floorpie

In Seattle, the gate for my small prop-plane to Victoria was down at the end of a long causeway. Along this causeway were various other gates staggered along it’s length leading to similarly small planes. At the entrance of this causeway was a darkened stairway leading up to the left. It rose about a half dozen steps to a landing, and then doubled-back on itself and presumably continued on to the floor above. There were no indications that you should, for any reason, actually take these stairs to anywhere, and they were almost invisible, shrouded as they were in darkness. Glancing at them, however, I noticed an airline employee sitting in an uncomfortable chair on the landing, arms folded, staring through me into nothingness. It looked as if she’d been there for a long time, and had no intention or reason to move any time soon.

worst. job. ever.

The taxi driver on the way to the airport drove fast and recklessly, simultaneously cutting around cars, punching information into his onboard taxi-computer, and talking non-stop in an indecipherable (to me) language. Whoever he was talking to must have been an incredible and patient listener, by the way, as I couldn’t detect a breath, pause, or tonal-upswing-as-if-responding-to-answer-or-comment, for nearly a full ten minutes.

At any rate, his Andretti-driving elicited a few honks from fellow road travelers, as well as causing me to double check the tension on my seat-belt more than once. Which leads me to my main point: he wasn’t wearing one.

Based largely on my experience when he arrived, I’m fairly sure this wasn’t designed to leave him unencumbered enough to leap from the car heroically when encountering a passenger; so, I think his only reasoning could be that he didn’t feel like it.

I’m not sure how I feel about this.

On the one hand I was overwhelmingly relieved, assuming that the driver was so experienced and so confident in his own abilities in piloting rocketing steel, that a seat-belt was a laughingly unnecessary safety device in the hands of such skilled surgeon-like hands; reckless driving or not. In fact, the very notion that his mastery of automobiles would be mistaken as recklessness just serves to demonstrate how juvenile my own skills must be in comparison.

Or, he had a death-wish. You know, either one, really.

Well, I’m back in the Bay Area; which, if you knew anything about the weather in California and cared about my safety at all, would make you fairly relieved.

So I’m in LA right now, getting maybe the last few moments of close-friends time for a while. Meaning, for those of you keeping score at home, that I lean ever-closer to the Canada job.

More importantly, I’m in LA because one of my close friends, the first one in The Group, turned 30 today… and I’m next (yes in two years, but I’m still next). For those of you already over 30 or more, I’m sure you find this childish; but, for those of you still in your 20’s or less, I’m sure you can understand how odd the whole aging thing still seems. I don’t feel like 30 year olds should be part of my peer group. I still feel like a kid, young in spirit anyway, if not in body. Though I suspect I’m mistaken, I still feel like I’m in the loop and terribly, tragically, beautifully hip.

This, really, just goes to show and prove, not that I’m deluded (though I’m sure that’s present as well), but that I’ve had the wrong idea about aging all along. I am still young is the rub and the detail forgotten, as are all my friends. We will, in fact, always be young, and there’s nothing particularly tragic about the passage of time.

Next to On the Road, The Count of Monte Cristo is my favorite book. Compelling love story, adventure, tales of really really wicked revenge… you can’t go wrong.

The Count of Monte Cristo the movie, however, is, at the very best, the second worst movie I’ve ever seen (coming in after Weekend at Bernie’s II, or more recently, Star Wars, Episode II). They absolutely butchered the plot, re-organized the main characters, invented or overly-enhanced others, and more or less changed the story to be a nearly unrecognizable load of crap.

Though that may be too harsh. If, say, the movie was entitled Captain Chris and his Crazy Crew it would have been pretty good. Either way, it does NOT hold a candle to the book (where the hell did that expression come from, anyway?)

While we’re not on the subject, let me bring up, apropos of nothing, the Wal*Mart Photo Center. If you have a digital camera (like I do) and sometimes want prints (like I do) and get tired of spending hours printing out your own even though you have a photo-quality printer (like I do) and have an overwhelming distate to the idea of actually going anywhere to get prints made (like I said), then there is no better resource than that provided by the wonderful good people over at your virtual Wal*Mart Photo Center.

I can not tell you how stoked I am with this.

So I says to Maude, I says, “Alls you gotta do is upload your photos, order your prints for like nothing and they’ll either send them to the nearest Wal*Mart to be picked up for no shipping, or send them anywhere for like a buck.”

How do you beat 26¢ for a 4×6? $2.86 for an 8×10? Technology makes me happy.

PS I totally just virtually spammed you

Le Target sells Christmas trees now? Have they always done that? I didn’t actually buy one, but I was stoked to see it as an option. Michael Graves, Philippe Starck, and now Christmas trees? I *heart* Target.

You know that whole thing with the not moving to Canada and stuff? Yeah… not so much. Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…
Don’t get the wrong idea that I’m indecisive or anything. I originally signed the offer that would take me to Canada while in Austin dealing with the stress of meeting ADG’s family (yeah, that went… yeah), with a recruiter pressuring me three times a day, and without my home resources to assist me. Right after I signed and faxed it off my heart sank, and I knew that I’d made a mistake.

Since then, I’ve been literally sick, teetering between getting ready to move (Defense Exhibit A) and trying to figure a way out of it (Defense Exhibit B). Finally I decided that it really just wasn’t the right thing for me and mine, and notified the company. To my surprise, instead of being angry with me (it’s a bit of a faux pas to reject the offer after you’ve, you know, accepted it and all), they were very understanding and wished to open the door to more negotiations. They acknowledged that the recruiter didn’t exactly treat me fairly (he misled me on a number of key points) and also admitted that they may need to reevaluate their salary plans of they are resorting to international candidates to fill their position. In short, they totally want me.

I’m not sure that money will solve my problems in the long run (I’m one of those types. You know, those guys with “feelings” and stuff), but it will be interesting to see how this plays out.

In other news, Santa is dead.

This represents 12-2AM last night. I am so back in love with Super Mario Brothers… and Metroid… and Rygar… and Kung-Fu. *twitch twitch*