Bellevue, WA
It's been awhile since I posted, because I had a week and a half or so of fairly uninspiring stops. One unfortunate thing about this job is while I get to visit lots of different city, it's hard to write an entertaining piece about a city such as Omaha without coming off snarky, especially when I'm not even staying in Omaha (which I'm sure is perfectly lovely) but in some non-descript suburb of Omaha. Anyway, last week I got to stay in Rochester NY. Now I doubt that's inspiring much pitter-patter in your hearts, but I actually had a good time because I was staying in DOWNTOWN Rochester. The only thing I knew about Rochester was what my roommate Sparky told me (he's from nearby Syracuse) and he said that there’s this amazing restaurant called Nick Tahoe's Hots and they serve a world famous dish called the Garbage Plate. So when we arrived to our hotel, I threw my bags into my room and went for a walk in search for this supposed national institution.
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about expectations and how it often shapes the way we enjoy something. I’m no mathematician, but I’m pretty sure there is a scientific ratio that describes our enjoyment of an event. Something along the lines of: Reality / Expectation = Enjoyment. For example: The other day I went to watch a movie called Men Who Stare at Goats. It starred George Clooney, Jeff Daniels and Kevin Spacey, actors who I respect and almost always enjoy. So you might say my expectation was pretty high. If I had to grade it on a 1 to 10 scale, I would say my expectation was about a 9. The reality was that it was a decent movie. It was funny, it had quality characters and though it kind of trailed off toward the ending, the plot was fun. So on a scale of 1 to 10, I would rate it at about a 7. That’s a fairly good score especially since I’m easily amused, yet I came out of the theater thinking, ‘Meh… it was all right I guess, but it could’ve been way better.’ So if you were to divide the reality score of 7 by my expectation score of 9, you would come up with an enjoyment score of about .78. And I’m thinking you need to have at least a 1 to really enjoy the movie.
Now compare that to when I saw the latest Indiana Jones movie. I went into that movie fully expecting it to be awful. The reviews were horrible, nobody I had talked to liked it and the only reason I even went was because of some wistful hankering for my favorite movie series from when I was a kid. So I’ll put my expectation level at about a 2. The reality was that it had over the hill actors, a ridiculous plot, geography that was dubious at best, and Shia Lebouf swing through the jungle with a troop of monkeys. Hmmm… so I’ll give it a 3. Yet somehow, I came out of the theater thinking, “Wow that was actually a lot of fun. I didn’t realize that you could survive a nuclear blast in a refrigerator and maybe there is a way to get from the Nazca Lines to Iguazu falls in a couple of hours driving a Jeep.” So there you go… my enjoyment score ended up at a 1.5. By the way, this theory works for almost anything: restaurants, hotels, first dates, whatever.
Sorry, I’ve noticed that I’ve digressed… I was talking about Nick Tahoe’s Hots for which my expectation was set pretty high. Walking up to it, I wasn’t exactly blown away. It’s basically just a greasy spoon set in a ramshackle brick building with a rusty metal sign informing the public that they now sell lottery tickets. It had a long Formica bar with fixed padded stools and huge grill maintained by crusty chef with a grey pony-tail. I ordered the Garbage Plate which is basically just a bunch of things mixed together on one plate. Mine had macaroni, fried potatoes and couple of cheeseburger patties. It was the kind of thing that would’ve been awesome after a 12 hour drinking binge or maybe if I had come upon it randomly, but at that point I wasn’t all that impressed. Once again, expectation triumphed over reality which left my enjoyment suffering. Ah well.
What I learned today: If you forget a book on a plane and they aren’t showing a movie (as many airlines aren’t anymore) and you’ve finished the crossword in the in-flight magazine, check out the bizarre products advertised in the Sky Mall magazine. It’s hilarious.
An actual product found in the Sky Mall magazine: Telekinetic Obstacle course. Yep that’s right! With this amazing product you can control a ball and make it work its way through an obstacle course by using only your brain waves. From what I can gather from the male model in the picture, you wear a silly head band and glare at a ball until it moves around a space agey-looking course. I don’t know what else to tell you. I told you these products were weird.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Pilot Prejudice
Kansas City
I’m not normally prejudice. As a rule, I treat everybody as equal as possible and though in reality it never happens, I try to have identical expectations from everyone I meet (even gingers). However, there is one arena where I recently found I do have a little prejudice and I don’t think I’m alone. It happened when boarding a flight from Phoenix to St. Louis. When I passed by the cockpit (or the flight deck, as they instructed us to call it at Boeing) I glanced at the pilot and I actually flinched when I saw how young he was. He must have been in his late twenties, but looked to be about 19. He had peach fuzz on his chin and I’m sure he must have just graduated college where at his frat he was probably named after some large saltwater fish. I feel like I’m a pretty good flyer. I’ve flown in and out of some small airports on desolate peaks in developing countries with airlines of dubious record, but this dude made me feel nervous before we even took off. He had this high-pitched voice that would’ve been more appropriate offering a bong, than reading flight coordinates.
So yes, I’m ageist when it comes to my airplane pilots. I want my pilot to be if not old, at least properly grizzled. He should have a limp or even a false leg preferably from being shot down over Hanoi. Nothing’s going to faze this guy. I want him to have a gravelly voice with slow soothing grunts. If, for example, we lose the right wing, I want him to be able to come on over the speaker and say in that voice, “Ahhhh, well folks… it looks like we might have lost our starboard flipper there… but ahhh, you shouldn’t worry too much. We were only planning on… ahhhh turning left from here on out anyway. We should be on the ground in about oohhhh… 27 minutes or so. So folks just sit back and enjoy the extended view from the right.”
And just so you don’t think I’m sexist as well, I’m perfectly fine with women pilots, I just happen to be talking about male pilots at the moment. Strangely enough, now that I’m thinking about it, I want my female pilots to be younger, prim, no-nonsense women with a healthy belief in God. I don’t know why.
What I learned today: If you lose your cel phone charger, ask a hotel. They more than likely will have a huge basket of them and they’ll give you one
I’m not normally prejudice. As a rule, I treat everybody as equal as possible and though in reality it never happens, I try to have identical expectations from everyone I meet (even gingers). However, there is one arena where I recently found I do have a little prejudice and I don’t think I’m alone. It happened when boarding a flight from Phoenix to St. Louis. When I passed by the cockpit (or the flight deck, as they instructed us to call it at Boeing) I glanced at the pilot and I actually flinched when I saw how young he was. He must have been in his late twenties, but looked to be about 19. He had peach fuzz on his chin and I’m sure he must have just graduated college where at his frat he was probably named after some large saltwater fish. I feel like I’m a pretty good flyer. I’ve flown in and out of some small airports on desolate peaks in developing countries with airlines of dubious record, but this dude made me feel nervous before we even took off. He had this high-pitched voice that would’ve been more appropriate offering a bong, than reading flight coordinates.
So yes, I’m ageist when it comes to my airplane pilots. I want my pilot to be if not old, at least properly grizzled. He should have a limp or even a false leg preferably from being shot down over Hanoi. Nothing’s going to faze this guy. I want him to have a gravelly voice with slow soothing grunts. If, for example, we lose the right wing, I want him to be able to come on over the speaker and say in that voice, “Ahhhh, well folks… it looks like we might have lost our starboard flipper there… but ahhh, you shouldn’t worry too much. We were only planning on… ahhhh turning left from here on out anyway. We should be on the ground in about oohhhh… 27 minutes or so. So folks just sit back and enjoy the extended view from the right.”
And just so you don’t think I’m sexist as well, I’m perfectly fine with women pilots, I just happen to be talking about male pilots at the moment. Strangely enough, now that I’m thinking about it, I want my female pilots to be younger, prim, no-nonsense women with a healthy belief in God. I don’t know why.
What I learned today: If you lose your cel phone charger, ask a hotel. They more than likely will have a huge basket of them and they’ll give you one
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Big Country
On a plane between Oklahoma City and Minneapolis
Well… I’ll tell you one thing: this job is giving me an opportunity to visit cities I would never choose to go to on my own. For example, I’ve just left Oklahoma City. Yessirree, I sure did, I tell you what. I must say that, for the most part, I’ve been fairly impressed with the hotels BER uses. In Tulsa we stayed in a beautiful Crown Plaza and I’m on my way to Minneapolis where I think we’re staying in a Marriot. However, last night we stayed in a Clarion… in Oklahoma City. The carpets were stained with what I could only assume to be chaw juice and the lobby/buffet area smelled like cheese zombie. The one thing I will say is that it seems the smaller and the crappier hotel, the better service we get in our conference room. Last week, I stayed at a lovely Hilton on Long Island but the hotel people couldn’t give two shits about our little seminar because there were six other 'conferences' going on, while today the people over at the “convention center” (and yes it was an effort to refrain from using my fingers to parenthesize every time I used this overly-ambitious term today) fell all over themselves helping us out.
One thing that I’ve forgotten about the South or maybe it's a new thing, is one of the ways they have of saying thank you. Rather than saying thank you or I appreciate it, like us ho-hum northerners, some our Southern friends say “I appreciate you.” Now this isn’t after giving them relationship advice or talking them off a ledge, but after everyday activities like making a bank transaction or buying a sandwich. I first heard this in Columbia, South Carolina but then recently heard it again today in Oklahoma City. However, I must admit, it meant more the first time because the SC woman’s accent oozed so much that the word 'appreciate', actually dripped into the word 'you', giving 'you' like 5 syllables, which somehow gave it even more significance. Y-oo-ooo-uuu. Meanwhile, the OK guy’s “I appreciate ya” felt like somebody hurling dry toast at my forehead. Still, it’s nice to know that he appreciated not only my sandwich buying capabilities, but ME.
What I learned today: There are an inordinate number of male teachers named Todd.
Well… I’ll tell you one thing: this job is giving me an opportunity to visit cities I would never choose to go to on my own. For example, I’ve just left Oklahoma City. Yessirree, I sure did, I tell you what. I must say that, for the most part, I’ve been fairly impressed with the hotels BER uses. In Tulsa we stayed in a beautiful Crown Plaza and I’m on my way to Minneapolis where I think we’re staying in a Marriot. However, last night we stayed in a Clarion… in Oklahoma City. The carpets were stained with what I could only assume to be chaw juice and the lobby/buffet area smelled like cheese zombie. The one thing I will say is that it seems the smaller and the crappier hotel, the better service we get in our conference room. Last week, I stayed at a lovely Hilton on Long Island but the hotel people couldn’t give two shits about our little seminar because there were six other 'conferences' going on, while today the people over at the “convention center” (and yes it was an effort to refrain from using my fingers to parenthesize every time I used this overly-ambitious term today) fell all over themselves helping us out.
One thing that I’ve forgotten about the South or maybe it's a new thing, is one of the ways they have of saying thank you. Rather than saying thank you or I appreciate it, like us ho-hum northerners, some our Southern friends say “I appreciate you.” Now this isn’t after giving them relationship advice or talking them off a ledge, but after everyday activities like making a bank transaction or buying a sandwich. I first heard this in Columbia, South Carolina but then recently heard it again today in Oklahoma City. However, I must admit, it meant more the first time because the SC woman’s accent oozed so much that the word 'appreciate', actually dripped into the word 'you', giving 'you' like 5 syllables, which somehow gave it even more significance. Y-oo-ooo-uuu. Meanwhile, the OK guy’s “I appreciate ya” felt like somebody hurling dry toast at my forehead. Still, it’s nice to know that he appreciated not only my sandwich buying capabilities, but ME.
What I learned today: There are an inordinate number of male teachers named Todd.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Hallow-hilarity
Tulsa, OK
I am so glad that Halloween fell on a Saturday this year and I was able to be home, rather than stuck in
Martha as Beyonce, myself and Adam the beet
some Podunk town like I am right now (my apologies to anybody reading from Oklahoma… oh yeah, I DON’T KNOW ANYBODY HERE). Anyway, it was good fun. I had been hearing about the Sisheimer’s Halloween parties ever since I got hooked up with the Mastatal crowd. I was doubly excited because I came up with (in my mind anyway) a good costume idea. I found a grey onesy on the internet, sewed (yes that’s right, I sewed) on paper claws, ears and a tail put together from the ripped-off limbs of a stuffed monkey. Finally, I made a crown out of yellow poster board to finish off my Max from Where The Wild Things Are costume. It would’ve been a lot cooler had I thought of it before the movie came out, but it was still fun. Nate, my roommate, went as Dr. Simon Funke from the show Arrested Development and with the horseshoe hair, mustache and never-nude cut-offs looked just like him. Awesome. Sparky and Dickie (his friend from Sacremento) both painted cardboard boxes and glued on computer parts and went as robots.
The party itself was mainly held in the Sisheimer’s back yard and basement. For the first time I can remember, it was a clear nice evening for Halloween. When we got to the party, I was shocked to find somebody had actually made a very convincing Where The Wild Things Are monster outfit, which made for some fun pictures.
My favorite costume of the night was worn by my friend Adam. He came over to Casi Casa before the party to hang out with us and he was dressed in a lame drunk Airplane Pilot outfit, which basically meant his Pilot’s shirt was half-untucked, but whatever, I’ve definitely had some lazy-ass Halloween costumes. But later at the party it got worse, because we were chatting to a couple of girls and he was going on and on about how he wasn’t just a pilot, but some Russian pilot who got drunk before flying and the girls had no idea what he was talking about and I kept nudging him and saying under my breath, “Dude, shut-up. Nobody wants to hear the story about the Russian pilot.” But he just kept going until the girls excused themselves and I said, “Couldn’t you at least be the Northwest pilots who fell asleep? You know, a little more current.” He just smiled. Little did I know, the pilot costume was only a decoy. Later, all of a sudden, out comes this dude wearing a giant papier-mâché beet that covered his entire body from the waist up to about 3 feet over his head with no arm holes and whatdoyouknow it was Adam It was hilarious because it was so random. Who goes to a costume party in a lame decoy costume?
It was a great night, but not so fun waking up to go to the airport the next morning. By the way, you can view photos from the night at my facebook page.
What I learned today: They’ve done amazing things in the whiteout business since I was in school… AMAZING THINGS!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
New Joisey!
Newark, New Jersey
Snatches of an actual conversation going on next to me at the bar in the Holiday Inn in Newark:
"You know when you first winked at me, I thought you were a hooker (there was no doubt she was a hooker). I mean why would a girl like you be interested in an old guy like me?"
"I just like older men."
"So you're not a hooker?"
"No baby, of course not." (She was barely able to keep a straight face)
"Good, good... So what do you do?"
"Oh, I run my own little business."
"Ah, an entrepreneur! That's great! What kind of business?"
"Umm...let's talk about you."
Hilarious. It's so rare that a place actually lives up to the expectation you have in your head.
That night I went out to see some friends, Alan and Nicole at a great bar named Tierney's in Montclair New Jersey. I wish I would've had more time, but it was kind of fun flashing into town for a couple of hours.
Snatches of an actual conversation going on next to me at the bar in the Holiday Inn in Newark:
"You know when you first winked at me, I thought you were a hooker (there was no doubt she was a hooker). I mean why would a girl like you be interested in an old guy like me?"
"I just like older men."
"So you're not a hooker?"
"No baby, of course not." (She was barely able to keep a straight face)
"Good, good... So what do you do?"
"Oh, I run my own little business."
"Ah, an entrepreneur! That's great! What kind of business?"
"Umm...let's talk about you."
Hilarious. It's so rare that a place actually lives up to the expectation you have in your head.
That night I went out to see some friends, Alan and Nicole at a great bar named Tierney's in Montclair New Jersey. I wish I would've had more time, but it was kind of fun flashing into town for a couple of hours.
Monday, October 26, 2009
My Birthday!
Providence, RI
Ah, Fall in New England. Though the rain is coming down today, the past couple of days have been spectacular. As we’ve been driving through New Hampshire and Massachusetts, the days have been crisp and cool. The trees are draped with leaves the color of perfectly toasted marshmallows.
Yesterday was my birthday and Drew (another PM who happened to be in Providence as well) and I went out for dinner. We had a few beers at Rick’s Roadhouse in town and were served the biggest plate of nachos I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a few plates of nachos.
My presenter this week is named Al Guenther. Al is 73 years old (with the energy of a 13 year old) and is a nutty physics teacher with intense OCD. His presentations are full of crazy science experiments that he shows to high school science teachers so they can use them in their class rooms. He has about eight tables of displays and exhibits that all fit very exactly into to two huge red suitcases. To help facilitate my packing of his exhibits, he has color-coded diagrams of how each wire, magnet or tube fits into its particular film canister, shoe box or tackle box. Then he has other color-coded diagrams that explain how each container fits into his suitcases. Basically, think of the way I organize my stuff and then picture the opposite.
It‘s a little trying figuring out how to pack up his stuff, but he makes up for it by being hilarious. He’s got some great stories, which is lucky since we’ve had a couple of three hour drives. He told me about how he had to flee Iran on Black Friday because he was working for the Shah. They had to sit on the runway for a couple of hours not knowing if they would be allowed to take off. Can you imagine what it must have felt like when they finally got in air?
What I learned today: Gloria (the woman who lives in my GPS) has absolutely no confidence in my sense of direction.
Ah, Fall in New England. Though the rain is coming down today, the past couple of days have been spectacular. As we’ve been driving through New Hampshire and Massachusetts, the days have been crisp and cool. The trees are draped with leaves the color of perfectly toasted marshmallows.
Yesterday was my birthday and Drew (another PM who happened to be in Providence as well) and I went out for dinner. We had a few beers at Rick’s Roadhouse in town and were served the biggest plate of nachos I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a few plates of nachos.
My presenter this week is named Al Guenther. Al is 73 years old (with the energy of a 13 year old) and is a nutty physics teacher with intense OCD. His presentations are full of crazy science experiments that he shows to high school science teachers so they can use them in their class rooms. He has about eight tables of displays and exhibits that all fit very exactly into to two huge red suitcases. To help facilitate my packing of his exhibits, he has color-coded diagrams of how each wire, magnet or tube fits into its particular film canister, shoe box or tackle box. Then he has other color-coded diagrams that explain how each container fits into his suitcases. Basically, think of the way I organize my stuff and then picture the opposite.
It‘s a little trying figuring out how to pack up his stuff, but he makes up for it by being hilarious. He’s got some great stories, which is lucky since we’ve had a couple of three hour drives. He told me about how he had to flee Iran on Black Friday because he was working for the Shah. They had to sit on the runway for a couple of hours not knowing if they would be allowed to take off. Can you imagine what it must have felt like when they finally got in air?
What I learned today: Gloria (the woman who lives in my GPS) has absolutely no confidence in my sense of direction.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
My Posse's on Broadway
Manchester, NH
After a long week rather than flying home, I decided to fly to Denver and then take a redeye to New York,
Meg Vita and I
so when I finally reached Manhattan I had only a couple of hours of airplane sleep. Luckily, I was revived by visiting one of my favorite people in the world (and many of yours) Meg Vita. She took a day and a half out of her very busy schedule at Columbia to hang out with me in the NYC. It was one of those weekends that though we only had thirty hours or so, we did so much it seemed like much longer. The highlights included a Brooklyn brewery tour (the beer more than the tour), whipping through Williamsburg in some dude’s BMW, big gulp margaritas, midnight meringue, a long hike through Central Park, coming out of the Park at the exact right street, portabella cheese burgers and the best chocolate peanut butter shake I’ve ever had.
The weekend was capped off when I picked up my rental car for my week in New England. In the morning, when we left Meg’s apartment, she decided to bring along a scarf, just in case my rental car was a convertible. “It won’t be a convertible, Meg,” I said confidently, “but bring it along if you want.” Well whatdoyaknow, when I walked up to the National Rent-a-car desk in mid-town Manhattan, the woman’s brow furrowed when she said, “All I have left is a Volvo C70. It’s not very big… but it’s a convertible.” Yessir, we cruised down Broadway in Manhattan in a beautiful black convertible, Meg looking like a starlet wearing my Ray-Ban (like) sunglasses and her scarf wrapped around her head, the ends fluttering in the breeze. When I got up here to New Hampshire, I had to exchange it for an SUV because it wasn’t big enough to carry my presenter’s suitcases, but it was totally worth it. Awesome couple of days!
What I learned today: When a street person asks you for money, it’s much harder to say no when you’re driving a flash convertible
Friday, October 23, 2009
The Joy of Children
Denver, CO
So I want to talk for a moment about babies on planes. When it comes to hyperactivity or other “imbalances” parents are quick on the draw to feed their kids Ritalin, Addrall and the such, so can’t we as a society decided that a very mild sedative be okay for children on flights? I can’t help but think with all of our fancy technology we could come up with a cherry flavored liquid form of valium that’s safe for kids under the age of seven.
These were my (more humane) thoughts as I squirmed and tried to get comfortable while the child in front of me screamed and cried the entire flight from Atlanta to Denver. I must say, as bad as it was for me, it must have been ten times worse for the Mom, so I felt for her (even though she obviously didn’t prescribe to my kiddie valium strategy). Ahh… it’s just so easy to comment on the way to raise a child when you have none of your own.
What I learned today: The quantity of helpful hotel people divided by the number
of screaming babies on the airplane equals the amount of joy I have in my heart.
So I want to talk for a moment about babies on planes. When it comes to hyperactivity or other “imbalances” parents are quick on the draw to feed their kids Ritalin, Addrall and the such, so can’t we as a society decided that a very mild sedative be okay for children on flights? I can’t help but think with all of our fancy technology we could come up with a cherry flavored liquid form of valium that’s safe for kids under the age of seven.
These were my (more humane) thoughts as I squirmed and tried to get comfortable while the child in front of me screamed and cried the entire flight from Atlanta to Denver. I must say, as bad as it was for me, it must have been ten times worse for the Mom, so I felt for her (even though she obviously didn’t prescribe to my kiddie valium strategy). Ahh… it’s just so easy to comment on the way to raise a child when you have none of your own.
What I learned today: The quantity of helpful hotel people divided by the number
of screaming babies on the airplane equals the amount of joy I have in my heart.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
PT Cruising
Edmonton, Alberta
My presenter for the last few days of this week is an energetic firecracker of a woman named Dana Finch. She’s from Texas with a charming Texan drawl, three football playing boys in her Texan family (along with a couple more foster children), lots of Texan beliefs and amazing energy that’s about the size of… well, Texas. Though I don’t always agree with Texans on religious or political questions, Dana was without a doubt one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. I couldn’t help but laugh every time one of her boys called her on the phone and she would answer in the accent, “Hey Cody Finch!” or “Hey Luke Finch!”. Loved it.
Anyway, her first seminar with me was in Denver, where it was snowing, and then we had to fly up to Edmonton that afternoon. We got in late and then still had to pick up a rent-a-car and drive it forty minutes into beautiful downtown Edmonton. The only positive thing was that the rent-a-car people gave us a PT Cruiser. I had always wanted to drive a PT Cruiser.
What I learned today: The thought of driving a PT Cruiser is way more fun than actually driving one.
Friday, October 24th – Calgary
Long, long drive today from Edmonton to Calgary. Of all the road trips in the world that I can think of, the trip between Edmonton and Calgary would rank near the bottom between St. Louis to Dallas and Addis Ababa to Mogadishu. Luckily, Dana was a fun driving companion and helped me take my mind off the depressing scenery and the fact that PT Cruisers drive like Panzer tanks.
What I learned today: Calgary looks just like you’d expect it to.
My presenter for the last few days of this week is an energetic firecracker of a woman named Dana Finch. She’s from Texas with a charming Texan drawl, three football playing boys in her Texan family (along with a couple more foster children), lots of Texan beliefs and amazing energy that’s about the size of… well, Texas. Though I don’t always agree with Texans on religious or political questions, Dana was without a doubt one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. I couldn’t help but laugh every time one of her boys called her on the phone and she would answer in the accent, “Hey Cody Finch!” or “Hey Luke Finch!”. Loved it.
Anyway, her first seminar with me was in Denver, where it was snowing, and then we had to fly up to Edmonton that afternoon. We got in late and then still had to pick up a rent-a-car and drive it forty minutes into beautiful downtown Edmonton. The only positive thing was that the rent-a-car people gave us a PT Cruiser. I had always wanted to drive a PT Cruiser.
What I learned today: The thought of driving a PT Cruiser is way more fun than actually driving one.
Friday, October 24th – Calgary
Long, long drive today from Edmonton to Calgary. Of all the road trips in the world that I can think of, the trip between Edmonton and Calgary would rank near the bottom between St. Louis to Dallas and Addis Ababa to Mogadishu. Luckily, Dana was a fun driving companion and helped me take my mind off the depressing scenery and the fact that PT Cruisers drive like Panzer tanks.
What I learned today: Calgary looks just like you’d expect it to.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Thoughts from the Road
Columbia, South Carolina
I’ve just begun working for a company called the Bureau of Education and Research. Of course for some reason the title of the company makes me feel like I should be wearing thick black glasses and analyzing long lists of binary that are being spat out by a room-size computer, but in reality the company puts on educational seminars for teachers all over the US and Canada and my job, as program manger, is to facilitate them. That isn’t to say that I’m giving these presentations. Each week I’ll have a different presenter give seminars on education techniques. For example, this week the topic of my presenter’s seminar is Using Interactive Centers to Differentiate Instruction for All Students in Reading, Writing, Math and Sciences. Yeah, I know. It’s a little bulky, but the teachers seem to love it. Anyway, I’m just there to set up the AV equipment, register the teachers and basically make sure everything happens the way it’s supposed to. The fun and also the bitch of this job is that I’m required to be in five cities a week, so I’ll be on the road basically 5 and half days out of the week. For example, this week I was in Columbia, SC on Monday, Atlanta on Tuesday, Denver on Wednesday, Edmonton on Thursday and I’ll be in Calgary tomorrow. Now usually, I’ll be in one region for the week, but you get the gist.
So this blog will be just general thoughts and observations as I go from place to place. I hope you enjoy it and I hope to see many of you on brief visits as I go from place to place.
October 13th-16th Training Week
For some reason, I thought I would be in the average age range for this job, but apparently daily travel and hotel stays don’t appeal to the average 32 year old. There are 19 program managers in all, half of whom are returning from last year. One of the weird things in the BER office that I knew existed somewhere, but had never experienced was the college rivalries. The training was peppered with Husky and Coug references and at the office reception we actually were asked to burst out of our training room and declare our collegiate affiliation while The Final Countdown flared from the tinny speakers of somebody’s laptop. “Scott Williams, Washington State!” one PM said and half the crowd responded with “Yeah, go Cougs!” “Krista Burton, U-Dub!” said another girl. “All right Huskies!” the crowd replied enthusiastically. Finally at my turn, “Mike Moe, Evergreen State!” “Yeah, okay… Go Gooeyducks… “Uh, yeah. Thanks guys.” Anyway, I’m sure most of you experience this every day, but I thought it was strange.
Monday, October 19th – Columbia, SC
Back to the betel stained roads of the South for the first time in about five years. I remember the first time I crossed the Mason-Dixon, it was in August and it felt like somebody was holding a hot, damp wash cloth just inches from my face the entire time, however now the air is cool and comfortable. Still the South always has a certain slowness to it, like everything has been dipped in molasses. Now certain southern accents annoy me, for example the nasally chirpiness of Natchez, Mississippi or whatever part of Texas George W. Bush is from, but the farther East you go, the more the accent fades away from the nose until it’s a honey-glazed throaty drawl that makes me weak in the knees, especially when used by pretty teachers just out of college who like to call me darlin’. (Hmm… two references to sugary substances in one paragraph. For some reason I’m craving Baklava)
So the first couple of nights, we’re working in groups, before going out on my own on Thursday. Hence, last night I went out with a few of the other PM’s (program managers) and had a particularly random night in Columbia. A couple of our activities (which you may put in the I’m getting to old for this sh*# file) included playing beer pong, smoking a hookah and staying far too late.
What I learned today: The prime of my beer pong career was age 22.
I’ve just begun working for a company called the Bureau of Education and Research. Of course for some reason the title of the company makes me feel like I should be wearing thick black glasses and analyzing long lists of binary that are being spat out by a room-size computer, but in reality the company puts on educational seminars for teachers all over the US and Canada and my job, as program manger, is to facilitate them. That isn’t to say that I’m giving these presentations. Each week I’ll have a different presenter give seminars on education techniques. For example, this week the topic of my presenter’s seminar is Using Interactive Centers to Differentiate Instruction for All Students in Reading, Writing, Math and Sciences. Yeah, I know. It’s a little bulky, but the teachers seem to love it. Anyway, I’m just there to set up the AV equipment, register the teachers and basically make sure everything happens the way it’s supposed to. The fun and also the bitch of this job is that I’m required to be in five cities a week, so I’ll be on the road basically 5 and half days out of the week. For example, this week I was in Columbia, SC on Monday, Atlanta on Tuesday, Denver on Wednesday, Edmonton on Thursday and I’ll be in Calgary tomorrow. Now usually, I’ll be in one region for the week, but you get the gist.
So this blog will be just general thoughts and observations as I go from place to place. I hope you enjoy it and I hope to see many of you on brief visits as I go from place to place.
October 13th-16th Training Week
For some reason, I thought I would be in the average age range for this job, but apparently daily travel and hotel stays don’t appeal to the average 32 year old. There are 19 program managers in all, half of whom are returning from last year. One of the weird things in the BER office that I knew existed somewhere, but had never experienced was the college rivalries. The training was peppered with Husky and Coug references and at the office reception we actually were asked to burst out of our training room and declare our collegiate affiliation while The Final Countdown flared from the tinny speakers of somebody’s laptop. “Scott Williams, Washington State!” one PM said and half the crowd responded with “Yeah, go Cougs!” “Krista Burton, U-Dub!” said another girl. “All right Huskies!” the crowd replied enthusiastically. Finally at my turn, “Mike Moe, Evergreen State!” “Yeah, okay… Go Gooeyducks… “Uh, yeah. Thanks guys.” Anyway, I’m sure most of you experience this every day, but I thought it was strange.
Monday, October 19th – Columbia, SC
Back to the betel stained roads of the South for the first time in about five years. I remember the first time I crossed the Mason-Dixon, it was in August and it felt like somebody was holding a hot, damp wash cloth just inches from my face the entire time, however now the air is cool and comfortable. Still the South always has a certain slowness to it, like everything has been dipped in molasses. Now certain southern accents annoy me, for example the nasally chirpiness of Natchez, Mississippi or whatever part of Texas George W. Bush is from, but the farther East you go, the more the accent fades away from the nose until it’s a honey-glazed throaty drawl that makes me weak in the knees, especially when used by pretty teachers just out of college who like to call me darlin’. (Hmm… two references to sugary substances in one paragraph. For some reason I’m craving Baklava)
So the first couple of nights, we’re working in groups, before going out on my own on Thursday. Hence, last night I went out with a few of the other PM’s (program managers) and had a particularly random night in Columbia. A couple of our activities (which you may put in the I’m getting to old for this sh*# file) included playing beer pong, smoking a hookah and staying far too late.
What I learned today: The prime of my beer pong career was age 22.
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