001-07:002023-04-11T11:49:17.786-07:00A New Leash<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My travel (for work) days ended some time ago. After working in the IT field for some 20 years I changed my direction and took up Real Estate photography as a profession.<br />
<br />
I'll miss traveling all over the United States and beyond, staying in hotels I could never afford, and having someone else pay my tab. Then again it's nice not to work with limited sleep, deal with jet lag, eat hotel food, and live out of a suitcase. Traveling for work sounds like fun (for those who've never done it), but the romance soon wears off as you slowly realize you're working harder to maintain your sanity than you are working the actual job.<br />
<br />
<b>So, why Real Estate Photography?</b><br />
<br />
I dabbled in wedding photography, but the stress of it all far exceeds the reward. My oldest brother suggested Real Estate photography and I thought, "Maybe?". At this point, I had no experience in this field. Sure there has been a camera in my hands since before I could ride a bike, but the thought never occurred to take this nifty device with a lens very seriously.<br />
<br />
My brother and his wife started a company and showed me the ropes of interior photography. I was super lucky to be given the knowledge they have learned over the years. After about six months of working with them, I branched off and started my own company called <a href="https://www.sandenphoto.com/" target="_blank">SandenPhoto</a>. It's been a wild ride ever since. There are so many things on the job that have happened over the last few years that have been funny, scary, frightening, and confusing. None of those have anything to do with photography. More later on those stories.<br />
<br />
Until Next Time.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />sandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-22376674525769598402013-04-08T13:59:00.001-07:002023-04-11T11:45:16.870-07:00Grounded.<br />
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I've been grounded.
Not the kind of 'grounded' where you sit in a corner for a time out or
lose your TV privileges for a week. No, I received the ‘we have decided that
there is no budget for travel’ memo. So
there it is; no more waiting in line to drop off luggage, no more TSA fluffing,
and no more amusement via jet lag and cheap drinks. Writing
off subject I found it interesting when you rent a car, the inside smells just
like the inside of a plane, especially on domestic flights. That smell, what is that? It smells like humans, the common dominator of
all types of body odor trapped in vinyl seats and plastic armrests. Imagine the skin oils and dirty sweat ropes condensing
over the years in a hot plane cabin or rental car. Thinking of it that way doesn’t really make
business travel appealing. It’s only
appealing to those who have never done it before, it’s like group sex. Yeah, it sounds good but just make sure you
don’t lose your keys. </div>
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I will continue to write, maybe not about travel but about people. People as in people I don’t
know, strangers – why, because strangers are hilarious, and most of the time they
don’t know it. People that I know are
funny but strangers are magic because they could be anyone; the unpredictable, the
really bad parking jobs, questionable choice of clothing, you really have no
idea what to expect – like that clearance section in the office supply store.</div>
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Traveling will be missed; if it wasn’t so challenging I’m
sure the memories would remain muted and weak.
Thankfully travel was a banquet full of surprises and leftovers. There may be a day that I’ll jump back into
that winged aluminum people tube, but for now, I’ll just watch the planes land
and toast the business passengers with a pint of “ha, ha, bitches!”</div>
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<br /></div>
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Until Next Time.</div>
sandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-74506273350312616832012-01-17T12:14:00.002-08:002023-04-11T11:41:22.010-07:00The Standoff<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Didn’t feel like driving so I had them pick me up. You know who they are; those people who drive the special blue van that smells like a taxi cab rear-ended a cheap hotel. 5:15am came earlier than expected, then again who expects 5:15am other than insomniacs and the bakery staff. The share rides are like playing Russian Roulette in Canada. I have no idea where the Canadian reference comes in but that’s not important right now. This morning I was the last to be picked up, and we made it to LAX in record time. The ride there was quiet and dark. The sun wasn’t awake yet and all you could see were the city lights and the dim yellow haze which blanketed the horizon. Our driver was speeding, I am not sure why, maybe he was trying to kill the boredom. It was a stark contrast between the quiet squeaks and muffled road noise inside to the blistering speeds of insanity outside. The guy next to me had his head hung low near his palms. His face was slightly illumined by the pale blue light of his phone. He was stooped, still, and held no expression. The only movements he had were the slight jostles from our economy carriage on this uneven highway; it was like sharing a ride with a modernized zombie.<br />
<br />
I was waiting for the plane at Gate 32, observing people as they make preparations for the flight. There was this toddler that stood out; even being a little guy he had a certain presence. We made eye contact and he gave me that “look”. Oh great, I’ve been marked. Luckily he was quickly distracted by a stuffed animal and laser sounds. Made the usual rounds and found a comfy chair to wait out the remaining time before boarding. I placed my boarding pass on top of my laptop bag, then without warning, that stealthy little toddler showed up at my feet and grabbed my boarding pass. I looked down and he slowly lifted his head and started giggling. For a brief second, he became silent, grinned, and started to lean to his left as if he was going to make a run for it. I didn’t want to make any sudden movements –afraid he would take off. We locked eyes and remained still; I was in a standoff with a toddler. To my horror, he slowly opened his mouth and started to move my boarding pass toward that irretrievable abyss. I placed my hand out as a last-ditch effort to resolve our differences, then his parents jumped into the scene retrieved my boarding pass, and pacified him with bright colors and a banana. I got up and walked over to the gate and in the faint distance, I could hear that little guy's giggle. It was an evil, evil, giggle. It was time to head to Atlanta for a layover and then to my final destination, Philadelphia.<br />
<br />I have talked to many people over the years while on a plane but I will not soon forget passenger 12D. To be continued. (imagine music from Joe Harnell being played)<br />
<br />
Until Next Time.sandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-17164911365223473092011-09-17T09:14:00.001-07:002023-04-11T11:38:17.609-07:00Travel Time<div>
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<br />
So this time I drove, it felt odd not parking in an airport. After logging in just under fifty flights over the last five years one goes into an automatic passenger mode. If I even get near an airport my mind starts churning and mixing like a 1980s ice cream maker. Airports have a way of conditioning you; the public becomes cattle caught in a twisted Rube Goldberg machine of security checkpoints and overpriced croissants. It’s fantastic.<br />
<br />
But not today, I am driving to my destination; heading south riding the caustic artery of LA’s 405. It's 4:18am and the sun hasn’t dared to look over the horizon, yet. The road comes fast at this time of day, rolling with the school of big rigs that surround me. I felt like a fly on the back of a wild buffalo caught in a running herd rumbling through the lands. This is the only way to travel. </div>
<br />
<br />
<div>
About halfway to my destination, my throat was dry from the black coffee and my stomach finally woke up. I am sure the stomach was wondering what the hell was going on and why we were up so damn early. I consider myself a morning person but really I think the only reason why one is so energized in the early hours is that they actually are going through the shock that in fact, they are awake. That is a subject I will get into later but not now. I have to eat. Pulled over, grabbed a bite, and made my way south to San Diego. </div>
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<div>
<br />
The traffic coagulated a bit just north of the city but it was quite manageable. The sun started to make a slow climb into the morning sky. Driving through downtown this early is a bit eerie. Quiet, only a handful of people on the streets almost no traffic, and most of the street lights hung on solid green. It felt like the entire city was a movie backdrop. Have I entered Façade Diego? Hotel parking was easy but at $26 a day it damn well better be easy. Checked in; they put me at the top floor. It’s a nice view, one of the few times my view didn’t consist of a parking structure or a rusted rooftop peppered with air conditioners. I unpacked and took a few minutes to gaze out the window. Small boats dotted the bay while huge military ships were docked nearby. It’s good to be American. </div>
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<br />
Until Next Time. </div>
sandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-21902858634482428082011-06-06T09:48:00.001-07:002023-04-11T11:31:19.548-07:00Four Hours, 12 Ounces, and Three Years.<div>
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The airport was full for a Thursday morning. I mean who travels this early on a Thursday? Glad I got there when I did, the American Airlines terminal was packed will all types of travelers. Waiting at the gate, laptop in hand looking at what the weather is like in New York, I’m not even going to New York. Holy crap it's early - who invented this time anyway? Then it hit me, a child’s toy smacked me in the head, and there was a moment of silence that was broken by the hysterical laughter of a toddler. That kind of laugh that only a child has, a mix of hysteria and evil. You can’t be mad because laughing is one of the few contagious things that you don’t mind being around. I turned to my left and there she was, maybe three or four. The child had crazy hair like a static bomb exploded in a blond factory. She smiled and gave me that eye; I knew she was planning something.<br />
<br />
We boarded the plane; someone was sitting in my seat. The guy requested that we switch seats so he could sit next to his son. So I took his seat on the other side, which of course was right behind the little girl who hit me in the head with her inflatable bat. It seems her plan is coming to fruition. When I set down I looked up and saw her little fingers wrap over the top of the seat, her head slowly crept up and as soon as we made eye contact she started that evil chuckle. Great, the three-year-old toddler with crazy hair knows I’m here – within striking distance. <br />
<br />
All was quiet in 35a until about halfway into the four-hour flight. Catastrophe struck. I had a glass full of Ginger Ale sitting on the placemat in front of me. Then without warming the icy cold beverage from Canada decided to commit suicide just as I was pulling out a magazine. For my convenience, the ginger ale chose my lap as a good place to end its life. Now here is where things start to get interesting. I am wearing tan pants, not jeans but cotton pants that are tan. Hey look my lap now look like the bladder has gone full release. Great, now what - the girl next to me had that look of awkward disgust. The first words out of my mouth were “Did you see that? A typhoon just flew in my pants!” Almost on cue, the toddler sitting in front of me poked her head over the seat and started laughing in the language of Hysterics.<br />
<br />
Two hours to go, sitting in a wet seat with wet pants. I then realized that in this situation with no change of clothes nearby there really isn’t anything I can do. Using the air nozzle to dry my pants was a valiant but feeble effort. All I could do is wait and think about dry things.<br />
Until Next Time<br />
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</div>
sandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-9652659524765455052010-11-08T06:42:00.001-08:002023-04-11T11:28:28.630-07:00This taxi gets five near death experiences per mile.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It’s another one of those coast jumper trips, you know the drill – wait in line to be frisked by underpaid blue-gloved TSA agents. I carry network equipment with me, lots of it. It’s the arteries of my occupation and a direct path to my financial well-being. It’s sensitive in nature so in no way am I going to ship it, especially UPS (can’t trust those brown short-wearing ship jockeys). Where was I? Oh yeah, the airport. Due to my amazing luck and the equipment I tether TSA loves me. When my bag runs through the X-ray scanner it takes at least three agents to look at the screen and ponder. I think they get excited because it gives them something to do and the profile of my bag looks like cables attached to a bomb that looks suspiciously like a Cisco router, and lord knows they can’t let a Cisco router on board an airplane.<br />
<br />
My taxi ride to the hotel had more turbulence than an elephant fart. I should have known what I was getting into when the taxi driver sped up to the curb and slammed on his brakes sliding about three feet past me. The door seemed stuck and I couldn’t get it open, then I heard the taxi driver say, “Just kick it a few times!”. Sure enough, have damage will travel. When getting into the minivan disguised as a cab I noticed open hand prints on the inside of the windows – these looked like marks made by someone getting a panic attack. I knew then, I was in the right cab. The ride to the hotel was one of the most memorable cab rides I have had in years. This guy missed his calling; his driving characteristics were somewhere between a circus act, a stunt driver, and a crash test dummy. We were on the freeway when an ambulance flew by; he proceeded to follow the emergency vehicle like an attached rail car. It was more vehicular sodomy than tailgating. In and out of traffic he followed the sirens like a piece of cheese hung from a wire. After a while, I am assuming the speeding ambulance was too slow so he passed it and moved on. He was changing multiple lanes and cutting people off but what was crazy to me was how to calm his demeanor. Casually moving the steering wheel while a violent fate was making chase. The pure horror locked the muscles in my face and I couldn’t stop smiling. One hand had a death grip on the seat while the other..oh yes, I too was giving the window a panicked high five. The ride came to a halt like air brakes on an old rollercoaster. My head nearly hit the seat in front of me. I told him his driving was awesome and tipped nicely. He smiled and yelled, “Top gun!” while giving me the thumbs up. I wanted to come back with a witty response like “mustard!” but my body was still going through shock from the previous 27 near-death experiences. <br />
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This trip has definitely started on the right path.<br />
<br />
Until Next Timesandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-86118362381108408832010-10-05T13:38:00.001-07:002023-04-11T11:16:16.540-07:00left overs<br />
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<br />
There was this old man (had to be in his late 70s) I used to work with at my first job. He was bald, had a faded navy seal tattooed on his forearm, and smoked Lucky Strikes as if they were a life source. His name was Vince; he worked in the plumbing department at H&E in Hesperia (a local hardware store that smelled like lumber, grease, soil, and sweat. It was cooled by giant swamp coolers so everything felt moist. Every time the desert winds would blow into the store through the automatic doors you could feel your skin shrink under the contrast of environments. Most days I sat with him during lunch and he would tell stories of the war or some adventure he had while stationed in Europe. Although I could not tell which story was actually true he always had a message that went with each of his captivating chronicles.<br />
<br />
My favorite story was about his good friend “James”. Now James was married, however, he was not pleased with his wife. He would bark it up with Vince at the local tavern and tell these horrible stories about his wife. “She couldn’t care less about me – all she does is gripe about money and how useless I am!” This went on and on for several years but James never left, he just hoped that someday it would get better. It was a Saturday, the yard was mowed and the heavy scent of freshly cut grass filled the air. Vince decided to quench his thirst at the tavern before Marge (his wife of 20 years) got home. When he got to the tavern to his surprise he saw his pal James sitting at the bar. “I think she’s cheat’n on me Vince!!” James yelled with a drunken stagger. “Now hold on there Jimmy what’s the matter?” Vince kept the next Scotch from getting near James. “one of these days…I’ll leave her! I mean it!! – Now bug off I need some air!” James stumbled out the door to the blinding light of the sun. He then heard was sounded like a horn..but then it was too late. Without warning a bus that suffered a blown tire ran up the sidewalk and in an instant knocked the life out of James.<br />
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“That was it? That was the story?” I asked. Vince took a deep drag from his filter-less cigarette and sighed. “Now you see James hated his situation but he never left. The longer he stayed the more impossible it seemed to leave. Even when his wife took an interest to the pool guy, he never left. Til that one day, a bus drove by and killed him. So if you are ever in a bad situation; leave as soon as you can, or you’ll never see the bus coming.”<br />
<br />
Until Next Time.sandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-26244620472956213622010-06-06T15:56:00.001-07:002023-04-11T11:09:02.960-07:00Lanyards and The Fall of Axiom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14pxfont-family:courier new;"><strong><br /></strong></span><strong style="color: #333333;">Lanyards; are given as a form of identification at the congresses I travel to. They are much more than just a fancy piece of vinyl that is held at the neck, they are more like badges of honor. Something you receive for spending hours in airports, cramped in coach seats, waiting in line to be strip searched by TSA, and not to mention the ridiculous work hours while under the influence of jet lag. In airport bars, you can make strangers into friends within an hour but you’ll forget who they were in minutes. Traveling for work is a twisted love story of random events and sterno-heated chicken kabobs. A never-ending tale of fatigue-driven lunacy and time zone lobotomy.<br /><br />Dull moments can last forever or never happen – at the same time. The hotel staff is the ghost of service; always moving tables, setting up food dispensaries, and distributing linens – they are often seen but rarely present. The pungency of taxi drivers, the sounds of the street philosophers, and the sights of community college barmaids all play a part in this act; a perpetual sequel to a play that has yet to be written. The immune system is always under siege and the feeling of being “almost sick” is often standard procedure within these grounds.<br /><br />It’s not romantic, polished, or divine. You are never in a place it’s more of a state of mind. Keeping the brain true to the task at hand while dealing with fatigue, hotel nutrition and a hangover can be a challenge but after a while, it all goes numb. Thursdays are Mondays, Fridays are Tuesdays and today will happen sometime tomorrow. Try waking up in a cold sweat because you're late for the meeting only to find out it’s 3am because your mind thinks it’s still in another time zone. After the panic subsides you toss and turn trying to get back into a hold of sleep only to be awakened again by environment unfamiliarity and the adultery happening next door. Hotels are only familiar due to repetition, the smells and paid smiles are often the same. Bad air fresheners’ and stale cold air being pumped through the vents are just part of this element. The rest is made up of controlled situations with uncontrollable circumstances.<br /><br />The experience of the traveler is feeling out of place, and that’s the core of why I’m here. It’s something you look forward to as much as you want it to end, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.<br /><br />Until Next time.</strong>sandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-58966647804991725212010-04-16T04:59:00.001-07:002023-04-11T11:04:14.296-07:00what's in the box?<br />
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Orlando Florida, what can you say? My lungs feel like a moist towelette. I think my room is temperature controlled by a swamp cooler and a gigantic Italian armpit. You cannot purchase chewing gum anywhere in the Disney World properties. It’s banned, like a steak sandwich in India. I had two beers in the makeshift bar that was in a hallway next to a really loud fountain and an unassuming triangle.<br />
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There are a lot of people wandering the halls, and most of them are on their phones or reading text messages. This leads to an interesting phenomenon; no one is looking where they are walking. I have witnessed several collisions with unsuspecting structures baring pylons and hotel staff. We had a rogue squirrel run into the hotel and attempted to enter one of our highly sensitive meetings; fortunately for us our security team (which are ex-secret servicemen) was able to corner the squirrel and force him back outside. <br />
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When scheduling a shuttle for transportation to the airport (on the web) there is a line for gratuity. So, they want you to tip before you even get “serviced”. What is that all about? Speaking of awesome, we paid $3200 for an internet line in our meeting room with speeds that peak at about 512Kb, that’s less than half the speed of the slowest DSL service. It took 12 seconds for that Google page to show up. It cost $8 dollars to use the gym that looks more like a Salvation Army break room. That's $8 per visit. <br />
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They have a lifeguard that’s armed with a megaphone, she really likes using the siren and yelling at people who look like they’re having too much fun. She is sitting on a highchair about 5 feet above the water and overlooks a knee-deep pool that’s about 15 feet long. It looks completely ridiculous because it is. <br />
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Disney employs “undercover” trash collectors. They look like tourists but carry a hidden trash bag, whenever there is paper or something unmentionable on the ground they pick it up at speeds far too fast for modern equipment to calculate. It’s equally impressive as it is disturbing. I still have three more days of this socialist menopause. <br />
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Until next time.sandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-60734305337361665802010-02-09T07:42:00.001-08:002023-04-11T10:53:13.921-07:00Under the Impression<br />
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At another hotel, working at another congress. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or maybe it’s a prolonged exposure to consciousness. Whatever the case the mind is being offered information from the senses that really don’t add up. I feel like a misguided missile of reality, a grenade that suddenly became a boomerang to the unsuspected origin of deployment. There sounds what seems to be a giant dishwasher in the ceiling. My thoughts gather like those pilled stones you find near some beaches that someone wearing a tinfoil hat had stacked previously. That was a lot of work to stack those very small piles of pebbles in line – most of them form some sort of geometric design. The mysterious wonder of people comes in all kinds of shapes, flavors, and semi-glossed laminated coupons. <br />
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I think that giant dishwasher is on its drying cycle. Am I the only one who hears it? There is a large white dry-erase board to the right of my table, when did it show up? I haven’t noticed it until I realized it was there. Just like a mattress store or Carlface McGee. No one ever expects that guy. This meeting room seems to be breathing like a cheap lava lamp. The fax machine feels distant, it must be thinking of a symbiotic relationship and a navy blue can opener equipped with 26 medium-sized easy-grip handles. Sure it’s complicated but who's doing the math? Lunch is being served, maybe I should eat before Dubious the Perudo Master decides to throw the switch and exacerbate my sandwich.<br />
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Lunch just came back from it. Is it me or does eating alone in a really large meeting hall seem a bit odd. I was sitting at a table amongst 47 other white-sheeted eight-foot round tables complete with the cloth napkin apparatus. There were three waiters in black suites standing eerily still. Almost elbow to elbow in an exaggerated Disney’esk perfectly animated posture. In the corner of my eye, I noticed one waiter standing alone. About 34 feet, 8 inches from the others, he however was not still, constantly shifting his weight from one leg to the other as if he was impatiently waiting for nothing to happen. His movement was slow and rhythmic, you could almost set your watch to him. So I did, but he was the wrong time – stupid Grandfather Clock pendulum impersonator. I was sitting in the middle of this empty room and the hotel had these small speakers on very tall poles playing inappropriately fast jazz. You know that kind of jazz that jumps into your skin and slaps around like a hyperactive cool handkerchief stuck between a warm back and a hot sweater. Yes, it was almost near comfortable. <br />
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The fatigue is settling in as the day is near to end. <br />
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Until Next Time.sandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-27297651637856398242009-12-07T15:34:00.001-08:002023-04-11T10:50:16.107-07:00Let me run it bayou again.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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New Orleans, where do I start. Ah yes, how about here. It was pretty chilly when we got here, around 36 degrees and the wind was blowing. My light jacket was there for ascetics – it really wasn’t built to be a weather deterrent. At least the thought was there. The hotel was nice, the staff was friendly and the rooms were what you’d expect at a business-orientated establishment.<br />
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The hotel had some power issues in our conference room, the “engineers” were trying to figure out why only part of the room had power. Well, one bright fellow saw a large plug (220 volts to the 110-volt converter) in the wall which happened to be powering all my networking equipment, and apparently thought that if he unplugged it and plugged it back in magically it would somehow solve the power issue. Before I could pronounce the “F” in DON’T he pulled the socket and all you could hear was the faint “clicks” of the equipment powering off followed by the cooling fans spinning to a stop. I slowly inhaled and created a handmade fist. Standing straight up and still as a metal piece of mysterious art deco I glared at the “engineer” – he looked back at me holding the pin of the “oops grenade”. I wasn’t quite sure how to express my displeasure, all I got out was, “No.” He slowly grabbed his walkie-talkie clicked the transmitter creped it up to his face while keeping eye contact, then said “Where’s the food for the Poydras meeting room, they need beer and wine too – lot’s of it!” Placed his transmitter back on his shoulder and quietly walked out of the room. Being a fan of uncomfortably surreal moments I was impressed by how he made his get-a-way. Nonetheless, I had to make the call to his supervisor. Thankfully the equipment survived the spontaneous shutdown, they found out about the power issue and we were back in business. It’s been three days now and I still have not seen that “engineer”. Now I wonder if I can disable the motion sensor in this room. Every four minutes the lights turn off if they don’t sense any motion. So, I either flail my arms like a bird or get up and walk around a bit until the lights turn on. It’s one of the more frustrating exercises I’ve ever experienced.<br />
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Until Next Time.sandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-62325780954123064822009-12-06T12:14:00.000-08:002009-12-06T12:16:32.770-08:00Over Diagnosis Syndrome and the Antidepressant Happy AmericaIt seems that these days there is a “syndrome” for everything that could be wrong with us. I view it as an excuse for our shortcomings and lack of personal responsibility. Why is it no one’s fault anymore? If I don’t practice my golf swing and my game is horrible does that mean I have GPAD (golf performance anxiety disorder)? Typically I treat GPAD with some eloquently chosen vulgarity followed by several beers; it seems to work for most flare ups. Where did all these disorders come from? If we put a name of a disorder on every fault does that one feel better? Its like a built in isopathic mechanism that leads to abandoning ownership of ones inability to take the steps to improve the situation. Don’t we need to place some responsibility on ourselves and take control of our own lives instead of raising our hands in the air proclaiming immunity to our own actions? To put simply; bad beginnings usually equate to bad results. There are plenty of people with disorders that truly need help however I think there are a lot more people who proclaim their affliction and diagnose themselves by means of a convincing daytime talk show and or a stylish pharmaceutical ad campaign. It’s so much easier to blame your tardiness to morning traffic then to admit you actually got up too late. One my favorite tag lines for a diet pill commercial is “it’s not your fault that you are fat”. Just think about that one for awhile. There has never been a time that we have had access to antidepressants with such high efficacy then now. So why is it that we have more depression cases reported per capita in history? Over 190 million prescriptions for antidepressants filled in 2007 alone. Ever wonder what we did before anti-depressants? It’s called, dealing with it (life). I’m off to the driving range - with my mini-keg, Until Next Time.sandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-71753686650322243472009-12-06T06:50:00.000-08:002023-04-11T10:33:00.182-07:00force feedbackJust another day at LAX; waiting in line to get screened and pushed through the metal arch of the detecting kind. After showing my ID to the impressively bored TSA agent I noticed there were about a dozen preteen girls that must have been part of some sort of cheerleading squad. Either that or they were really enthusiastic about almost everything shiny while wearing eerily identical attire. I knew I had to make it to the “Arch” before they did or the wait would be extended to a point of a gnome-crafted treadmill. Besides, I’ll be stuck with the Bluetooth Texan and his over-caffeinated aviophobia wife – that much longer. They were entertaining at first but then the annoyance helicopter landed. It was time; I was released to go to my gate free of pink ponytails and suspended hyperactive neurosis - free at last…to wait in another line. The flight was smooth, but a little turbulent during the approach, I was thinking maybe the plane is afraid of landing. Then the mind wandered off probably due to the astounding nutrition two bags of peanuts and a shot of ginger ale bring. What if a plane was afraid to fly, how horrible would that be? So, it started to make sense – I think turbulence is caused when a plane realizes he or she is flying and then freaks out.<br /><br />After stretching a bit I placed on the headphones leaned back all 4 1/2 degrees (thanks coach) and fell fast asleep. I had yet another onslaught of crazy dreams and subconsciously created worlds that swirled visions and mattress sale propaganda throughout my head. My own snoring woke me up like a fart in church – I quickly looked around like a prairie dog as if exaggerating my awareness would soften the unorganized embarrassment. Ahhh alas, maybe no one heard, what time is it? Oh great, we are not even off the tarmac. The stewardess seemed too happy to be alive, she smiled showing her outrageously white, perfectly squared Chiclet teeth. I could almost see an anime rogue glimmer spin-off her smile into the sky making a metallic high pitch sound that echoed through the plane's cabin. I can’t recall last time I was that startled and entertained at the same time.<br /><br />We landed safely in New Orleans. For now I thought the adventure was behind me; I had NO idea what was going to happen next.<br /><br />Until Next Time.<br /><br />- dsandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-58585830139385500022009-11-10T10:58:00.001-08:002009-11-10T10:58:51.734-08:00bacon needs no salesmen, bacon sells baconCurrently enjoying the weather in fun filled Orlando, Florida. (ahh geez did I say that?) Last night was the first time I saw it rain.. UP. This place is ridiculous.. Crazed children cranked up on sugar and the ever present Disney euphoric effect. Kids running and screaming like an open nerve attached to a fire hydrant. Complete candied coated chaos mixed with family orientated techno music makes this part of Disneyworld a never ending conveyer belt of childhood evanescence. We are in the Disney bubble; 35 miles away from normality and average consumer products. If the hotel doesn't have it you're not getting it. The hotels are surrounded by water which is outlined by a wooden boardwalk full of cotton candy, hired street magicians and arcades. Amongst the building facades and imitation sea life there lays a hidden Mecca. By way of complete accident I found it, a real brewery. So there I stood in a gasp, in fact I had to ask if they actually brew beer or was this another one of Disney's evil tricks. When the hostess confirmed; yes in fact they do serve the beer they brew I responded like a child on Christmas morning.. who got everything they wished for. So I guess the sign in front was right, " Disneyworld, where wishes come true". It's about that time; people meeting and talking; confirming, coughing, grunting, an occasional secret handshake combined with broken wind, and some guy who whispers the word "etcetera" in the background. So, it's about that time. Work waits with a patient grin.sandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-36175969709338102742009-11-10T10:45:00.001-08:002023-04-11T10:23:03.141-07:00beer, interruptedLast night was like a fun little trinket that suddenly changed into an exploding blanket made out of flaming razor blades and barbeque sauce. Painful but a bit tangy.<br /><br />It was raining so I took a bicycle taxi to a brewery; that was a first. It was novel for a bit but then I realized I was sitting directly behind the “enemy”. The only redeeming fact was that the taxi driver (rider) plowed through the crowded sidewalks sending people off the curb. The entertainment value alone motivated my tip.<br /><br />It was time for some beer, hot wings, and football. <br /><br />You know those girls who are sitting alone at a bar slowly nursing their drink and waiting for a conversation? Keep away, unless you have a backup (a friend with you). This was the lesson I learned while watching college football at the local brewery. She was a mix between a lost hippy and 51% Native American - probably in her 40s. The kind of woman who sells birthstones, wind chimes, and Indian paintings at the local swap meet. She was a Scareman, like a Scarecrow but with less straw. I was sitting at the bar watching a close game between USC and Ohio State and she said something to me I’m sure of it, but didn’t turn my head to her. I think I responded but the game was far too interesting and I didn’t want to dilute my experience. After the game was over I then turned my head raised my glass and said “Evening” – this was my mistake. It was as if I just pulled the pin on a lonely ego grenade attached to an avalanche of megalomania. She talked and talked, and talked and talked, then after that, she proceeded to talk again. I was trapped, the place was packed and there were no other seats available. She finished her beer in between breaths and then gave me that look. Panic started to creep in. I looked at my glass and there was a small sip left; so I pulled back the glass and finished it with joyful sarcasm. “mmmm, now that was a great German Lager” She was still giving me that look – “I think I’ll have another.” So I ordered a pint. She was still there; speechless – as if the empty glass was directly attached to her vocal cords. <br /><br />“So, are you going to buy me a drink?” she asked<br />“Do you need one?”<br />“I’d like one”<br />“They have seven beers on tap here, so you have a lot of choices.”<br />“Are you going to buy one?”<br />“I already have mine.”<br />“never mind”<br /><br />Through defeat she managed to purchase another drink and continued to talk; to no surprise, she picked up right where she left off. “I’m not like usual girls, blah, blah, I get hit on all the time, blah, blah I’m so unusual, I have this, blah, I’ve been here, blah, look at me - I so don’t look my age….etc, etc,….and another exedra. I found myself looking at the numerous televisions and reading small print from a distance trying to find something more interesting. I had half a pint left and didn’t want to pound it; it was a really good beer but the bird perched next to me just didn’t stop squawking. The sound of her voice was interfering with the accuracy of my taste buds. Then the last straw was broken - she quoted Michael Jackson and held her heart in dramatic admiration. “oh, that’s it” thinking to myself. Stood up – grabbed my pint, left a tip, and walked away. I meandered about the establishment until my beer was finished. It annoyed me because great beer was not designed to be finished while standing. As I walked by the bar on my way out I saw her talking to another chap; so I did what any other Lifeguard would do. Walked over and nudged the guy’s shoulder and quietly said, “Have fun with this one” and slowly took my exit. <br /><br />So my lesson was when you see someone and that feeling you get in your stomach that says, “Don’t say anything”? Listen to it and don’t speak a word.<br /><br />Until next time,sandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-26464556954256061412009-11-10T10:42:00.001-08:002023-04-11T10:09:41.145-07:00Philedephia is Phreak’n Awesome (Part 2)This hotel I am working in (different from where I am staying) is terribly perfect. Even if it’s the truth - it’s better to keep names out of public postings. So in place of the hotel name, I will use the nonoffensive words “Septic Handshake”.<br /><br />Septic Handshake Hotel is inconveniently located in downtown Philadelphia. I really have nothing against the city but this particular hotel is the work of a drab queen (yes, drab). Dull brown walls, dirty chandeliers, sticky brass hand railings, and now featuring stained carpets throughout the establishment. What makes this place stand out of the rest has got to be the equally invigorating hotel staff. They are so slow it’s almost painful; like being wrapped in a razor-wire Velcro tuxedo waiting in line at a non-air-conditioned DMV in Bakersfield. The sterno-heated food is awful. Most hotel food has a certain standard of bad – but here at Septic Handshake, they take it to a new level. The egg rolls tasted like a Chinese Salt Lick. I can’t wait what the next culinary installment will be like. Maybe the hamburgers will taste like an uneducated cup holder made of ostrich teets. Either way, this chicken parmesan has no friends; right now my taste buds are the enemy.<br /><br />I have never seen so many stains on the walls and floors of a hotel. Motels with hourly rates look better than this place. Exposed wire, fingerprints, misguided bacon, they have it all. There are huge stains on the carpets obviously from some sort of liquid that was once wet. We overheard that the owners of Septic Handshake are super mega ultra cheap. I’m surprised you don’t have to carpool up the elevator. I think they spray ”liquid truck-stop” in their bathrooms to give that authentic feel. They throw you off guard when you walk in the lobby because at first, it does seem like a nice hotel – but give it time, maybe three or four minutes, and then that realization hammer of misrepresentation slams into a fire hydrant made of pressurized misfortune and unfiltered catastrophe as it explodes with a giant hand placing its soapy middle finger in your mind’s eye.sandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-29678215191223507352009-11-10T09:28:00.001-08:002009-11-10T09:28:57.393-08:00Philedephia is Phreak’n Awesome (Part 1)Another adventure is just beginning. The plane was packed on the way to Philadelphia – there were a few empty seats on the Airbus A321 but here was the fun part. Due to the configuration of the plane they had to have about a dozen large people sit in the back of the plane for takeoff. Now the Airbus A321 is not a small aircraft it can hold around 220 passengers. Everyone looked at each other for answers that did not seem to exist. As usual I was sitting in the aisle seat – it was going to be another fun filled flight across the country. We had an unusually strong tail wind so we got into Philadelphia airspace about a half an hour early however due to the stormy skies we circled the city several times before landing. By the time we got to the gate we were right on time. Lots of fun people on the plane; the head rests made everyone’s hair stand straight up (static) – it looked like a cat rear ended a rooster in a follicle filled light socket.When I finally got to the hotel (which was located in between nowhere and somewhere else) relief was quickly diverted to disaster. It was cold and raining and the hotel lobby lights fluttered and went out. After waiting in the dark for a bit the lights went on and everything resumed back to normal. In short they didn’t have a record of my reservation. After a ricochet conversation with the management I finally got my room. All 1970’s of it. They gave me a suite –it came with its own boardroom complete with cheap rickety chairs and an oval meeting table strong enough to hold up an Arkansas tourist leaflet. The bathroom smelled like mildew and the TV looked like it came from the community collage AV department. Good thing I fit right in-between the lumps in the mattress. Ahh, home at last.I took a chartered bus from the hotel to downtown and the bus driver got lost. He dropped all of us off six blocks away from where the brochure told it would take us. Had to take a taxi; the cab had his back window rolled down (please note its 40 degrees and raining) so the back seat was soaked and the door didn’t close all the way. I had to hold on for dear life because there were no seat belts - the cab driver didn’t know where the hotel was I needed to go but eventually I arrived unscaved. At this time I haven’t even started working – and I’ll be here for five days.sandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6775709707082930591.post-35908189484720576832009-11-02T00:22:00.000-08:002023-04-11T09:33:35.231-07:00rogue sounds and the ladder menAh, back in San Diego - the hotel is quite nice, and for once I actually have a decent view; not that I could really do anything with the view but it is a good change from the typical alley, weathered rooftop and or trashy parking lot view in which I am normally blessed by. We are in a conference room in the basement of the hotel; come to think of it most conference rooms are underground. Here is where it gets fun – in basements is where there are pipes; these pipes usually carry water and a lot of it. Sometime around 8:30am this morning I was sitting at a table eating breakfast in our conference room when there was a very loud screeching sound that came from the ceiling - followed by a bang, and then what appeared to be a distorted elephant screaming through a rusty tuba under water. This sound carried down the halls and into another meeting room where there were some very important people talking about really important things. This horrific sound didn’t stop, it did waiver in pitch however which made it extra annoying. It was almost funny to see the people in suits attempting to ignore the sound as they rubbed their chins leaning back in the brown polyester meeting chairs. Within minutes the hotel maintenance crew came running down the hall armed with hard hats, tool belts, and 8-foot collapsible ladders followed by a guy with a clipboard humming the Monday Night Football tune. After some grunting and pointing the men came up with a game plan and proceeded to venture into the ceiling looking for the source of this sonorous event. At approximately 9:00am Pacific Standard Time the horrific sound came to an end. I am not sure what they did exactly but it must have been impressive because the maintenance crew gave themselves high fives, grabbed their gear, and walked out like a peacock doused in liquid pride. The hotel staff just brought in the coffee and scone cart - all is well in the Solana Meeting Room.sandenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09101797382950490171noreply@blogger.com0