A 3-week long business trip a few weeks ago began in early March at 6:15am when Scotty pulled up to the house in his taxi. I got into the back seat and, having used Scotty’s airport service several times, asked Scotty how he was doing.
“I’m cold, man!”
“Yeah? …
Most of my friends, colleagues, and acquaintances found 2009 a harder year than years past. The global economic downturn and its residual effects of course weighed heavily on all of us—some more directly than others. For me, 2009 really wasn’t bad, and I’m going into 2010 with some good momentum.
My family has been attending the SF Bay Maker Faire every year since its inception. It’s relatively easy to describe what The Maker Faire is—unsurprisingly, it’s a gathering for people who make things—but it’s very difficult to articulate its scope in a way that can be understood for those who don’t or can’t attend.
Much has happened to me while in California throughout the last six years. I no longer check the “Single” box on forms asking for my marital status, for starters. My thoughts on a career in the academic humanities were whittled from idealism and passion down to cynicism and kind of embarrassment for the whole profession. I drove a car and rode a couple of bikes. I gained a few pounds, started a little website called etherfarm, made and lost a few friends, developed an almost criminal affinity for Vietnamese food, and um, gained a few pounds. Most surprising, though, is that in the last few months, I find the word “dude” causing hairline fractures in my anti-California-culture protective shield.
I have a confession to make. I have gone corporate. At the end of January I took a contract job with a large software company. I love the job, really enjoy the people I work with, and was made a good offer, so I’m staying on as a full-time employee. …
As a followup to the last post, I’d like to offer the following responses to the responses and the following comments to the comments. I’ve waited until the first of March to post a followup so my bandwidth quota would reset.
I received no fewer than four less-than-savory emails from indignant southern Californians responding to my last post, which of course was the perfect inspiration for this post.
When I was a kid, one of my favorite toys was a wooden puzzle of the United States. Each piece, painted in a single bright color, corresponded to one of our 50 states. I’d generally go from east to west, placing Maine first—a ritual which I think imbued me with a fascination for that state, then Florida—because that’s where my grandparents lived at the time, then fill in the rest piece by piece. …
My relative absence from this site can be attributed to a very busy week last week and a weekend trip down to the City of Angels this last weekend. I was summoned by the Grammy—not the award given to musicians who have successfully sold out—but by the Real Grammy™—Poog’s grandmother. On this issue the User Manual for PremarItal RElations (UMPIRE®) is quite clear: when the Real Grammy™ summons, you go. Unless, of course, you meet the criteria specified in Chapter 6, Section VI, Paragraph B of UMPIRE®, which exempts those being summoned by a Real Grammy™ under the influence of senility, drugs, booze, Perry Como, Lawrence Welk, Richard Nixon, or Betsy Ross. …
Got pulled over by a cop while I was riding my bicycle today. The conversation went as follows:
This page lists all 10 entries filed under the California category in Synapse. Entries are listed in reverse-chronological order.