Ellicottville & Salamanca

I intended to write a post last night, but I was informed that commemorating picking up our daughter in China was more important than whatever I was bringing to the table. But I ask you, dear reader? Grace in China or a cat on a leash?

Last night I took Grant out for ice cream at Frostbite, our local ice cream haunt. While we were deciding whether to go cookie dough or banana split, two old ladies walked up. They had their old lady uniforms on -- floral print tops, white sans-a-belt slacks, wraparound shades, and pristine white sneakers. And oh yeah, one of them had a cat on a leash.

The whole time we were standing in line, the cat pulled and strained at the leash and harness attached to his body. Finally when it was the old ladies' turn to order, the one with the cat ordered an ice cream sandwich (a totally inappropriate Frostbite order, I might add. If you want an ice cream sandwich or a Drumstick or any other ice cream product that comes in a wrapper, you need to find a gas station or a grocery store. At Frostbite, you're just slowing down the line.)

As the ladies walked away from the counter, the lady holding the leash simply dragged the cat, as it clearly had no interest in going her way. The entire time Grant and I enjoyed our ice cream, the cat tugged and pulled at the leash, as if someone had told it "when she goes subterranean, you go with her." It was the only time in my life that I've felt bad for a cat.

Today I made my way to western New York for a work trip. After landing in Buffalo, I headed south and made my way initially to Ellicottville, New York -- a town that some folks call the "Aspen of the East." (I'm guessing that those folks are selling timeshares in Ellicottville.) In reality, Ellicottville is a delightful little ski town in the Alleganys. It has a couple of quaint little streets filled with the kind of shops just made for an afternoon break from the slopes.

But on a Tuesday night in August, Ellicottville was dead. So I quickly made my way to the Ellicottville Brewing Company, my prescreened restaurant for dinner. When I arrived, I quickly saw the EBC beer bottles on display and realized that I'd had their brews in Indiana previously, and they're very good. I was therefore excited to have dinner with a minimum of a good drink involved.

EBC didn't disappoint for dinner. I had the English pub burger and a pint, and it was all excellent. Since I was the only guy in the place, the service was fast, friendly, and the whole experience couldn't have been better.

After dinner and a brief stroll around town, I headed on to Salamanca, New York, the site of my Holiday Inn Express for the evening. As I drove through Salamanca, I found myself questioning why there was a hotel in the area. There didn't seem to be much in the town, so I figured it must just be a good stop on the interstate.

After I checked in, my host went into a little speech --

"Now when you're ready to head up there, just come down here and wait right over there. When you're finished, you can call this number, any time of day, and we'll come get you."

What the heck? I couldn't figure out what the guy was talking about. Just as I started to give him my "back away from the crazy man" move, I see a group of about 10 Asians wearing visors arrive at the designated waiting area. Asians with visors can only mean one thing in my world. Casino.

I stepped out the front door and looked over toward the back of the hotel. Situated on a hill behind the hotel was a huge casino. Apparently Salamanca is the heart of Seneca Indian country and the home of the Seneca Allegany Casino and Hotel.

I checked my watch and it was 8pm. I decided that I could give up an hour to wander up to the casino, just to check things out. In reality, I had no interest in playing slot machines or cards -- I was far more interested in finding a donut or more ice cream.

Inside, the Allegany Casino looked like every other Indian casino I've ever been in. It was nice enough, but the smoke and threat of being bowled over by a great grandmother with a walker and an oxygen tank always leaves me a little cold. So I wandered into the smoke-free portion of the casino and decided that I'd spend $10 max to entertain myself for at least the next 30 seconds.

I fed $5 into a penny slot machine and played for around 25 minutes, ending up around $1.50 on the positive side. I cashed out, in boredom, and wandered over to a different penny slot machine. I fed in my $6.50 voucher and pressed what I thought would be a bet for 10 cents.

Instead, it turned out that I'd managed to bet $1.00, which initially horrified me. It wasn't that a dollar is so much cash, it's just that losing a quick buck would knock off a solid 15 minutes from my evening's entertainment. I watched, dejectedly, as the wheels spun. Suddenly the thing started making noise and told me to "Pick 8 treasure chests." I did what I was told, and the thing spun for about 4 or 5 minutes on its own. At the end, it informed me that I had $48.00 in credit. I hammered the "Cash Out" button like it was on fire.

Based on the excitement in my voice when I called Erin, you would have thought I'd won a million dollars. But it's the small things that keep our little family happy. $43.00 won in a casino (well, $40.00 if you count the $3.00 ATM fee I paid). Pictures of our kids. Good beer. And cats on a leash. The good life.

Back on the Bus

"Oh good. It's nice to see that Bret & Erin are putting things back together and moving on."

Nope. That's not it. I'm literally getting back on the bus.

Ever since we moved into our new house, I've had what feels like a ridiculous commute to my job downtown. In the end, it takes around 50 minutes door to door each way. This includes a long spell of bumper to bumper driving and a walk of several blocks from a parking garage to our office. The stress of the driving coupled with the inadvertent exercise has gotten me thinking about whether there was some way to use Indy's limited public transportation to make my life easier.

After doing a little research, I discovered that a city bus gets to within about 15 minutes of our new house. At this point, the schedule claims that it's about 45 more minutes to my office. This puts me right around the hour mark. Maybe a few minutes longer each way. But there are some key differences that make the extra 30 minutes per day worthwhile.

First, I don't have to drive NEARLY as much. While this might be a deterrent to many, it's a good thing to me. I'm tired of driving. I'm tired of skidding around on ice and snow all winter. I'm tired of filling my tank multiple times each week. If I'm not driving, I can be checking my email, listening to the new Decemberists album in headphones, or sleeping.

Second, the bus drops me right at the door to my office. No more hike up the street in 10 inches of snow. While this isn't a big deal in June, it'll be a big deal in January.

So for the past few days, I've dumped my car at the 15 minute mark and taken the bus. Now I know some of you are thinking, "But aren't there guys with needles literally hanging from their arms on the bus?" or "Isn't the bus just, well, nasty? I'm pretty sure someone urinates on the floor first thing every morning."

The simple answer is "No." I've been surprisingly impressed this week with the ease and cleanliness with which IndyGo seems to operate. While not everyone on the bus looks like me, it's also safe to say that I would have no problems bringing my kids along with me on our bus system.

As a life long Hoosier, the use of public transportation has almost always been a non-issue. It's just not something that many people in Indy have ever grabbed onto -- especially those living in the 'burbs. But my travels in China made me aware of just how great a good public transportation system could be. My ability to cross all over both mainland China and Hong Kong with such ease made me a big fan of the concept. So while the offering here in Indy is pretty limited, it would certainly grow with greater use. The bus I take home at 5pm is only about 1/3 full each day, which is a shame really.

Erin has been teasing me about the fact that I fall asleep on the bus (which resulted in me narrowly making my destination yesterday). On top of the snoring and drooling, I ripped the crotch of my jeans out at work yesterday, so here I was on my way home, on the bus, hole in my crotch, asleep, snoring, with earphones on. I'm pretty confident that I was the dude being avoided on that particular route.

Fish in an Igloo

A few weeks ago, I made an aborted trip to Jackson, Mississippi. It snowed. A lot. In Mississippi. Prior to that trip, I asked our good friend Georgette for some restaurant recommendations, knowing that she was a Jackson native. She passed along a few ideas...a Japanese steakhouse here, some barbeque there, and an igloo that serves fish.

A few weeks after that, I actually made a trip to Jackson, but I wasn't in town for my nightly feeding. So when I had to come back down here this week, I decided to revisit Georgette's list, focusing mainly on the fish igloo.

I punched in the location on the GPS, drove 20 minutes, and then lo and behold, I was staring at an igloo on the side of the road, announcing itself as Jerry's Catfish House. What the?

I figured the igloo had to have a hook of some kind. Was the catfish "ice breaded?" Was the iced tea "cold as an igloo?" Nope. Jerry just decided to build his restaurant so that it looked like one of those DPW salt/sand storage facilities you see along the highway.

I went inside and got seated. The menu had a plethora of options that mostly looked like "catfish and sides." I ordered the all you can eat catfish, and within 90 seconds, I was eating.

The waitress brought me about 2 pounds of fish, 20 hushpuppies, a bowl of coleslaw, and a basket of greasy french fries. It was heavenly. The breading on the catfish was nice and light, leaving plenty of internal storage for the pound of hushpuppies.

About 10 minutes later, the waitress asked if I needed more fish. I laughed out loud and said, "Uh...no." in much the same way that I suspect Jonah did while toweling off on the beach. She smiled, gave me my bill, and I was on my way.

So Georgette, your fish-gloo was a hit. Next time I'm down here, I'll be sure to checkout another of your Mississippi fine dining establishments.

Southern Swing

This week for work, I'm visiting school districts in Mobile, Alabama, Jackson Mississippi, and Jonesboro, Georgia. With such an intenerary, I decided that one requirement was that I would get some good southern cooking at some point during the trip.

I realize that this probably doesn't shock those of you who know me, but I frequently plan driving trips around where I'll be eating. I make a quick pass through tripadvisor.com and chowhound.com, and I make a little list of GPS'able locations for restaurants. I am perfectly content to drive ten extra miles and pass 25 Chili's to get to a locally owned restaurant. It's what I love about traveling.

So last night I took off in my Toyota Yaris rental car from Mobile (it was either the Yaris or a 15 passenger van, and while there was something appealing in a "Magical Myster Tour" kind of way about the blog that might result from me randomly picking up 14 other people to join me in the van, I chose the Yaris in an effort to avoid being killed by a random grifter and left for dead in a Mississippi swamp) and headed toward Jackson.

My dinner location for the evening was a BBQ joint just outside of Hattiesburg, Mississippi. How can you drive through Hattiesburg and not want BBQ? I hopped off the freeway at the designated spot, drove a few miles, and the GPS told me I was there. The only problem was that I was on a four lane road surrounded by strip malls, and none of them showed any sign of being Leatha's BBQ Inn.

After I went past the designated spot, I made a U-turn and drove past it two more times, still not finding the restaurant. So despite its #1 rating on Tripadvisor, I decided that the place must have burned down or closed, and I dejectedly pulled off the road to begin searching for a new restaurant, preferably something like a Zaxby's, so that at least it would be someplace we don't have in "the north."

As I turned around, I noticed a little driveway behind the stripmall. I made my way down the path, and at the end was a barn with a few cars in front of it. There was no external lighting and no sign, but there were lights on inside. As I pulled closer, I noticed a hand made wooden sign hanging on the porch announcing Leatha's. I got giddy.

Inside the barn was a big open room filled with tables covered in random plastic tablecloths and white washcloths for napkins. There were maybe eight people inside, plus the staff. A kind-faced woman approached me and told me to sit anywhere.

"What can I getcha to drink?"
"Do you have sweet tea?"
"As muches youcan drink, honey."

Ah, I've found my people. The walls were a pictorial history of Leatha's from the past 50 years, and there were a steady stream of walk-in customers lining up at the counter for carryout.

After a few minutes, a heaping plate of pulled pork and potatoes hit the table in front of me, and the long drive to Jackson and pouring rain were quickly forgotten as I devoured some of the best BBQ I've had in a long time.

$12, a gallon of sweet tea, and 10 minutes later, and I was back on the road to Jackson. I called Erin and told her how cool the place was and that I felt like I'd just eaten on the set of "Fried Green Tomatoes." The evening took an ugly turn when it snowed on me as I pulled into the parking lot of my hotel in Jackson (snow in MS?), but nothing could have dampened my happiness at getting to eat dinner in a place like Leatha's. Two thumbs (and five newfound pounds) up.

I found a few pictures via Yelp.com of Leatha's. If you decide on a visit, just make sure to go where your GPS tells you and then pull behind the strip mall a ways to find them. It's worth the hunt.

AwardWallet and Winter Travel

What are the chances that I would need to go to Jackson, Mississippi the one week when they're expecting snow and ice?

After spending an hour on the phone yesterday with customer service departments at several airlines, web sites, and rental car agencies, I was finally left with the realization that there just wasn't much I could do until the snow hits the South tonight. What a pain...

In the mean time, all this travel stuff reminded me that I've been meaning to do a quick post about a new website I discovered that has been a big help over the past few months. It's called AwardWallet, and it basically gives you a single place to track airline points, hotel points, ATM points, etc. My favorite piece is that it shows you your frequent flyer numbers and attempts to automatically log you into the various airline sites with a single click.

I know this may seem trivial, but with airline miles scattered all over the place, this site is a life saver. Plus when I travel with the kids, I don't have to spend an hour digging out their frequent flyer numbers. (Yes, our kids have frequent flyer accounts. Might as well start 'em young...)

Anyway, if you get a chance, checkout AwardWallet.com...

Why This Blog is Lame and More Bathroom Stories

So you may be thinking right now, "Why do I keep checking this blog? They rarely post more than a few sentences, and I can only take so many pictures of their kids hugging each other or laying on the couch."

Valid concerns. All valid concerns. Well the reality is that we've found ourselves severely time crunched this fall. Now that I'm starting to get my job figured out, my goal is to return to more regular posting. So stick it out, and I promise you that the reward will be far from substantial.

In keeping with my theme of "distressing bathroom incidents" (see here and here), I had yet another bad encounter with the bathroom this week.

The facilities at my new job are, let's just say, less than appealing. In other words, you go in there with what I call the "rock festival port-a-potty" mentality instead of the "taking a break from work" mentality. You go in, work as quickly as possible, and then evacuate before someone comes in to mess the place up.

It's not that the bathroom isn't functional or is dirty, it's just that it provides little comfort as an aid to the task at hand. First, as you walk in, there's a noticeable gap in the door to the stall. If you walk into the bathroom at the wrong angle, you're guaranteed to make just enough eye contact with the person in the stall to warrant an introduction and some pleasantries. This is unacceptable.

Additionally, the sink in our bathroom is some sort of water saving nightmare that shoots about 10 small, powerful streams of water out. If you actually put your hand under it, it simply deflects the water all over your shirt and pants. Not cool.

This week the facilities management people installed one of those motion sensors in place of a light switch. Now when you walk into the bathroom, the lights kick on. Clever. And green.

I noticed this as I entered on Monday morning around 8am and thought it seemed like a good idea. I made my way to the stall. After a relative few minutes considering how I would spend the rest of my day, the lights went out.

It was so dark. I can't even tell you how dark it was. I considered for a moment what was occurring, hoping it was a momentary issue. But then I realized, with horror, that the light sensor features a timer to kick the lights off. Oy.

I thought about waiting until someone entered, but there were some issues. First, at 8am, there is a chance that it could be a while before anyone else enters. Plus, if they do come in, how do I play off sitting alone in the bathroom, in the dark? With the crack between the door and the wall, they're guaranteed to notice my presence when they come in. How does "the new guy" explain sitting alone in a dark, cold bathroom successfully to his co-workers?

I decided that I needed to take action. The first option was to finish up in the dark and make my way out. I quickly discovered that my relative newness at this job and building left me unable to perform this task. I very nearly ended up with one arm in the toilet while trying to feel my way around.

My next thought was, "I have to get these lights back on." I considered whether I could throw a shoe over the stall wall and get it in front of the sensor. Unfortunatley the sensor is placed on the back of a wall by the entrance, so unless I could "bend it like Beckham" this was not an option.

My only viable option was to gather myself up and make my way over to the sensor. I won't go into details, but let's just say that I prayed for a few seconds that nobody, I mean NOBODY would come through the bathroom door. I moved across that bathroom like Usain Bolt.

I later found out that the timer had been "miss set" to a very short time period, which made me feel better about the whole situation. I also discovered that there's an override switch on the sensor, which I will now use every time I enter the bathroom, no matter the task at hand. No good happens in a bathroom in the dark. Just ask George Michael.

Trade Offs

One of the unexpected outcomes of my return to full-time employment is that when I return home at the end of the work day, Grant just lights up. He's almost unable to contain all of the stuff he wants to tell me about -- what he did all day, how many times Grace has been in trouble, how much he ate at lunch, etc. It's really touching, and it makes me a little teary to think about how genuinely excited Grant is in those moments. I suppose he just got used to me being around for the past few months, so my presence wasn't anything special (Erin went through a similar period after we had been married a while. I suppose eventually it will let up.)

Grace also shows signs of being excited by my return each day, but her response is more geared towards me being someone else to do her bidding. It has less to do with her being excited at my return and more to do with there now being another person in the house to respond to her screams. But alas.

So I guess the trade off is that I only get to see the kids a couple of hours in the evening, rather than all day like has been the case for the past few months. But perhaps absence truly does make the heart grow fonder, and that time will be some solid, quality family time each evening.

Or perhaps by next week both Grant and Grace will realize that I really am returning every day and will go back to punching me in the crotch and throwing food at my head. Only time will tell.

Work is Hard

I've now worked two days at my new job.

I've slept approximately 12 hours total over the past two nights.

I've worked approximately 8 hours each work day.

I've been at my desk one hour total in two days.

I've spent the other 15 hours in training.

I'm so tired that I can barely stay up long enough to eat when I get home.

Who knew that four months off would render me unable to store up enough energy to actually work a full day?

Note to other people who take extended summer vacations -- drooling on oneself in front of your new boss is not looked upon favorably.

I'll post more oncessssss.zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.............

Employment

As most of you probably know, I was laid off back in May from my job in the consumer electronics industry. It wasn't totally unexpected, and it wasn't an all bad thing. I had worked in basically the same company (under various guises) for 15 years, and it was time to make a change.

Additionally, we decided earlier in the year that Erin would not teach in the coming school year, instead choosing to stay home with the kids (which will result, no doubt, in a slightly slower, but no less complete, drain on her sanity). Therefore we've been living the past few months in a state of unemployed bliss, choosing to spend time traveling and enjoying the summer as a family.

But fortunately, our condition is coming to an end on Monday morning. I've taken a new job with a small (15 people) software company here in Indy. They make software products to automate various human resource tasks for school districts. My position will primarily involve providing support to the various schools once they've purchased the products, including providing training and looking for further enhancements to the product line.

I really couldn't be more excited about the position, and we feel extremely blessed that I was able to find employment quickly in the current economic climate. The job will give me the opportunity to work directly with customers, travel a little bit domestically, and expand on what limited skills I possess.

So come Monday morning, I'll be dragging out of bed early to head into work, while Erin begins her first year home with the kids. Say a little prayer for both of us. We're going to need it.

Job Hunting

There are a lot of small things that I do not understand regarding hunting for new employment. It is highly unfortunate that some unemployed dude did not create a list of them on his blog so that I would be aware of them prior to my own employment going Titanic, hence the creation of the list below.

1. I was told that I needed special "resume paper." I went to Walmart and discovered such paper, but I found it curious that virtually every package of special "resume paper" had been opened. I found the only unopened package I could find and headed for the checkout. It cost $7.95 for 100 sheets. After purchasing the paper, I took it home, pulled a sheet out of the package, laid it on the kitchen table and stared at it for a while, waiting for it to take action. I figured for $7.95, it had better fill itself out with meaningful qualifications and all the appropriate buzz words. I now understand all of the open packages.

2. Is it "resume" or "resumè?" Every time I write "resume" on something official, like a job application, I feel as though I'm somehow offending a dead Frenchman somewhere.

3. Over the course of three days this week, I read "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy and watched the recent film based on the book. The book tells the tale of a father and son in post-Apocalyptic Appalachia, struggling to exist among the burned out ruins of our once thriving civilization. It features lots of decay, some occasional cannibalism, and a witness to just how unbearable a life absent of color, hope, and the occasional meal could really be. On day four, I went to a job interview and smiled and asked questions about how many vacation days I would be allotted and whether the soft drinks in the fridge were free, all the while masking the horrendous pit this book and film created in my soul. Perhaps I should have watched "Tooth Fairy" with The Rock instead.

4. Telling an interviewer that you've busied yourself by playing Little Big Planet on your Playstation 3 for hours on end might seem like a funny interjection in your head, but in reality it might not convey the go-getter spirit that you're trying to project. Saying that this is the first day this week that you've worn pants will not help the situation.

I'll continue adding to this list as I interview, and hopefully it'll be of benefit to someone else. Now back to the Playstation...

American Idol Pool

Every year we have an American Idol pool at work. Since I don't watch the show regularly, I haven't previously joined. But this year, because I'm feeling especially social, I threw in my few bucks.

Who did I draw? Siobhan Magnus.

Does anyone know anything about Siobhan? How do you say that name? "Show bun?" "Chow ban?" "Ain't gonna win?"

Methinks Grant's college fund just got a few dollars lighter...

Vegas Finale

You know, I'm a pretty safe guy to be around, especially when compared to some of the other individuals who inhabit Sin City during any given week.  But my last full day in Vegas proved that things can go wrong, and you can still land in hot water through sheer ignorance.

Things started off well enough.  At the end of the show, most of our boxes arrived from storage early, so we were able to pack up most of our gear for the convention before the end of the evening.  This meant that in theory, we would have little to do the next morning, outside of packing up a few last things and turning it all over to the shipper.

As the show had reached its close on Sunday, people had started inquiring about purchasing some of the TVs we had on display.  We made some inquiries and got the needed paperwork, so we told a few people to return the next morning, and we'd make them a deal.  It was a win-win.  We didn't have to ship the stuff back, and they got a good deal.

So on Monday, one of the bikini models from the show arrived bright eyed and barely clothed to pickup TVs with a couple of girlfriends.  While she waited for her ride to arrive, several other guys, primarily union guys working the show, came by to discuss making purchases.  Since some of them had helped us get our boxes out of storage quickly on Sunday night, we had no problems making them a good deal.

Eventually we had sold most of the product, but it was still sitting around waiting to be picked up.  The bikini girl waited a couple of hours before her ride arrived, and she was able to use her feminine wiles to get a guy to haul her stuff out on a forklift.  (The shirt she was wearing gave him a view to next Christmas, so I doubt it was a tough sell.)

Another lady called and said she'd be by in a few minutes with a truck to get her stuff.  It was shortly after this that a policeman walked into our booth and yelled, "Which one of you is Bret Hawkins?"

I looked over at my boss, and I could see him thinking, "Nice work.  After you left us last night, what did you do?  Cheat somebody?  Get in a fight?  Snort coke off a hooker's back?"  As he finished this thought (and while I was busy trying to keep from filling my shorts) the cop called his name also.  The officer's next question was, "Which of you is in charge?" at which point I began bowing and stepping away backwards from my boss.

During the discussion, a small crowd of other officials began to gather.  Some were officials from the show, some were security guards, others were policemen. I marveled at the various modes of transportation -- some had walked, others were on bikes, one was on a Segway.

Eventually, we were informed that there had been some issues with our sale.  Apparently you can't do what we did, per convention rules.  We also got a lengthy lesson regarding sales taxes and business licenses.  Who knew?  Apparently people who work at the show can get into trouble for buying stuff, so hopefully we didn't get anyone in trouble with our attempted good deed.  (In our defense, we saw a lot of stuff being sold toward the end of the show, so we thought it was fine.)

As it turns out, as the original group of girls exited the convention center, the guards took note of my name on their bill.  Soon after, another individual parked their pickup in the loading dock, blocking semis taking equipment out of the show, resulting in a complaint being filed.  What a mess.

The police took some names and info from us (which I'm sure will somehow inhibit my ability to get a passport in the future) and informed us that where possible, we needed to refund the cash.  (They were probably laughing at the idiot Midwesterners who found the one way to get in trouble in Vegas.)

This was fine with me, except that it meant that I now had to locate all these union guys to give them their money and explain the situation.  This only took a few hours which I could have spent enjoying lunch on my last day in Vegas, but alas.

A little while after we left, glad for the ordeal to be over, my boss got a text on his cell phone from one of the ladies, asking if we could get a TV out of the convention center and then meet her on the street to sell it.  We figured this was probably some kind of sting, and Chris Hansen from Dateline would pop out asking us if we knew who he was.  No way.

The story might have been better if we'd actually landed in jail, but the whole thing was painful enough as it was.  I can't afford a conviction right now...I need to be able to get a job in the future.  It's just unfortunate the several angry union guys from Vegas are now staring at my business card...waiting...

Would you like some WHINE with that...

Now, I know what it is to miss family. I know what it is to work long days without any love from the boss man. I know what it is to be in limbo about future plans.

BUT, don't feel too sorry for Bret; after all, he's in Las Vegas on the company dime. He's staying at a nice hotel without having to ask for a pack-n-play. He's eating really, really nice meals, ones without sippy cups, dropped forks, or cold food because you've spent the first fifteen minutes cutting up food into manageable bites.

I'm eating chicken noodle soup out of can. On a good night. This morning, I woke up to Grace covered down (no joke... moms do not joke about such things) to her socks in poop. I have changed THREE outfits this morning because of poop.

So, if you're starting to feel a little sorry for homesick Bret, let's remember little old me here with two runny-nosed toddlers and a house covered in marshmallows (thank you, Papaw and Mamaw for getting Grant a marshmallow gun for Christmas) and load upon load of poopy laundry.

So, honey, we can't wait for you to come home. You better take all the uninterrupted nights on high thread count sheets and glasses of free wine you can get... because when you get home, I need a break--at the very least, I want to go the bathroom by myself.

Halfway there...

 

So this is how things turned out for our booth at CES.  It was fairly amazing to see the transformation after seeing how it looked at the beginning of the week.  Other people with more CES experience tell me that it always seems like a miracle has to occur for the displays to turn out so well, but they also agreed that this year's miracle seemed particularly mind boggling.

Despite the booth looking good, it's been a hard week out here.  As always, I miss my family, and there's been a lot of "job stuff" (for lack of a better term) swirling around that has made the week particularly trying.  It's been difficult to even be interested in what's going on with the rest of the show, partly because I'm exhausted.  I'm eating lots of great food and seeing some cool stuff, but none of it is having much of an impact on me.

So with that, I'm going to try to get some sleep tonight and regain some energy for the rest of the show.  Perhaps if I write an entry tomorrow, I'll be feeling a little more positive.  Tonight I feeling like I'm just trying to get by...albeit with a good steak from Les Artistes aiding the process.... 

Ready To Roll

Tomorrow is the opening of CES in Las Vegas, and I couldn't be happier to actually get the show rolling.  We've had a relatively miserable couple of days trying to get our booth together, but things are looking good now, and I'm ready to go.  The above picture is the "before" shot.  I'll send the "after" later this week...

In celebration of keeping the local union guys from killing any of my Chinese colleagues ("Get off that ****in' ladder right now, or we will kick you out of this show!!!!") our team had an amazing dinner at Wolfgang Puck's Postrio.  I had, I kid you not, spaghetti and meatballs, but it was pretty amazing.  Plus I ended the meal with some amazing Bananas Foster.  It was a very nice conclusion to a rotten couple of days.

Here's a shot of the crew hoisting one of our logos overhead. The ability to maneuver these gigantic arms without destroying everything in sight is an amazing skill. (The operator, in this particular case, possessed both this amazing skill as well as approximately 20 piercings in his face. Both features were truly amazing.)

And finally, you love it when your sign unintentionally obstructs a major competitor:

Welcome to Paris!

...Paris Las Vegas, that is.

I have arrived in Vegas for the International Consumer Electronics Show.  While there are perks to getting to spend some time in the desert in a nice hotel (it IS supposed to get to 60 degrees here today), there are definitely some down sides.

Since we're staying in Paris this year, the first thing I'm having to get used to is the use of what I'll term "hack French" on every sign.  "Le Buffet," "Le Garage," "Le Machine That Eats Quarters."  It's a little over the top. 

I understand wanting to provide ambiance, but couldn't they have just piped in some body odor and had a "Hurl Insults at Americans" booth in the lobby?  (I keed, I keed.  I worked for some delightful French people for many years.  Until they sold me to China.)

This morning I got up and got dressed for a workout.  Since my back has been such a mess, I have worked out faithfully.  And since I'm going to be on my feet for the next week, I wanted to be sure to not let that lapse.

I headed down to the 2nd floor where the workout center was located ("Le Spa.")  Upon arrival, I was informed that I would have to buy a daily spa pass at $25/day in order to use the elliptical machine for 35 minutes.  Uh, no thanks.

I did what any good midwesterner would do and told "Le Attendant" that I thought that was sort of a crock.  It didn't seem to phase her since there was a line of willing suckers already behind me at 6am.

And this is the problem, as I see it, with Las Vegas today.  Our cabbie on the ride to the hotel lamented the days when the mob ran things here.  At least then you could get a cheap room and a cheap meal, and in between you could dump loads of untraceable cash into the casino. 

Today, you just get robbed at every turn.  It'll cost me $20 for a bowl of oatmeal and a coffee this morning, which leaves a taste in my mouth which is, well, "Le Crappy."

Daddy's Home... YEAH!

Bret made it back without incident, and we're very thankful. Grant is especially thankful that Bret made it back with a whole suitcase of toy work trucks. Grace also received a gift from Bret: a cartoon character Chinese girl doing ninja moves with the words (written only in Chinese) "don't make me angry" emblazoned on the front. Daddy knows his kids well.

Border Crossings

On my way into mainland China earlier this week, I tried a different approach to crossing the border out of Hong Kong. I usually go by ferry or via the Hong Kong subway system, but since I chose to stay at the airport the first night due to my late arrival, I decided to try a cross-border car service this time around.

The company I chose has a very China sounding name -- the Eternal East Bus Company. They have a little booth at the airport, and as it turned out, this was an excellent way to go into the mainland from the Hong Kong airport. I didn't even have to get out of the minivan at the border...it was delightful.

Since this worked so well on the inbound trip, I consulted with my hotel in China about using the same service to go back to Hong Kong. The only difference was that I needed to go into the city, rather than the airport. (I'm staying in Hong Kong a couple of nights due to all of the flights back the U.S. for Friday and Saturday being full...argh).

So this afternoon, I hopped into a similar looking minivan and headed for the same border crossing. Except when we arrived this time, the driver told me to get out of the van. He didn't tell any of the Chinese dudes riding with me to get out. Just me. He informed me that I'd have to walk through customs, and then find the same bus company on the other side of the border. What a pain.

I hopped out of the van and began my trek through customs. I presented my passport to the border agent on the mainland, and he began the usual process of scanning it and punching away on his computer. But then things went haywire.

He called a supervisor over, and the two of them played around for a couple of minutes on the computer. He then let me go on through the gate, but he told me to wait on the other side. He turned my passport over to yet another gentlemen who wandered off with it. I was not pleased. He told me to wait a moment.

About 6 or 7 minutes later, I see the guy still talking to a large group of coworkers with my passport in his hand. I then see a group of 5 or 6 policemen wearing white rubber gloves march past me and enter the fray. At this point, I was a bit unnerved. I was having bad thoughts about where those rubber gloves were headed.

I always get a little sweaty when doing all the border crossings. I don't have anything to worry about that I know of, but I figure all it takes is a computer spitting out a screen that says "Bag him" for me to be sipping goat's head broth soup on the concrete floor of a leaky cell, straining to see the light of day three levels above me.

Finally the guy with my passport plus the original crossing agent came over and presented me with my passport. The original guy was grinning from ear to ear and apologizing. I asked him if anything was wrong, and he just kept saying "Sorry sir. So sorry."

I smiled and told him it was no problem, and I'm sure he was able to quickly find a mop to correct the situation that had presented itself in the spot where I stood for close to 10 minutes.

After the border, I rode a bus through the hills of Hong Kong for an hour before being dumped at a subway station in Mong Kok. I hopped on the train and rode for another half hour before getting out and traversing through the massive Times Square shopping area to get out to my hotel. All in all, the return trip to Hong Kong was a nightmare compared to the outbound trip.

Next trip, I think I'll stick to the trains...

In Tokyo

Thanks to the graciousness of the guy who endured sitting next to me on the flight from Detroit to Tokyo, I'm sitting here in the Delta Sky Club in Tokyo waiting for my flight to Hong Kong. I've got a cold beer in hand, a comfy chair beneath me, and a lovely buffet from which to eat. Life could be worse.

And actually, it was earlier today. Erin's right...my back is killing me. I took some hefty drugs before boarding the flight to Detroit, but half way through the 30 minute flight, my back was on fire. This left me very scared about the 13 hour flight to Tokyo.

So once I got to Detroit, I decided that I needed to stretch out to try and get things realigned. I found a little nook in the airport, laid down on the floor, and began stretching as discreetly as possible. About 2 stretches in, an excitable Japanese guy came running over, smiling uncontrollably, saying "Exercises! Exercises!" Before I could stuff a rag in his mouth or otherwise stun him, he began doing jumping jacks next to me, blowing my inconspicuousness and thoroughly killing my mojo. I finished the stretches and hobbled to the gate.

Once on the flight, things weren't as bad as expected. I managed to fly all the way to Japan without touching the back of my seat, forced to sit bolt upright with about 4 pillows bolstering my back. As long as I got up every 30 or 40 minutes, stretched, and popped another Vicodin, things were fine. Now I've only got 5 more hours to Hong Kong, and I'm home free. While stretching on the plane, I discovered a little trick that seems to loosen my back up very quickly, so that has helped. Perhaps this is the trip where I try a full body massage. After nearly having my feet seared during the foot massage last trip, I'm still not sure I'm up for it.

I'll post more once I get going in China. I still have no voice, post-H1N1, so communicating with my Chinese colleagues should be a trip. I'll have to make exclusive use of my vocabulary of rude gestures instead.

Off to China

Yep, Bret is off to China again. He left this morning, and his back is KILLING him (two herniated discs have a way of doing that), so please say a little prayer for Bret during his travel. Grant asked Bret the other night, "Daddy, who are you going to pick up this time in China?" Bret told him that no little sisters were planned (for now), but Bret thought he could manage to bring back a toy for Grant. The toy has Grant just as excited (if not more) than another little sister.

While you're saying a little prayer for Bret's back, you better say a little prayer for my sanity. Grant finally did not need my help or attention last night, so I actually got some sleep (the night before he was up 17 times). I've yet to be by myself for a week with two of them, and I'm not doubting my ability to survive the week, but a little prayer for my sanity might be necessary.

And, a few weekend pictures: