It's not a good thing when you come back to a hotel after six months away and the valet still remembers your name. But you learn some interesting things on the road. Some are even useful. I thought I'd share a few.
aLoft
My loyalty to the Starwood chain is rivaled only by Terry Francona's loyalty to Jason Varitek. Starwood's new mini-W is not a bad place to stay, but the lobby plays non-stop techno like it's a Martini Lounge in downtown Denver with a $2 martini happy hour. And it smells like your dorm room that was hastily cleaned before your parents arrived for a weekend visit. In other words, you strolled in 20 minutes before their arrival and tried to cover up the smell of weed by dumping imitation Pine Sol all over the floor and burning 15 sticks of incense.
The Other Benefit of Being Well-Read
When jumping on a plane, always take a hardcover or large paperback book. Not necissarily to read, but the next time you find yourself next to someone weighing 3 bills and they "spill" over the armrest you'll need that book to wedge inbetween you and your arm rest. And if you're thinking that this doesn't solve the upper body spillover, I've yet to encounter someone who didn't lean the other way after feeling that book push them back across the Mason-Dixon line.
Ever Wonder What Dubya's Been up to?
If you ever find yourself in Dallas tune into the local AM sports talk radio station. In the post-work drive time slot they have a host that sounds exactly like George W. Bush. At first I was jarred when hearing a dead-ringer of our best 21st century two-term President offer half baked thoughts on the Cowboys... but it feels like a natural fit after about 5 minutes. Jimmy Carter builds houses, Bill Clinton gives speeches, George W Bush talks football. Yup, everything is right in the world.
The Legend of Frank Dux
If you have a 3+ night stay in a hotel I guarantee you'll catch Bloodsport on Versus at least once if you turn on your TV after 10:00 pm. And in 15 years someone will be writing the same thing about The Transporter.
The "Entertainment" of In-Flight Entertainment is Used Loosely
The best movies I've seen on a flight: Transformers, In Burges, Bottle Shock and Ratatouille. I consider two of those movies watchable. But the selection of movies does move you to ponder the larger philosophical question of how Ryan Reynolds continues to find work. Personally I thought he would have peaked with Blade III.
And remember that Valentine's Day episode of The Office? And the Phyllis/Bob Vance of Vance Refridgeration restaraunt scene? Well, on the plane they felt this scene pushed the envelope a bit too far and it's cut out completely because it's OK to let robots blow up downtown LA but subtly indicating that a married couple decides to take a quick break during their lunch break is strictly off limits. In short, make sure you load up the podcasts before you depart.
And You Would Be?
Apparently this guy is a big deal. And apparently I'm getting old... because I talked with this guy for an hour before I had to ask him who he was after the third person asked me to take their picture with him. Conversely, when a handful of the 2008 Boston Red Sox bellied up to the bar at the Pasadena Westin before an exhibition series with the Dodgers it took me about 5 seconds to figure out who they were. Douchey.
Quick Hits
International red carpet lounges = free drinks. Domestic red carpet lounges = pay for drinks. Important distinction.
When they ask you to turn off all electonic devices shut it down. If you're so friggin' important why in the hell are you flying coach?
St. Ives is very different from St. Ides. Not really a travel learning but the St. Ives commercial just aired and my mouth started to water because I didn't make the distinction at first. On a related note (this commerical is also airing), I give the George Lopez show an over/under of 4 weeks. In other words, the promotion of the show during the playoffs will last longer than the show itself. See Frank TV for historical precedence.
Drinking out of those airline bottels is always a treat because it reminds me of the best dive bar on the East Coast. But it's even a bigger treat when you see someone in a suit double up on the Monday 6:00 am flight out and chase it with an Egg McMuffin.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
You Don't See This in The Economist Everyday
As a subscriber of The Economist I'm looking for two things. One, a point of view other than the "Obama should be deified" and "Obama is the anti-Christ" lenses that the U.S. media offers. Two, reading The Economist on the train makes me look smarter than I actually am. And unlike Penthouse Forum, it doesn't get me any dirty looks.
So I was flipping through the October 10th issue and was getting to the end. This is the point in which I usually just look at the job ads to see if the International Monetary Fund is in the market for a monolingual chap with less financial acumen than Lenny Dykstra. And there's always an obit. Usually it's for a very distinguished economist, politician or scholar, but this one caught my attention.
The Economist does a much better job eulogizing this man but let me offer my thoughts. At the age of 14 he is orphaned, but instead of disappearing into obscurity he goes to school and becomes fluent in 3 languages. That story upon itself is After School Special worthy, but we're not even halfway home. You see, Mr. Edelman was Polish. And Jewish. And it's 1939 in Warsaw.
Unless you're Mel Gibson Sr you don't need a history lesson on how being Jewish in Warsaw in 1939 is probably the worst set of circumstances one could find yourself in... Stalin to your East, Hitler to your West. @$*&, that's not good. Even Dana Barrett had someone to turn to when she was turned into a dog by an obscure 19th century religious cult.
And Mr. Edelman had some notice. He was a messenger and regularly journeyed out of the ghetto, so he got an early wind of what the Nazi's were up to. He didn't run. He didn't hide. He did what even the bravest could talk of doing in a hypothetical sense, he took up arms and organized an armed resistance against the Nazis in the ghetto. And when the ghetto burned to the ground he continued to resist the Nazis, ultimately participating in the Warsaw uprising of 1944. That moves us from After School Special territory to a direct-to-video movie starring Michael Ironside. But it doesn't stop there.
After Poland is "liberated" he doesn't leave Poland, getting a medical degree, becoming a noted cardiologist and staying in Poland until the day of his death. And all during this time he was active politically in a number of organizations that weren't exactly in good status with the communist powers in Poland, at one point getting interned. But once again Mr. Edelman outlasted his opponent; he lived to eventually serve in the post-communist Polish Parliament. Now we're officially in Oscar winning Spielberg flick starring Russell Crowe and Daniel Craig.
But just to add a little more intrigue, Mr. Edelman smoked two packs of heaters a day... and lived to 90. So, to sum it up, he faces down being orphaned at 14; Hitler, the Nazis and Stalin at 20; and communist rule and heart disease for his last 60 years. This guy is making every character John Wayne ever played look like Stuart French.
So my words can't do this man justice. Nor can Adam Sandler's. So let me leave you with the opening paragraph to Mr. Edelman's obit in The Economist.
"HE WAS sure that once he started fighting, he was going to die. No point in being scared about it. Death was death; there was nothing more, nothing bigger, that could happen to him. At least in this way, taking up arms, he could die on his own terms rather than theirs. His time, his place. Suicide would have been another way to do it, but he never considered that. Going to the gas chamber or the mass grave with quiet, considered dignity, like many of the residents of the Warsaw ghetto, was another way: far more admirable and more difficult, he thought, than running through random bullets as he did. But it was not for him. Only by dying as publicly as possible, loudly and with his gun blazing, could he let the world know what the Nazis were doing to the Jews in Poland."
So I was flipping through the October 10th issue and was getting to the end. This is the point in which I usually just look at the job ads to see if the International Monetary Fund is in the market for a monolingual chap with less financial acumen than Lenny Dykstra. And there's always an obit. Usually it's for a very distinguished economist, politician or scholar, but this one caught my attention.
The Economist does a much better job eulogizing this man but let me offer my thoughts. At the age of 14 he is orphaned, but instead of disappearing into obscurity he goes to school and becomes fluent in 3 languages. That story upon itself is After School Special worthy, but we're not even halfway home. You see, Mr. Edelman was Polish. And Jewish. And it's 1939 in Warsaw.
Unless you're Mel Gibson Sr you don't need a history lesson on how being Jewish in Warsaw in 1939 is probably the worst set of circumstances one could find yourself in... Stalin to your East, Hitler to your West. @$*&, that's not good. Even Dana Barrett had someone to turn to when she was turned into a dog by an obscure 19th century religious cult.
And Mr. Edelman had some notice. He was a messenger and regularly journeyed out of the ghetto, so he got an early wind of what the Nazi's were up to. He didn't run. He didn't hide. He did what even the bravest could talk of doing in a hypothetical sense, he took up arms and organized an armed resistance against the Nazis in the ghetto. And when the ghetto burned to the ground he continued to resist the Nazis, ultimately participating in the Warsaw uprising of 1944. That moves us from After School Special territory to a direct-to-video movie starring Michael Ironside. But it doesn't stop there.
After Poland is "liberated" he doesn't leave Poland, getting a medical degree, becoming a noted cardiologist and staying in Poland until the day of his death. And all during this time he was active politically in a number of organizations that weren't exactly in good status with the communist powers in Poland, at one point getting interned. But once again Mr. Edelman outlasted his opponent; he lived to eventually serve in the post-communist Polish Parliament. Now we're officially in Oscar winning Spielberg flick starring Russell Crowe and Daniel Craig.
But just to add a little more intrigue, Mr. Edelman smoked two packs of heaters a day... and lived to 90. So, to sum it up, he faces down being orphaned at 14; Hitler, the Nazis and Stalin at 20; and communist rule and heart disease for his last 60 years. This guy is making every character John Wayne ever played look like Stuart French.
So my words can't do this man justice. Nor can Adam Sandler's. So let me leave you with the opening paragraph to Mr. Edelman's obit in The Economist.
"HE WAS sure that once he started fighting, he was going to die. No point in being scared about it. Death was death; there was nothing more, nothing bigger, that could happen to him. At least in this way, taking up arms, he could die on his own terms rather than theirs. His time, his place. Suicide would have been another way to do it, but he never considered that. Going to the gas chamber or the mass grave with quiet, considered dignity, like many of the residents of the Warsaw ghetto, was another way: far more admirable and more difficult, he thought, than running through random bullets as he did. But it was not for him. Only by dying as publicly as possible, loudly and with his gun blazing, could he let the world know what the Nazis were doing to the Jews in Poland."
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Getting a Little Ahead of Myself
The Hawkeyes are 6-0 for the first time since 1985 and the hopes are escalating enough that a 33 year-old man has broken out the "If You Ain't a Hawkeye, You Ain't Shit" shirt for the first time since the pressurized beer bong incident of 2005... which wasn't really an incident until it devolved into a pressurized wine cooler bong when the beer ran out. And last week I even talked myself into buying a box of mementos from the Penn State game for taunting purposes despite the fact I only know one Penn State grad.
So here we are in week 7 coming off more close wins that I care to relive. And I've now talked myself into the Hawks having an 8% chance to play for the national title, where they would get mollywomped by Alabama, USC, Texas or Florida baring some sort of bus accident involving those team's first string offense, defense and a handful of redshirts. But I have to remind myself that these things usually don't end well.
1997. The Hawks storm to a 4-0 record after a tough opening slate featuring Northern Iowa, Tulsa, Iowa State and Illinois. Fortunately, as a Hawks fan with 3 years experience I had long since given up any illusions that the Hawks were going to be a contender under Hayden "Have Nick Bell Run the Draw on 3rd and 8" Fry. And despite the fact that Gameday was on campus, I had no intention of setting foot into a stadium that would ultimately be remembered for Plez Atkins cementing Orlando Pace's draft status. I spend the tailgate hitting range balls in the Slater parking lot and trying to hitch a ride to the bars with an uncooked Brat wedged in my zipper. The Hawks lose. I lose $20 in a longest drive contest. And another $20 in a putting contest.
1995. The Hawks storm to a 5-0 record beating the likes of Northern Iowa, Iowa State, New Mexico State, Michigan State and Indiana. Do you notice the pattern that Fry didn't exactly like to schedule the NFC East towards the end of his tenure? Yet, the campus was a buzz as the team traveled east to play the rebuilding Penn State Nittnay Lions, fresh off a shared national title in 1995 and losing 3 top 10 picks to the NFL. As SOP dictates, I went out the night before, probably to the Sports Column with a 1:00 am run to The Union... probably wearing my Absolute Irish t-shirt. (To those who knew me back then, a sarcastic thanks for the wardrobe advice.) The game started at 11:00. I wake up at 11:20. The score was 21-0. I went back to bed. The Hawks went back to the Sun Bowl. And we spent the winter watching the legend of Chris Kingsbury take shape and listening to the more myopic of Hawks fans talk about how Iowa outscored Penn State 10-7 in the second half.
1985. I wasn't around for this season. At this point in my life Iowa wasn't even the school that turned in Illinois for the Deon Thomas situation. But this is a season that ended in such infamy that I grew more obsessed with finding a Hawkeye fan that didn't think Ronnie Harmon threw the Rose Bowl than Dr. Richard Kimball trying to prove his innocence. (BTW, can you recognize the one politician staring at the camera at the 1:00 mark?) But to this day it remains the only time Iowa was involved in a #1 v. #2 game, and probably the only time in my lifetime.
So what am I getting at? The journey has, and hopefully will continue to be, fun with a few more trips to Shadows and maybe even a road trip to Columbus. But it will most likely end in 2009. And by most likely I mean 92% most likely... but there's always that 8% chance.
So here we are in week 7 coming off more close wins that I care to relive. And I've now talked myself into the Hawks having an 8% chance to play for the national title, where they would get mollywomped by Alabama, USC, Texas or Florida baring some sort of bus accident involving those team's first string offense, defense and a handful of redshirts. But I have to remind myself that these things usually don't end well.
1997. The Hawks storm to a 4-0 record after a tough opening slate featuring Northern Iowa, Tulsa, Iowa State and Illinois. Fortunately, as a Hawks fan with 3 years experience I had long since given up any illusions that the Hawks were going to be a contender under Hayden "Have Nick Bell Run the Draw on 3rd and 8" Fry. And despite the fact that Gameday was on campus, I had no intention of setting foot into a stadium that would ultimately be remembered for Plez Atkins cementing Orlando Pace's draft status. I spend the tailgate hitting range balls in the Slater parking lot and trying to hitch a ride to the bars with an uncooked Brat wedged in my zipper. The Hawks lose. I lose $20 in a longest drive contest. And another $20 in a putting contest.
1995. The Hawks storm to a 5-0 record beating the likes of Northern Iowa, Iowa State, New Mexico State, Michigan State and Indiana. Do you notice the pattern that Fry didn't exactly like to schedule the NFC East towards the end of his tenure? Yet, the campus was a buzz as the team traveled east to play the rebuilding Penn State Nittnay Lions, fresh off a shared national title in 1995 and losing 3 top 10 picks to the NFL. As SOP dictates, I went out the night before, probably to the Sports Column with a 1:00 am run to The Union... probably wearing my Absolute Irish t-shirt. (To those who knew me back then, a sarcastic thanks for the wardrobe advice.) The game started at 11:00. I wake up at 11:20. The score was 21-0. I went back to bed. The Hawks went back to the Sun Bowl. And we spent the winter watching the legend of Chris Kingsbury take shape and listening to the more myopic of Hawks fans talk about how Iowa outscored Penn State 10-7 in the second half.
1985. I wasn't around for this season. At this point in my life Iowa wasn't even the school that turned in Illinois for the Deon Thomas situation. But this is a season that ended in such infamy that I grew more obsessed with finding a Hawkeye fan that didn't think Ronnie Harmon threw the Rose Bowl than Dr. Richard Kimball trying to prove his innocence. (BTW, can you recognize the one politician staring at the camera at the 1:00 mark?) But to this day it remains the only time Iowa was involved in a #1 v. #2 game, and probably the only time in my lifetime.
So what am I getting at? The journey has, and hopefully will continue to be, fun with a few more trips to Shadows and maybe even a road trip to Columbus. But it will most likely end in 2009. And by most likely I mean 92% most likely... but there's always that 8% chance.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
My Nixon List: Buck Fuffet Edition
Bucket Lists are all the rage nowadays. I guess that's what happens when you make the definitive movie of the decade. But we're forgetting a much more important list that each of us should live our lives with. An enemies list. Famously, Richard Nixon kept an enemies list during his days as this nation's President. If it's good enough for one of our three best presidents of the 1970s then it's good enough for me. Here' s the first in a series of what hopefully won't be a long list.
Eric Cartman and I agree on two things, hippies and Jimmy Buffet. The only difference is that my hatred of Buffet runs much deeper.
My hatred started way back in 1990 when I was a wide eyed freshman with a killer mullet hitching a ride to school every day with junior that lived down the street. And being a younger member of my class I wasn't going to be getting my driver's license until my junior year. So for the next two years I caught a 20 minute ride to school with this guy every day. And this guy had one cassette tape, you guessed it, Jimmy Buffet's Greatest Hits... a term that has not been applied that loosely this side of Color Me Bad.
For 5 days a week, for 20 minutes to start my day, I was "treated" to Jimmy Buffet on a continuous loop. Even Donald Rumsfeld would consider that torture. By the end of my sophomore year my ear for music was so utterly destroyed that this and this made their way into my CD collection. And if that's not enough, U2 released Achtung Baby in November 1991. Now, you might think this is a good thing. Not so much.
For weeks I looked forward to its release, knowing that this cassette would get purchased on the same day it was released. I was like Charlie Sheen in Platoon counting down the days to the end of his tour, but then Oliver Stone decided to make a sequel. On the way home that day we stopped at Best Buy to pick it up. For the next week we made our way through the tape... Mysterious Ways... One... Even Better than the Real Thing... Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses. My sanity returned long enough for me to scrap my plans to base my wardrobe on my New Edition album covers.
Then, after two rotations through U2. My driver said "I guess U2 had to lose it at some point... we'll stick to the classics." My parole denied. Damn you Buffet. Damn you to hell.
Luckily I was largely able to avoid Mr. Buffet after my sophomore year. He always played Alpine Valley every summer but isolating myself from the 40 year old soccer moms who duct taped a shark fin to their mini-van and drove up for the show was easy enough. All was right with the world again. He had his world, I had mine.
But recently Buffet the corporate entity has started to encroach on my space. First, he launched a series of restaurants. Fine, I can still avoid that. He opened a series of casinos and partnered with Harrah's to drop the restaurant in a lot of their locations. Getting more problematic but casinos are big places. Then he bought into the Dolphins and wrote a horrible song (is there any other kind of Buffett song) that makes this horrible song about the Dolphins almost listenable. Fine, I lost interest in the Dolphins when Dan Marino and Ace Ventura moved on.
Then he started a line of tailgating accessories that are heavily advertised during college football games. Dear god man. Is there no shelter from the never ending string of shit you'll slap your name on? You're making Krusty the Clown look like JD Salinger.
And for invading my college football Saturdays I put you squarely on my Nixon list. As Cocunut Pete said, "son of a son of a son of a bitch." Buck you Fuffet. Buck you.
Eric Cartman and I agree on two things, hippies and Jimmy Buffet. The only difference is that my hatred of Buffet runs much deeper.
My hatred started way back in 1990 when I was a wide eyed freshman with a killer mullet hitching a ride to school every day with junior that lived down the street. And being a younger member of my class I wasn't going to be getting my driver's license until my junior year. So for the next two years I caught a 20 minute ride to school with this guy every day. And this guy had one cassette tape, you guessed it, Jimmy Buffet's Greatest Hits... a term that has not been applied that loosely this side of Color Me Bad.
For 5 days a week, for 20 minutes to start my day, I was "treated" to Jimmy Buffet on a continuous loop. Even Donald Rumsfeld would consider that torture. By the end of my sophomore year my ear for music was so utterly destroyed that this and this made their way into my CD collection. And if that's not enough, U2 released Achtung Baby in November 1991. Now, you might think this is a good thing. Not so much.
For weeks I looked forward to its release, knowing that this cassette would get purchased on the same day it was released. I was like Charlie Sheen in Platoon counting down the days to the end of his tour, but then Oliver Stone decided to make a sequel. On the way home that day we stopped at Best Buy to pick it up. For the next week we made our way through the tape... Mysterious Ways... One... Even Better than the Real Thing... Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses. My sanity returned long enough for me to scrap my plans to base my wardrobe on my New Edition album covers.
Then, after two rotations through U2. My driver said "I guess U2 had to lose it at some point... we'll stick to the classics." My parole denied. Damn you Buffet. Damn you to hell.
Luckily I was largely able to avoid Mr. Buffet after my sophomore year. He always played Alpine Valley every summer but isolating myself from the 40 year old soccer moms who duct taped a shark fin to their mini-van and drove up for the show was easy enough. All was right with the world again. He had his world, I had mine.
But recently Buffet the corporate entity has started to encroach on my space. First, he launched a series of restaurants. Fine, I can still avoid that. He opened a series of casinos and partnered with Harrah's to drop the restaurant in a lot of their locations. Getting more problematic but casinos are big places. Then he bought into the Dolphins and wrote a horrible song (is there any other kind of Buffett song) that makes this horrible song about the Dolphins almost listenable. Fine, I lost interest in the Dolphins when Dan Marino and Ace Ventura moved on.
Then he started a line of tailgating accessories that are heavily advertised during college football games. Dear god man. Is there no shelter from the never ending string of shit you'll slap your name on? You're making Krusty the Clown look like JD Salinger.
And for invading my college football Saturdays I put you squarely on my Nixon list. As Cocunut Pete said, "son of a son of a son of a bitch." Buck you Fuffet. Buck you.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)