Lenses, Lights, and Wires

A couple of days after my first webcast, I helped with a far bigger production. This time, we had a bona-fide, Live-action Company Vice President, embedded video interviews with Recorded Vice Presidents and Regular Joes, as well as four Departmental Spokespersons (who just by pure coincidental chance and no other reason whatsoever...just happened to be women who represented 4 different ethnicities). The Veep would set the tone by first talking about how dreadfully important the topic was, and how deeply the Executives were committed to its implementation. The Spokespersons would then tell personal stories to illustrate each of the Important Bullet Points, and the Veep would wrap it all up with a song and dance duet with Marie Osmond and the Nelson Riddle Orchestra.

OK, I made up the part about the song and dance number...but you get the idea. This show was a real production, and would require a whole bunch more equipment, operators, and expertise than my previous webcast. We had telecom and IT guys, a technical director, a floor director, a sound engineer, and an experienced camera crew. We had giant floodlights, multiple cameras, a teleprompter, and a bunch of cue-card-type signs the director could hold up to tell the speakers how much time was left. It was a thoroughly professional setup with an expert crew, and the final product reflected that excellence.

The speakers all did well, and the topic was communicated with great sincerity and effectiveness. I'm not sure how many people actually watched the webcast, but we put a good product out there, and I'm proud to have been a part of it. I'm looking forward to taking more and more responsibility for future productions...and someday might get to be the one on camera, making the inspiring speeches for the corporation. (And maybe I could tell a few jokes along the way, eh? See...this guy walks into a bar with a giant amoeba sitting on top of his head, and he says to the bartender...well, never mind. You'll just have to help me make it to the big-time if you want to hear all my jokes. I got a million of 'em.)

In the meantime, I'm sure you're curious how my personal video-making career is going, right? Well, it's, um...slow. As excited as I am about my day job right now, the simple truth is that going to the office every day continues to impede my ability to crank out creative products of my own. There are projects in the works, of course -- including segments with ventriloquism, mimery, and pyrotechnics. And swimming instruction, too, as you might expect. But until I win Lotto and can afford to work on my pursuit of Spielbergianism full-time, the offerings shall come at a rather restrained pace. The only thing we've done recently are a few updated shots of my kid playing the piano, which I'll confess don't require a whole lot of cinematic genius input from his father. I'll let you know when there's other some other video content available. In the meantime, please enjoy a tune or two, and have a great day!

My First Webcast

I am really excited! The Digital Media Department has agreed to let me help them with webcasting, at least on a trial basis. I'm hoping this might open the door to other work within their department, and might be the first step on my way to become the aerospace industry's version of C.B. deBodine, big time Director. I could possibly get a beret, a monocle, a megaphone, and a canvas chair with my name on it...if I play my cards right.

The term "webcasting" simply means making a program of some sort available over the Internet. Most of the webcasts we'll be doing around here consist of some Subject Matter Expert (SME) giving a speech about something that is supposed to be of interest to other folks across the company. We point a camera and microphone at the speaker, hook into the computer that contains the associated PowerPoint slides, and then beam the entire thing to a web page where interested parties can watch it LIVE on their computer...or click the link at some later date to view it at their convenience.

It's a fabulous tool -- allowing folks anywhere within the company to virtually attend presentations and meetings that they couldn't make in person. With webcasting, every employee can now use their web browser to tune in to hear various eggheads talk about Diversity, Ethics, Leadership, Foreign Object Elimination, or any of the other buzzwords of the day. Vice Presidents and other bigwigs can pontificate in front of the camera, knowing that their words will be instantly and eternally available to inspire and motivate every single lowlife peon within their organization.

I helped set up the equipment, and then served as cameraman during the shoot. The SME was talking about the Concept Development organization, which is the group you go to when you have an idea, but aren't able to immediately implement it within your home shop. Let's say you invent some sort of useful robot, but because you work in the Proposal Development Center (which is committed to expending human labor in the most inefficient way possible), there isn't a market for it within your group. Well then, you'd take it to the Concept Development dudes, who would run it up the proverbial flagpole and eventually make lots of money off it after you've been fired for being a rabble rouser.

But I digress. The main point is that I really enjoyed being behind the camera again, and immersing myself in the world of wiring and cable spaghetti, tripods, headphones, and VU meters. I belong there.

Speaking of spaghetti -- one of the perks of attending big-time events like this is that there's a chance it will be catered. While we were setting up the equipment, the cafeteria folks brought in a sumptuous array of pasta delights. Spaghetti, meatballs, salad fixins, and plenty o' breadsticks -- I was definitely ready for the speech to end so I could drown myself in marinara sauce and company-provided diet soda.

But alas, twas not to be. Alex, the webcast Director, had to get the equipment back into the van and returned to the other building immediately after the show...so there wasn't time to eat.

Bummer!

Worry not, though, my friends: If all goes well, there will be more catered video events, and I shall get my fill of both multimedia work and sterno-warmed Italian food. I am optimistic that my involvement in webcasting represents the best career opportunity I've had yet at this company. And it should result in some interesting stories to share with you, so stay tuned and keep your fingers crossed for me.

As always, thank you for your support...and have a great day!

The Fun Never Ends

When I was in my 20s, weekends meant riding my motorcycle into the mountains, going to movies, exploring remote hiking trails, or maybe camping somewhere so deep in the woods that Bigfoot would be afraid to go there. But it's been so long since I've had any real freedom on weekends that I've forgotten all those things. Now I just do laundry, wash dishes, run the vacuum cleaner, and pay bills.

That ain't right.

Sometime soon, a real rain's gonna come and wash away...no, wait -- that's not what I meant to say. Sometime soon, I'm going to take a real weekend, and do something that isn't totally lame. At least once during this summer, I swear.

I did run Waterton canyon on Saturday morning, and was reasonably pleased with my performance. After that, Tanner and I went over to the pool to shoot some video footage for my planned "Simplified Flip Turn" lesson I want to post online. Unfortunately, most of the footage was not usable due to glare, so we'll have to re-do it, maybe next weekend. I ordered a polarizing filter from eBay and had a mini-seminar with the boy about cameraman responsibilities (ie, you have to look at the entire frame!), so the next session should be productive.

Unfortunately, that's about where my accomplishments for the weekend ended. MTV was having a Star Wars marathon, and I hadn't seen most of those movies in several years -- so I ended up becoming a complete Lucasfilm couch potato, and consumed far too many peanuts and sodas to finish the day with any remaining self-esteem. I felt like Jabba the Hutt, only without the charisma.

But sitting through all of the movies sequentially does raise some questions:

• How would the movie have been different if the voices of Darth Vader and C3PO were reversed?
• Wouldn't you love to see a protocol droid actually engage in some protocol? (Whatever that meant, a long time ago and far far away.)
• How come General Akbar and his creepy fish-man relatives don't need to be submerged in water? The look like they should have gills. And shouldn't they have to turn their heads to get those googly eyes to be able to see the viewscreens?
• How come people can understand Wookies, Hutts, and the 7-dwarfs mutated pilot hobbit, but never reply to them in their own languages? And since those critters obviously understand English, why don't they just speak it? And isn't one or the other of them being terribly rude for their language chauvinism?
• If the trash compactor regularly squishes everything in the room, why is the cyclops snake thingy even alive in there? And seriously, why wouldn't they just jettison the garbage into deep space (the way the Ruskies do), anyway?
• Maybe I slept through it, but wasn't Jar Jar's motion to turn the Republic over to the ruthless Sith overlord implemented without a vote?
• Note to Emperor: Having your voice go all gnarly and getting that Visine-eyed char-pei face from using the "dark side"...well, it just doesn't seem like a very good recruiting tool. I'm just sayin'...
  
• If such a huge proponent of studying and training Yoda is, why didn't he ever take a basic grammar class? Hmmm?
• Why did the Emperor's lightning fingers get stuck in the "on" position when Vader tossed him into the energy chute? And since we had seen numerous examples of how the Force seems to enable something very similar to flying...and Sidius is the most powerful and experienced user -- why didn't he just fly back up and use his lightning to short circuit Vader? (And I'm not even going to ask why Luke ended up in a Jeffries tube when he leapt into a similar chute and the Emperor didn't. But seriously, didn't that whole "tossing the Emperor" scene seem just a little bit forced?)

Anyway, as someone with career aspirations of transferring into the video department at work, I guess I can justify sitting through a movie marathon in the name of "research". Maybe next weekend they'll play the entire "Police Academy" series; that would have to be educational, right?

Guess I'd better go to the store and stock up on chocolate-covered raisins, Junior Mints, and twizzlers. May the Force be with you, and have a great day!

Runnin' in the Rain

Or should I say "barfin' in the bushes"?

The final Sheepherder's race of the season was last night. It's a 3-mile run, where you predict your finish time and no watches are allowed. Conditions were just about perfect for me -- there was a light drizzle, hardly any wind, and cool temperatures. The precipitation hadn't muddied the road at all, so with so many factors in our favor, everyone expected to run fairly fast.

I had talked Tanner into coming along to give it a try, even though he'd never run more than 1.5 miles straight before in his life. His plan was to run as long as he could, and then just walk the remainder, once he ran out of gas.

Pat was planning to hold somewhere around 8-minute miles. My goal was to finish about a minute behind him. I figured I'd beat Tanner by 3 or 4 minutes.

As usual, the group took it out fast. I always know that there will be a handful of runners who will take off in front of me, but then slow down enough for me to reel them in over the remaining distance. I wasn't surprised, therefore, when several folks who had predicted slower than me ended up out in front. I was surprised, though, by the fact that I thought I had passed the "take it out too fast" group and had settled in to my rightful position before even a half mile had gone by. I was right behind my brother at that point, and feeling great.

At the 1-mile post, I was less than 10 seconds behind Pat, and Tanner was well back in the group behind me. My internal clock was telling me that I was on or ahead of my predicted pace, and I was pretty sure I could hold it. I even allowed myself to think briefly about trying to stay with Pat the entire way.

But just about the time I had such an optimistic thought, the wheels fell off. All of a sudden, I clearly understood that my pace was not sustainable, and that there was going to be PAIN before this thing was through. I tried my best to concentrate on my form/stride and just keep going...but was unable to stay as focused as I needed to. The following thoughts popped unbidden into my head:

• Why in the heck do I keep signing up for these races when I hate them so, so, SO much?
• If I had a time machine, I would definitely go back in history and assassinate the @#$%! who invented this sport.
• I'll still get to eat pizza even if I'm dead last, so why am I killing myself to try to run this fast?
• I wonder if I need to update my last will and testament?
• Oh, man...I'm going to have to learn some new cuss words, because I don't currently know any words strong enough to describe how @#$! rotten I'm feeling right now.

About 20 meters past the turnaround point, I saw how far Tanner was behind me. It wasn't much. As we made eye contact, he pointed at me and grinned. "I'll get you," he said. I tried to do a Rocky-esque "Go for it!" statement, but it just came out as a wheezing gasp.

I was already running on fumes, with nearly half the distance yet to go. Shortly after making the turn, a couple of other runners passed me. I really don't like to be passed in the last half of the race, but there was nothing I could do about it. Pat was fading into the distance in front, and I could hear additional footsteps approaching from behind. It occurred to me that I may be feeling the effects of my blood donation from the day before, but there wasn't anything I could do about that. At least the rain was keeping me cooled off.

With about a half mile to go, I began to think that I might be able to hold off the remaining runners. But alas, 'twas not to be. My stomach suddenly heaved on me, and I hastily pulled off the road to prevent the other runners from having to dance around an unrequested lunch-puddle smack dab in the center of the running lane. As I stopped to bend over, Tanner scampered by me, looking for all the world like a guy who does long runs for fun every day. He probably asked me if I was OK or something, but I just continued making strangled Linda Blair noises and waved him onward.

The entire off-road incident didn't take very long in objective time, and I didn't actually toss any cookies at all...it seemed to merely be my body's way of telling me to let my son win. I tried my best to sprint the rest of the way to the finish line, and did indeed hold off the subsequent runners. But by the time I finished, Pat had already been to his car, finished a water bottle, and engaged in a prolonged discussion of the Heisenberg principle with the other fast folks. Tanner had cooled down, gotten a drink, and spent some quality time thinking about how it would affect his future inheritance if he were to taunt me like he wanted to.

But to his credit, he merely asked if I was OK, and stated how pleased he was with his new 3-mile PR. While being miffed that I let the whippersnapper whup me, I have to admit that I'm also very proud of how well he did...and am optimistic about what he'll be able to accomplish in the future if he keeps running and training.

As usual, the pizza picnic was perfect, and the group camaraderie left us all in a positive mood to look forward to the next series. Nobody stayed long (due to the rain), but we ate all the food, wished each other well, and drove off with the knowledge that it was another job well done.

It's amazing how a few slices of pizza can erase the memory of complete agony and misery from just a few minutes earlier, isn't it? I'm already thinking about how I can do better in the next race. And if I remember correctly from the Bonfils blood donor literature, pizza is supposed to be the best possible way to replace lost red cells. You'll help me remember that for next time, won't you?

I knew you would. Thanks, and have a great day!

Vampires

I gave blood yesterday.

There are several compelling reasons to do this:

• It gets me away from my desk for about an hour, part of which is spent reclining in a mesh chair not unlike the kind you find at the beach. (It's a little tough to visualize yourself catching rays with an umbrella drink while some burly bearded fellow is shoving needles into your arm...but it's still an easier mental trip to make than when you're sitting at a desk, listening to inane discussion about word processing challenges.)
• After the donation, you get to wear a colorful bandage on your arm. They even let you pick the color! Mine was blue this time.
• Free juice and cookies!
• They also give you a coupon for a free lunch at the company cafeteria. Pretty sweet!

Oh, and I guess it's also supposed to save lives and stuff.

I admire people who do jobs that I wouldn't want to do. Construction workers, for example -- there is no way I could do something like that. For one thing, you get all sweaty and dirty. And with my lack of hand-eye coordination, I'd earn the nickname "Two Fingers" within a few minutes of first touching power tools. (Yes, I realize that I get sweaty and dirty running and riding my bike, etc. But it's different when it's work.)

But I can understand the appeal of such jobs. Using your own craftsmanship to see something useful come into existence from a pile of random raw materials -- I can dig that. But I'm not sure I understand the appeal of a job where you spend the day jabbing people with sharp objects and then draining their vital fluids into little plastic bags. I'd almost rather work on proposals than be a phlebotomist.

Almost.

But I suppose I'm glad that someone enjoys this type of work. Tim, the fellow who exsanguinated me, was unnervingly cheerful and upbeat about his responsibilities, and seemed to be enjoying himself as he prepared to pierce my flesh with his needle. "Whoa!" he said. "That is a great vein. I should be able to hit that one on the very first try!"

You know, I think that his enthusiasm did make the procedure a bit more pleasant. He probably tells this to everybody, but he seemed sincere when he said "Man, that stuff is pumping out fast. We'll have you outta here in no time!" I smiled as I rhythmically squeezed the little heart-shaped spongy thing as I'd been instructed. (Does anyone know what purpose that serves? Is it merely a distraction to keep you from noticing how much hemoglobin you're expelling? Probably.)

The bag-filling and post-op bandaging went well. But I'm embarrassed to admit that once it was over, I started to feel a bit light-headed, and suddenly began to sweat. "Dude," Tim said, "Are you getting a little fuzzy?" (Apparently they are trained to notice when donors start to go glassy-eyed.) "Yeah, I guess so," I replied, a little perplexed by my own wimpiness. I usually pop right up off the table and do the Macarena to demonstrate my vitality; but this time I reluctantly let them tip my chair back and slap a wet dishrag onto my forehead.

The feeling passed quickly, but apparently there are protocols that must be followed. Even though I swore I had recovered (and was ready to demonstrate my disco moves or do pushups or whatever), they kept me in the chair until they had a chance to verify that my pulse and blood pressure were indeed in the desired zone. And of course, all the other donors in the room were looking at me and shaking their heads. "That poor weakling. He can't even spare a pint without turning into Don Knotts." etc.

Oh well, my macho self-image regularly takes far worse beatings than that. I'm used to having people laugh at my wimpiness. And besides...I still got to eat the free cookies and juice. Mmmm. By the time I finished stuffing myself with fat-laden sugar treats, I was feeling 100%, and walked back to my office with as much John Travolta paint-can-swinging swagger as I could.

After all, the person who eventually uses that blood won't have any idea that my permanent donor file contains the dreaded "Faints like Faye Wray" designation. Will they?

Bottom line: I salute everyone who donates blood, and I tip my hat to the fine folks who wield the needles. I'll let you know if being a pint low affects me in my upcoming 3-mile Sheepherder's race. In the meantime, have a great day!

NBA vs. College Basketball

It was fun to watch the high school football team work out as we ran our track workout. They seemed to be working hard, paying attention to their coaches, and exhibiting enthusiastic team spirit throughout the various levels of practice squad groupings. They just weren't catching very many passes.

Tanner was wondering where his footspeed would rank him among the kids we were watching. Since he can easily beat Pat and me on track sprints, and says he can outrun ALL of his frisbee buddies, he seems confident that he'd stack up well against them. I'm not so sure. It's one thing to outsprint a couple of ancient and arthritic distance guys -- and totally another to race the dudes who are chosen for the team because they have worked on acceleration and velocity. Perhaps we'll have to set up some sort of challenge one of these days.

Speculation notwithstanding, though, Tanner ran his track workout well. In fact, we all had a good workout. I was most pleased with the fact that I was able to hold some speed over several repeats without any hint of discombobulation. It was good. And what better way to top off a good workout than by clogging arteries with toxic glop? That's right -- we went to Taco Bell for our post-workout dinner.

And as always happens at Taco Bell, the ensuing philosophical discussions resonated with profundity. I'm not necessarily saying that eating double-cheesy-beefy-crispy pseudo-Mexican industrial paste is a requirement for the road to intellectual enlightenment...but I would bet the world would be a more peaceful place if international Summit Meetings were held at the Bell. Who'd want to start a war when you have a plate full of Volcano Tacos and unlimited soda refills?

This evening's topic was initiated when Tanner asked Pat why he was SOOO enthusiastic about college basketball, and yet so apathetic about the NBA. After all, the NBA unquestionably has the players with the finest talents...why wouldn't the pro game be a superior entertainment product?

Pat's answer was basically that all of the college kids try hard all the time, and the pros don't. After all, the students have fewer games (so don't get as exhausted), have scholarships, school pride, and pro draft positioning at stake -- so they are fully committed to playing their best. The pros, on the other hand, are going to get paid their millions of dollars whether they win or lose, or whether they sprint back down the court or merely stroll.

That's a summary of course -- and each of those points are certainly debatable. But the other interesting part of the discussion was about the tattoos and "gangsta" attitudes that seem to permeate the NBA. Since my brother and I were raised in a world where Ward Cleaver was the Supreme Arbiter of Propriety...well, body art and thuggishness are simply not something we're attracted to. But to Tanner's generation, Ward (and any of his black & white fuddy-duddy contemporaries) are merely Jeopardy questions, and have no relevance to today's society. The concepts of courtesy, reliability, politeness, respect, and pants worn at the waist -- these are relics of a distant and shameful past, and are to be scoffed at and ridiculed.

Of course, the kids of my generation went through beatnik and hippie phases, and even (gasp!) disco...and came out the other end with jobs, health insurance, and Roger Maris haircuts. I suspect that being a tatto-removal specialist will be a lucrative profession when this generation matures a bit. And there will also be a sudden surge in belt sales.

We'll have to wait and see, won't we? In the meantime, have a great day!

Summertime

Conditions could not have been better for my Saturday morning run.

After running the last Sheepherder's race in the oppressive heat last week, it was nice to wake up to a cloudy and cool day in which to do my long training run. It had rained a bit sometime during the night, but I didn't expect the canyon road to be too muddy -- and it wasn't. The breeze was just right, the evil bighorn sheep and other wildlife stayed out of my way, and my legs seemed to be in a fairly cooperative mood for once.

My plan was to run 5 miles by myself, and then meet up with my friends Joe, Kristen, and Sue for another 8. For my solo segment, I stuck my MP3 player into a pouch on my hydration pack and listened to my next Japanese lesson. While I ran, I learned how to speak important phrases such as "My husband would like a beer" and "In America, a bottle of water costs 2 dollars." As instructed, I repeated each phrase out loud; any observers would probably have been puzzled by my sporadic bursts of poorly pronounced Japanese coming between gasped breaths as I tried to run hard.

As usual, I started out slowly and then loosened up. But it was probably the fastest 5-mile training run I've done for quite some time, and I was feeling pretty good. And right on schedule the other folks showed up to join me, so I put the MP3 player away and turned around to head back into the canyon for a conversational run with my friends.

An excellent way to start the day. And the rest of the day was fabulous, as well. Weekends are definitely a good thing.

But with my job, such days are not frequent enough. Sunday found me sitting in the office all day, staring out the window to watch the sun shine on everybody else in Denver. It was one of those days where Mother Nature is positively begging you to get out and luxuriate in her outdoorsy goodness, but I somehow managed to avoid the temptation and remain at my desk...adding punctuation marks to a document that was soon to be translated into a language that uses an entirely different punctuation system. Sigh.

But no matter. There will be weekends where I can get out and enjoy the weather. It won't be long before I'll be swimming in the pond, riding my bike around the lake, and (despite sunscreen) developing a noticable farmer's tan. I hope to see you out there also enjoying this fabulous time of year. It's summer, dudes -- Let's get out there and take advantage of it!

The New Star Trek

I talked Tanner into going to the new Trek movie with me yesterday. Not sure what he thought of it, but I'm glad we went. Don't worry, I won't give anything away here; this isn't a review so much as a few random observations.

First, my general recommendation: If you're a fan of the original series (without being all uppity about whether everything "matches"), definitely go see this movie. If you are a generic space opera fan who likes to see stuff blow up (and you don't worry too much about plot consistency), definitely go see it. If you are a Meryl Streep fan, or one of those constipated highbrows who think "Citizen Kane" is better than "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure"...you might want to skip it.

[If you want to how I can Kevin Bacon my way into comparing "Trek" to "Bill n' Ted", then see the bullet list at the end of this entry.]

What's good about "Star Trek"? Well, mostly the cast (with exceptions noted below). I thought Kirk was great, Spock was appropriately Spocklike, and McCoy was as lovably crusty as you'd expect. I could also see this version of Captain Pike outsmarting the Talosians and smoochin' the babes, no problem.

Sulu was OK, if you can get over the whole "Doogie Howser stole my car" thing, but Chekov bugged me a bit. Oh, he had the necessary accent and commie braggadocio package, all right, but I really expected young Pavel to have the requisite Beatle haircut -- not a shorter version of a pre-baldness Frampton 'do'. Uhura looked good with the subspace communicator sticking in her ear, and her decoding of the Romulan transmission was consistent with character expectations...but her sudden and unexplained Vulcophilia was a bit disconcerting.

Hmm. I expect we'll explore that in the sequels, won't we? Hmm.

Spock's parents were probably the worst -- a horribly poor imitation of the original cast. I mean, c'mon -- Winona Ryder? Seriously? And I know this is very shallow of me, but Ben Cross's jaw just bugs me. It has since "Chariots of Fire". There, I said it.

(Incidentally, how's that for a misleading title? That movie didn't have a single chariot and had no fire whatsoever. Very disappointing.)

As far as the rest of the cast goes, well, I have to say that I even found Eric Bana's performance acceptable. (Probably because he had enough makeup on that I didn't know it was him.) And even though they aren't characters we already know, I was quite pleased with Kirk's parents, young Jim, and even with the Star Fleet Academy tough guys in the bar brawl. (I was hoping that one of them would be Finnegan, but I don't think any of them were. Bummer.) For some reason, though, I just didn't buy Tyler Perry as an admiral. Not sure why.

As you would expect, they did update the FX a bit from the original TV series. Transporters, view screens, and phaser beams were all a little more like you'd expect from that century. But I was pleased to see that they kept some clunky communicators, pistol-like weapons, and an honest-to-goodness airplane throttle for going into warp speed. Majel Barrett (may she rest in peace) still does the computer voice (though without the original interpretation's Stephen Hawking quality), but as far as I could tell, they cruelly left out the Yeoman Rand character. Still, I think they honored the original series pretty well, considering how much things have changed since the 60s. (But I stand by my Chekov haircut statement, nevertheless.)

Other complaints? Well, I found the music to be a bit heavy-handed in spots. I saw the "Thelma and Louise" tribute as gratuitous. And though Chekov is at least 10 years younger than Kirk in the TV show, he shows up here as someone who already has a job before Kirk even receives his diploma. And why didn't Spock suggest a "Save the Whales-type" solution to tidy things up at the end?

Oh well. The bottom line is that while the movie wasn't perfect by any means, it did satisfy my hunger for more of the first generation characters and events. It'll be interesting to see it again with an eye toward how a non-Trekkie would perceive it, but until I have the chance to do that, I'll just summarize by saying that I enjoyed it a lot, and am looking forward to seeing it again. Perhaps I'll see you there.

Have a great day!

---

WARNING! Possible Spoilers Contained in the Following:

Top Ten Reasons the New "Star Trek" is Similar to "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure"

• B&T features Genghis Khan. Sulu thinks he IS Genghis Khan.
• Sulu is played by John Cho, who was Harold in "Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle" -- which is a movie about slacker dudes finding themselves. Pretty much sums up "Bill and Ted", too, doesn't it?
• After their stunning history report, Bill and Ted are heroes to their San Dimas classmates. George Takei, who played the original Sulu, is featured as a character in a TV show called "Heroes". The new Spock was in that show, too, as a character named "Sylar", which is pretty much a ripoff of the name "Sulu", don't you think?
• Billy the Kid has curly hair. Chekov, who is also a kid, has curly hair.
• In B&T, they philosophize about being dust in the wind, dude. In Star Trek, an entire planet is vaporized, actually becoming glowing particles of twinkling dust in the solar wind. (Hmm. Is this where they came up with the phrase "Live long and phosphor"?)
• Keanu Reeves, who played Ted "Theodore" Logan in B&T, was also in "The Matrix", which incorporates some mind-over-matter mumbo-jumbo similar to "The Force" in the Star Wars movies. Star Trek has a scene of Kirk wandering around on an ice planet where he's in peril from large, dangerous carnivores...which is an obvious ripoff of the Hoth scene from Star Wars. Coincidence? Yeah, right...about as much of a coincidence as a Wyld Stallyn's trashcan falling on Ted's dad's head.
• B&T features characters known as Royal Ugly Dudes. Star Trek has Romulan Ugly Dudes.
• Transporters use pretty much the same technology as flying phone booths.
• Bill and Ted use unorthodox methods to pass their History test. Kirk uses unorthodox methods to pass the Kobyashi Maru test.
• Ted uses a bone to sedate a bad guy. In Star Trek, there's a guy named "Bones", who has access to lots of sedatives.
• Bill and Ted pick up Joan of Arc, who teaches aerobics classes at the mall. In Star Trek, Uhura's college roommate is a green Orion slave girl, who..., um, who...well, I'm sure there's some sort of connection, but I lost my train of thought.
• Both movies will be shown in reruns long after Citizen Kane is forgotten. So there.

I Need a Haircut

When I'm tired and/or bored, I have an unconscious habit of running my fingers across my head. Not sure why; perhaps it's an instinctive, subconscious mannerism intended to stimulate blood flow to a deprived brain... or something like that. But whenever I notice that I'm rubbing my skull a lot, it's a sure sign that I need to either take a nap or drink a caffeinated beverage. (This manifestation of mental fatigue happens a lot during long spells of driving across Kansas, and almost continuously during staff meetings.)

Please don't take this as commentary on the relative level of excitement and mental stimulation to be found in the performance of my day job, but...I've been noticing a lot of this involuntary scalp massage happening lately. I seem to suddenly notice my hands in my hair at multiple points throughout the day. But I don't think I've increased the level of autonomic self-massage activity; I suspect that it happens pretty much all the time, but I'm just now noticing it because my hair is so bloody long at the moment.

So, instead of feeling a crispy buzz when I rub my noggin, now my fingers are getting lost in a jungle of Fabio-like locks. So, instead of feeling the stubbly push-back that helps me wake up from those doldrums, I'm now being lulled into further stupor by the sensual feeling of long, soft tresses.

I gotta get a haircut soon, for that reason alone.

At the same time, it rather reminds me of a time, hundreds of years ago -- when I was myself a candidate to be a romance novel cover model. With a swimmer's golden tan, and sun-ripened highlights in my hair, I spend many a day wearing half-open pirate shirts and holding buxom women in my arms while gazing off in the distance as if calculating the square root of pi. Ahh, those were the days.

—Wait...that's not what it was like at all. Oh, I was tan, all right -- but only because I swam 4 hours a day and spent another hour or two lying on the pool deck soaking up rays in the pursuit of the health and vigor. We all knew that being cooked by the Sun's vitamin-packed UV rays was the best way to ensure a long, healthy life...as well as eternal good looks and attractive skin.

(And if you know me at all, you've already deduced that I have never owned any pirate shirts, was too nearsighted to gaze into the distance, and would've been slapped with a restraining order if I so much as looked at a buxom woman. I was skinny, goofy-looking, and socially inept. But by golly, I was tan.)

But what does that have to do with my current need for a haircut? Well, it turns out that overexposure to the sun may not be as healthy as we had once believed. In fact, several years ago, I ended up having a small patch of skin cancer removed. It was benign--no big deal-- but the doctor explained that my days as a sun worshiper had put me at risk for developing other such outbreaks. He said that I'd need to monitor my skin carefully and be ready to check with a physician any time I noticed dermatalogical changes. And recently, I've noticed that the top of my head has kinda itchy.

It's probably just irritation from chlorine or sweat -- or perhaps a reaction to all the cranial heat generated by my gigantic brain as I work on challenging proposals and blogs and whatnot. (Or maybe it's some sort of acid burn caused by residual perfume floating around in the office atmosphere, eh?) But not being trained in dermatology (and not being able to see the top of my own head anyway), I made an appointment to visit the doctor. And he won't be able to see the skin if there's too much hair in the way. Ergo, I need a haircut.

I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, be sure to enjoy our lovely Spring weather. But wear your sunscreen, OK?

Have a great day!

Toxic Odors

Ahh, 'tis Springtime in the Rockies. Time to start wearing short sleeves, slapping on the sunscreen, and sampling all those lovely spring fragrances. Take a deep breath and inhale Nature's sweet bouquet!

GACK!

OK, right up front, I'll state for the record that I know I'm in a very small minority when it comes to my utter lack of appreciation for olfactory stimulation. Part of it comes from my allergy to certain perfume components -- I get sinus attacks and stabbing headaches in the presence of certain commercial scent products. And part of it comes from negative associations with memories from my childhood: Bee stings received when retrieving baseballs from my mom's fragrant flowerbeds, for example. Or the overpowering smell of the Glade air freshener my Grandma constantly used to cover up the odor of the meth lab she had going in the back of the house. Or the smell of freshly cut grass being associated with being forced to mow the lawn, instead of doing fun stuff like playing in the sprinkler, tormenting my little brother, or hanging out with my best friend, Herbert the Pervert.

In other words, I've lived my entire life under strong Pavlovian conditioning to detest the scents of Spring. Combine that with my perfume allergy, and you end up with a fellow who has a pretty narrow tolerance zone for smells. Therefore, please don't try to sell me any scented soaps, shampoos, or deoderants, and be aware that if I see one of those hell-spawned "potpourri" pots on your counter, I shall run screaming from the room and never visit your place again.

(Confession: I don't really think my Grandma ran a meth lab. I honestly have no idea why she felt compelled to buy Glade by the case and douse her home with it the way a fireman would spray a burning orphanage. She was a great cook, so it wouldn't be to cover up kitchen smells. And if it was something like B.O. or flatulence, well, it's a pity she didn't realize that the worst possible butt gas is still a hundred times more pleasant than an atmosphere consisting of 50% fake flower stink.)

Anyway, the seeds of this diatribe took root yesterday when I walked into my office building and stepped into a hallway jet stream of caustic perfume effluvium. One of the women in the office had apparently marinated herself in "eau de migraine", and had passed through the hallway shortly before my arrival. Even though my work cubicle was not contained within that particular stink zone, passing through the hall must've triggered the "on guard" state within my olfactory sensors. I was noticing everything in the airstream for the rest of the day.

For example, around noon I thought something was burning. It smelled how I'd imagine the streets of Detroit smelled in Robocop. Turned out it was the sterno pots under the Mexican buffet that the cafeteria folks were bringing in for the Kaizen event team. (Or maybe it was the LM cafeteria taco meat. Either way, it smelled like a tire fire.)

After work, I went over to the high school track to run some half-mile repeats with my brother. During my warmup, I realize that I had to take a short, um, break...and wandered behind the little tool shed to do so. There were 3 different kinds of flowering grasses there, and all were replete with the strong aromoa of nascent vegetation. I almost gagged.

And yet...I love the smell of pine trees, and most of the other scents you encounter deep in the woods. So, I'm not a Bubble Boy -- I don't need to be shielded from ALL aromas. I love the smell of cinnamon, vanilla, chocolate, and chlorine. I like smelling crayons, thunderstorm ozone, Spam cooking on a campfire, and baking bread, too.

But then again, who doesn't?

I guess I don't really have a point to make here, do I? Unless it's to notify those who like flowery fragrances that not everyone shares their olfactory enthusiasm. 'Nuff said.

But on a completely different topic, I'm sure you're all wondering what I think of the new Star Trek movie, right? Well, even though I stood in line for several hours to see the craptacular "Star Trek, the Motion Picture" when it came out, I have to admit that I haven't seen this one yet. When I do, I'll be sure to tell you about it -- but I suspect I won't have anything to say beyond what Lileks has already posted about it.

So I guess I'll just sign off for today, with my fondest wishes that you'll enjoy the blooming of all the new flowers, etc., and that you have a great Spring!

BSOD Update

I haven't made much progress in fixing my computer. But I'm trying not to let it frustrate me; I have enough frustration in life -- having to work for a living and having to ration my chocolate-covered peanuts to avoid compounding my existing obesity. It is amazing, though, how the malfunctioning of one tool so greatly impacts a person's life. I could live without my garbage disposal, vacuum cleaner, or 8-track tape player for a while I suppose -- but trying to get by without a car, refrigerator, or Stratocaster, etc., well, that would be really difficult.

But as Shakespeare (or Stephen King, or one of them other hi-falutin' Greeks) once said, "All work and no home computer with Internet access makes Terry go crazy!" Until I can solve my Blue Screen of Death problem, I'd advise you to tread softly within my personal space, OK? Thanks.

The good news is that I discovered that Microsoft tech support is available until 9pm, so perhaps I can solve the problem without having to take a day off work. Then again...I would really enjoy taking a day off work, so if I can convince my coworkers that they could survive for a few hours without my wisdom and guidance...I might just snag myself a vacation day later in the week.

How long do you think it will take to solve the problem? Will it be one of those ordeals where I spend 3 hours on the phone with the tech support guy who says his name is Michael but it's really Sanjay? Will it require rebooting so many times that he'll exhaust his pre-scripted list of inane pleasantries while we wait to see that the changes we made didn't solve a darned thing? "How's the weather there in Denver?" "Do you think the Broncos will make it into the World Cup this year?" and "Have you seen the new Star Wars movie yet? -- I hear the new Spock is almost as good as Leonid Nemo."

I'm betting I won't be on the phone long. Once the dude understands my problem, I suspect he'll be quick to send me back to McAfee, who sent me to Microsoft in the first place. It'll the classic runaround gambit, with the end result of me going back to Norton and paying the fifty bucks.

Sigh. Wish me luck. Thanks!

Complicated Relationships

Have you ever had one of those relationships where you practically worship someone...and yet at the same time occasionally want to strangle them? Where some of the things they do make you swoon with delight and warm your heart with childlike joy...and others make you want to work them over with a pair of pliers and a blowtorch?

Such is my relationship with Bill Gates.

On one hand, the guy made geekiness cool, which certainly helps my cause as I struggle to navigate my way through social situations. Before Bill, I was just a dork -- now I'm a dork who just might possess arcane technical skills and therefore might have a slight chance to become accepted by my social superiors. (Well, at least until people find out that my Star Trek obsession is not accompanied by the requisite Dr. Who obsession that indicates true techno-geek worthiness. Unfortunately, my deep personal commitment to Green Acres doesn't seem to carry the same intellectual clout. Sigh.)

On the other hand, Herr Gates' famous Windows® "Blue Screen of Death (BSOD)®" is an evil pox upon the land, and one of the most horrible things a human being can be forced to encounter.

In fact, I find myself wondering if there's any way to prosecute its inventor for crimes against humanity -- surely the BSOD is 1000 times worse than anything that ever took place at Guantanamo Bay, right? It's not just the fact that your computer suddenly stopped working right in the middle of a YouTube video or something, which is bad enough...it's the fact that the BSOD is merely an omen of the ordeal to come. The "help" you receive from the error message isn't all that helpful: "STOP: 0x0000008E" -- and the line "Beginning dump of physical memory" sounds like either a very painful biological procedure or the herald of doomsday for your computer.

After doing some extensive research, I found out that "STOP: 0x0000008E" really means "A couple of your programs don't like each other." The online Help system (which of course you can't get to, since your computer won't run now) instructs you to "remove the driver", which sounds easy enough...until you realize that you have hundreds of drivers, and no idea which one is causing the error.

I'm sure it's OK, though, because when I tried to reboot, I got a dialog box that said "Your system has just recovered from a serious error. Let's tell Microsoft about it, shall we? That's a good lad." (or something like that). I guess it sends some sort of double-secret behind-the-scenes programming code back to Dr. Gates and company, which I am certain they will immediately use to ensure that no one ever has another 0x0000008E error again. Knowing that, I'm sure that I'll sleep well tonight.

Of course, in retrospect, the whole thing is my own fault. (Or perhaps something I can blame on my parsimonious Scottish ancestors.) You see, the whole thing started because I wanted to save some money. My subscription to Norton Antivirus was about to expire, and they wanted $50 to renew for another year. Well, it turns out that my Comcast service (a hideously expensive thing itself, but that's another story) includes a free subscription to the McAfee Security Suite. Heck, I thought, I'll just close out Norton, install McAfee, and will enjoy eternal viruslessness without paying another dime. No sweat.

Well, I'm sure there's no point in telling you the details. Nothing that has to do with computer security is as easy as it seems it should be. You have to completely -- and I mean completely -- remove one product before you can install the other, and as with so many computer tasks, doing the intuitive thing is the wrong thing. But I finally got 'er done.

Then, voila! The BSOD appears.

Grrr. Using "Safe Mode", I was able to look up McAfee's tech support, which said that I needed to call Comcast. Called Comcast; they said I needed to talk to McAfee. Talked to McAfee, and they said I needed to call Microsoft. Called Microsoft and they said they weren't open, and to call back during regular business hours. No hint as to what those regular business hours are, but I suspect that since their tech support people are all in Bangladesh or Moss Eisley or somewhere, it'll be something like midnight 'till 4am.

I shoulda just paid Norton their fifty bucks. And that may still be the final solution, though I'm not at all confident that I can remove the McAfee stuff and reinstall Norton without creating a new set of problems. Besides, McAfee is free, so even if it costs me hundreds of hours of labor to get it to work without frying my computer, I should go with it, right?

In the meantime, I'm telling myself to remember that Mr. Gates and his wife donate more to charity than the next 10 biggest donors combined, and that training people in how to use his products kept me employed for nearly 10 years at one point. I have plenty of reasons to love this guy!

But then again, there's that whole "What on Earth were you thinking when you hid all the good functions in Office 2007?" thing, too. Hmm.

Maybe it's time to buy a Mac.

Oh well. I'll let you know how it all turns out, so please stay tuned. In the meantime, please remember to back up your important files...and have a great day!

Home!

Ahhh. Another business trip complete, and a successful journey back to Denver. It's good to be back.

I'm sure you're dying to hear about all the interesting experiences I had during my trip; all the fascinating places I visited, and all the fabulous people I met. Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I have no such tales to tell. The most fascinating place I visited was the Subway restaurant where I had to repeat the phrase "More than that" to the sandwich builder six times before she and I finally agreed on the quantity that constituted "lots of" green peppers. I freely admit that I've lived a life sheltered from extensive food-related austerity, so I may not look at vegetable quantities in the same way as someone who grew up under different circumstances...but two measley half-inch strings of pepper is not "Lots" by any definition of the word that I'm familiar with. Nor is 4 such strands.

I needs my green peppers, man.

Am I wrong? If you went to a baseball stadium and found only two other fans there, would you say the game was attended by "lots of people"? I wouldn't.

And as for fabulous people, well, other than the clerks at the restaurants I patronized, the only people I encountered were my offsite co-workers, most of whom I knew already. And while their spouses and children may indeed describe them as "fabulous", I usually reserve that word to describe people of immense charisma, talent, or accomplishment...like Albert Schweitzer or Ben Affleck. Therefore, I think I'll spare you any description of my office interactions.

I will tell you a bit about the plane flight home. The Philadelphia airport had upgraded its security screening center since my last visit, and I was impressed by the looped video of a uniformed TSA employee explaining why you had to take your shoes off and run them through the Tunnel of Mystery machine. She said, and I quote: "We're doing everything we can to stop the bad guys." I liked that.

I did find myself wondering whether anyone else was bothered by the fact that this articulate and charismatic spokeswoman looked more like Vivica Fox than any TSA worker I've ever seen in an airport. And she spoke like Diane Simmons.

I guess that shouldn't bother me...the guys who play doctors on TV commercials don't look much like anyone I've ever seen over at Kaiser, either.

Anyway, speaking of doctors and flu and stuff, I was curious to see how the media hysteria over the Swine Flu would affect airline travel. Would travelers be wearing respirator masks? And if they did, would that freak out the TSA guys who were trying to compare their faces to their driver's licence pictures? (And that brings up the side question of why none of the screeners ever question me about my out-of-date drivers license photo?)

I am happy to report, though, that the travelers I saw were not encapsulated in Hazmat suits, nor were they engaged in excessive sanitizer-soaked hand wringing. In fact, I'd have to say that the general air-travel population seemed to be somewhat healthier than normal. I didn't hear any coughing or sneezing at all during the entire flight.

Of course, that could be because the Russian couple behind me were talking so loudly the entire flight, drowning out any other ambient noises. I know that there are many folks who feel that their conversations are SO important that everyone needs to hear them, but I'm one of those rare folks who'd really rather not listen. It was interesting to note, though, that somehow a loudmouth conversation in a foreign language is not quite as annoying as it would be in English. No matter how inane and moronic their discussion may actually have been, I found that it was possible to imagine that they were engaged in a fascinating analysis of orbital mechanics, or perhaps a scholarly debate on whether or not the character of Boris Badenov was an accurate portrayal of a typical cold war commie criminal.

But despite what I could or couldn't hear, it was obvious that people were still accepting their mini-cups of Diet Coke from the bare-handed flight attendant without cringing in germophobic horror. Therefore, the conclusion I draw from my informal observations is that the only Americans who are freaking out about swine flu are the media and politicians. And nobody with any intelligence would listen to either of those sources anyway.

Bottom line: I'm home and healthy, and life is good. Have a great day!