Back from the FLA

Baltimore is a lot more comfortable than when I left last week. I had the bizarre experience of leaving 100° weather with humidity at rain-forest levels to travel south to a tropical state with less humidity and cooler temperatures.

Everything on that trip worked out better than I could have hoped, really. Despite working my ass off while I was down there, missing out on using the hotel pool entirely, we were staying only three miles away from the House of Blond Smiling Children, which made it easy for Jen to visit while I was at work. On Friday night I was able to back away from the computer for the evening, and we drove across Orlando to try Seasons 52, the first non-chain (well, it’s an upscale chain, because this is Orlando, after all, and there is no escaping chains there) food we’d had in a week.

As it happened, I was working with a fellow who was an avid skydiver, and he gave me an idea for the perfect birthday gift: falling out of a plane strapped to a total stranger! After some discussion, he helped me pick the right local venue for Jen, who was genuinely suprised and thrilled to take me up on the offer. A short drive out 50 to the coast on Saturday morning led us to the Skydive Space Center, where a nice man named Terry hooked Jen up to a very simple-looking rig, gave her a pair of goggles and a five-minute briefing, and then led her into the plane. As she disappeared down the runway, waving from the open door, I hoped I would see her again in one piece, and also thanked God she understood why I wanted to keep my chicken ass on the ground.

After waiting under a deep blue Florida sky for a few minutes, we spied the plane at drop altitude, and soon saw the first parachutes blossoming, specks against the fluffy cloud layer overhead. They circled lazily for a few minutes, riding the thermals, and then began to come in for landings one after the other. I picked out Jen from a distance and started shooting pictures as she came in over my shoulder and landed facing away from me. The verdict: swinging under the risers made her queasy, but freefall was amazing and she’d do the whole thing again in a minute.

After some recovery, we sought out a restaurant in town which was recommended by two separate parties: The Dixie Crossroads, where we were told to sample the rock shrimp. It’s a restaurant with a lot of local character, but the food is killer and the service is excellent. More importantly, the shrimp did not disappoint, and the comparison in taste to fresh lobster is true.

Making our way back home to the hotel, we passed several roadside attractions and sights unique to the area: Airboat rides, a petting zoo in the shape of an alligator, a dragstrip, and boiled peanut stands. Florida was good to us, something I wasn’t expecting, quite honestly. The friends are great, the A/C is cold, we got to see the Space Shuttle take off, and everything is beautiful from 15,000 feet.

Can you see her smiling from here?

In the air over the runway. Happy Birthday, baby!

Corn fritters are awesome

These things are addictive.

Dixie Crossroads, Titusville FL.

We have been told the rock shrimp at Dixie Crossroads is the thing to have when in Titusville.

She did it!

She is a skydiver!

Skydive Space Center

Titusville, FL

Space Shuttle Launch

Wow, that went quickly. We didn’t hear anything, but it sure did look cool.

Dateline: Orlando.

I’m holed up in my hotel room working with the thermostat lever somewhere between 70° and 80°, staying out of the blinding soupy air outside. Jen told me that when she lived in Texas they tended to chill the air down to ridiculous levels, and that her time there was spent in either charring heat or freezing conditioned air, and I can see what she’s talking about. I should have brought a sweater for staying inside.

Signpost Ahead

That’s pretty dark, but it’s supposed to say “Orlando/Tampa”. Time to throw away clean the lens on my phone.

Abandoned Places

!!! Holy CRAP, I want to buy this place and live in it! (via)
update: I had no idea these were in Waldorf! Apparently, though, the gubmint wants someone to come and tear them down.

Back to the Land Of The Mouse.

Tickets are being purchased for another business trip, this time to sunny Orlando, home of the Mouse. It’s been a few years since we were there (This child is now a part-time model and Harvard law professor), but we had lots of fun while we were there; instead of relying on Corporate America to entertain us, I went looking for some alternatives. Jen has already been to Gatorland and Kennedy Space Center, but I’d like to see both, if possible. Any suggestions?

Blue Curacao

I started writing this from my hotel bed on Wednesday, in front of the Tonight Show, because I couldn’t get to sleep. It wasn’t because I was having a bad time, or that I wasn’t relaxed, or that there were college students having a kegger in the room next door. It’s because I had a cup of very strong European coffee after dinner, and I was waiting for the caffeine to wear off.

Curacao itself is the largest of three southern Caribbean islands (Aruba and Bonaire) off the coast of Venezuela, and features a full-sized runway, which avoided the need for a puddle-jumper connecting flight. The hotel we chose, the Mariott, is situated away from the center of the island’s largest town, and has been a quiet oasis where we both regressed to levels of sloth not seen since the height of the Roman Empire. We had a few requirements when we were looking for our destination: Jen wanted a beach where people would serve us drinks while we sunbathed. We both wanted a hotel away from civilization but with enough amenities to make it feel like we weren’t doing time in the joint. We also wanted to have a vacation where we weren’t focused on going and doing and seeing and learning, but sleeping and drinking and napping and sunning. I’m proud to say our longest hike was the one from the beach back to the hotel room (or maybe to the restaurant on Friday night. Oh, the horror.)

Everything about the trip was fantastic. The flight down featured a surprise, which made rising at 3am for the taxi worthwhile: the only remaining seats available were in First Class, so we suffered the comfy seats, ample legroom, warmed mixed nuts, multiple wine refills, and jealous glances of the rabble in steerage on both legs of the trip southward. It will be hard to go back to Economy.

The weather has been perfect-we lounged on deck chairs under brilliant blue skies all week, and got more sun than we probably deserved. The beach at the hotel featured soft, tan sand and crystal blue water; the wind blew steadily across our chairs hard enough to warrant weighting down our towels, cutting the heat and humidity of the day back to a pleasant warmth. And yes, after an hour or so, a smiling woman stopped over to offer us cold alcoholic beverages. Perfect.

Curacao is noted for its diving and snorkeling, and we saw some breathtaking fish 20 feet off the hotel beach (but couldn’t be bothered to schedule a snorkeling trip-this was about the leisure, after all) and enjoyed cooling off in the bathwater-like ocean. At one point, I was surrounded by a cloud of striped grunts and sergeant majors, watching a small yellow wrasse clean the mouth of a queen parrotfish as a long, narrow trumpetfish floated above us, nose down, surveying the rocks and brain coral below. Out over the sand, yellow goatfish quietly schooled as needlefish patrolled overhead. Instead of spending time getting certified (or re-certified), we were happy to snorkel at our leisure, and that was perfect.

Wednesday we broke down and left the siren song of the beach and the pool to explore Willemstad, the main city on the island, which is a pleasant mixture of European sophistication and island charm. In the central section of town, we found palm-lined streets lined with open air cafes, and after wandering the streets and alleys for a while, we stopped to have a cold beer.

After a while, the people next to us struck up a conversation, and as it turned out, the woman had lived in Baltimore for six years until moving to Texas earlier this year to be with her new fiancee. So we had a lot to talk about, and after agreeing to meet up in town for dinner the next time they visited, we parted ways and continued our wandering.

Our hotel was a perfect mixture of convenience and solitude; the ability to find something to eat at 11PM was only tempered by the fact that it was hotel food–a few crucial steps above eating out of vending machines (which I’ve done.) After sampling pretty much every offering at the hotel, Jen suggested we try a restaurant down the street called Hook’s Hut on Friday, which turned out to be an open-air beachfront establishment with a run-down repair shed vibe, but which served excellent seafood and cold drinks.

The following night we tried a place called Sjallotte, a european-flavored restaurant conveniently located across the street but hidden within another hotel’s grounds. Once we’d found the actual hostess desk, we were seated near the kitchen (which was not a bad seat at all) and enjoyed a delicious meal in the cool evening air.

Everyone on the island couldn’t be friendlier, kinder, or more helpful. Our final days were filled with a mixture of happiness and sorrow as the hours ticked down until we had to leave.

Postscript: Avoid flying through the Miami airport, especially if it’s an international connection. Saturday evening, we got in from Curacao and had to go through border security, then pick up our checked baggage, drag it through customs, and then attempt to figure out what to do next. We were technically outside the airport with our bags, so we had to re-check them and go through security again before walking across the airport to reach our connecting flight. Predictably, they lost our luggage, so we caught a cab home and filed a claim over the phone.

On the road

Not So Personal Injury.

Jen has been fascinated by the story of the quarantined tuberculosis patient for the last two days, and she and I talked about it at length this morning. A few things in this story stand out to me/us:

1. Why didn’t the CDC tell the guy straight out not to fly? I realize they have limited powers over citizens, but I’d think that they would have developed protocols by now to deal with potentially deadly patients/carriers of rare diseases. Report the guy to the Feds and have them haul him in, for god’s sake.
2. “Speaker said he felt as if the CDC had suddenly ‘abandoned him.’” No, asshole, they were afraid you were going to contaminate even more people. They wanted you to visit a hospital, where your illness could have been treated or stabilized before you got on another plane.
3. ” …the U.S. border inspector who allowed Speaker back into the country, disregarding a computer warning to stop the man and don protective gear, has been removed from border duty.” That’s Homeland Security, folks. I feel safer already.
4. Why didn’t his wife tell him to stay home? Her dad works for the CDC, researching tuberculosis, and his dad, a lawyer, was there when the CDC interviewed him. While I freely admit that our government is poorly managed, and most likely gave this man conflicting information, if I knew I had an airborne-spreading illness, I wouldn’t get on an airplane.
5. “…Additionally, Speaker, a personal injury attorney, could sue the federal government for being quarantined on the basis of federal regulations that some scholars see as unconstitutional.” If that happens, I hope the federal government lets each and every one of those other passengers sue the shit out of this guy.
6. From CNN: “He flew from Prague to Montreal, apparently in order to sidestep a no-fly order that could have stopped or delayed his return to North America. Once in Canada, Speaker and his wife drove across the border to New York, where he was treated at a hospital…” Sounds to me like he and his family knew exactly what the score was, and decided to put their own self interest (and wedding) in front of everyone else’s health.
7. He’s a personal injury lawyer. It seems to me that he’d have an even greater appreciation for the consequences of his actions than many other people, who might just claim honest ignorance. The fact that he went ahead anyway shows that the ethics classes he might have taken at the Naval Academy and the University of Georgia didn’t stick too well.
8. Reasons to postpone a wedding, the short list:
   1. Realization your soon-to-be-partner is in love with someone else.
   2. Alien attack.
   3. Death in the family (has to be nuclear, because Aunt Sadie is too far off the tree to count).
   4. Being called to military service.
   5. Typhoon.
   6. Global thermonuclear war.
   7. The check for the reception bounced.
   8. Unexpected delivery of a child.
   9. Infection of an airborne, possibly resistant strain of communicable disease.

Astounding.

Return From The Land of Cheese.

The Lockard Tour Van is back in town after a whirlwind three-night limited engagement to support Annie, who kind of got her diploma Saturday morning, and all I can say is that I’m still tired. Our first stop was Ashland, Ohio, to prepare for the graduation ceremony, and as we loaded up the van we were given our itinerary, typed neatly on a single sheet of paper. To the hour, our schedule was outlined in Times New Roman to keep the caravan on track, and even though it was handy to have, we used it to poke fun at Jen’s dad good-naturedly throughout the trip.

Despite some last-minute drama, the graduation went off without a hitch, and even though the threat of rain loomed, it turned out to be a beautiful day. We shared a late lunch with Jen’s aunt and then passed out back at the hotel to sleep off the carbohydrates. Before venturing out for a late dinner, we hijacked Jen’s father into a visit to the CHEESEBARN, an inexplicably-named highway attraction up the road from our hotel. Unfortunately, the CHEESEBARN was closed and we weren’t able to explore its wonders in detail.

However, we did stop for a picture out front.

Then we enjoyed a prolonged tour of the seedier side of Mansfield, OH, looking for somewhere other than a Perkins to eat dinner; the directions given were, shall we say, vague, and it took a while to get oriented until we found an Olive Garden to stop at.

Sunday morning we were under strict orders to be loaded and ready by 8:30, because the day was tightly planned: we were stopping in to visit with Jen’s great aunt, who is in a retirement home, and then on to visit her mother’s gravesite. Her great aunt is still sharp and funny, and we were presently joined by a group of cousins who helped us take over the entire front room of the facility.

Driving on to the gravesite, we passed fields that had been flooded in January of 2005 (we were some of the last cars allowed in before the state troopers shut the highway down that night), through the sleepy, worn-down town, and up the hill to where her marker sat in bright afternoon sunshine. The family had about ten minutes alone with her before a gaggle of extended family arrived, and then we stood around and caught up with folks we hadn’t seen in two years.

And then, it was time to load up the van and get on the road. The trip back was uneventful, apart from everyone in the van (including driver) dozing off after lunch at the Sonic, and we were treated to a tour of the rolling hills of West Virginia and miles of empty countryside until we made it back to town last night. And I’ll be damned if Jen’s Dad didn’t get us home a half-hour ahead of schedule.

As far as my rental car can go.

We’re back for a whirlwind couple of days before we leave again, this time to Ohio for a graduation which might not even happen. (More details on this as we get them.)

Getting upstate to see the family was great, and long overdue. My parents hosted my grandfather’s birthday party at their house, and apart from a minor crisis involving aluminum foil, butter, and forty ovens worth of smoke, everything went off without a hitch. The weather even cooperated enough for us to get a few peaceful, warm hours on the front porch, something I always look forward to when we’re up there. Grampy enjoyed the party and kept us laughing through the entire celebration, even though he hasn’t changed the battery in his hearing aid this year and is as deaf as a post. Luckily he always had one of his children sitting with him and translating whenever anyone posed a question from across the room.

Back here in Maryland, we have finally picked up our new rug for either the blue room or our bedroom, whichever it looks best in. Choosing carpet is difficult at best in flourescent light, with small paint chips, and under the watchful, predatory eye of the carpet salesman, so we narrowed the possibilities down to two rooms. Unfortunately, the room it’s most likely to go into is also one of the least used rooms in the main section of the house.

I’ve spent the last two days alternating between paying work and computer maintenance; the parts for Jen’s Powerbook came in while we were away, so I stripped it down to the bare frame to replace the DC/power board and both display cables. I spent many nervous hours consulting various manuals and writing notes to myself while organizing tiny screws in yogurt containers. Strangely enough, what took me about six hours to disassemble took only two to reassemble, and it was with a deep breath and a long prayer to the Sky Pilot that I pushed the power button. I got the lovely startup chime, a few minutes of nothing, and then…the same two-thirds-black screen I had before I started.

Rooting around for answers, I’m hearing that it’s the LCD itself from a parts vendor ($300), or could be the inverter board itself, the only part I didn’t replace ($60) when I had the monitor assembly open. I’m now about $500 into this thing and the prospect of spending another $300 does not please me.

However, we did find a workaround for Jen to be able to run InDesign CS and CS3 on the same machine (to recap, CS3 takes control of all InDesign documents regardless of their creator version after it is installed and run for the first time, making it impossible to re-edit them in CS) by creating a second user on the same machine and using CS as that user. Not elegant or ideal, but it gets the job done for now. Adobe gets the big Middle Finger for that one.

Meanwhile, I have been afflicted with record-player disease for the past few weeks: this is when a snippet of one song repeats endlessly in the back of my head, all day long. Last week, it was Rental Car by Beck, which wasn’t so bad, but this week I got the chorus to a Counting Crowes song stuck in my noggin when we heard it in the Korean grocery. I hated this band when they were big, and now I am cursed with the melody of their second-rate hit day and night. It got so bad yesterday that I stayed up until midnight to try and resuscitate our music server, which suddenly up and died a few weeks ago. From what I can tell, it stopped booting completely, so I transplanted the drive into a spare, only to be met with a flashing questionmark. This was too much to deal with at midnight, so I tested the third machine and realized it was my old work music server, the one with about 65% of my collection on board. Good enough! The main drive with all our music is fine, but it just won’t boot in that particular machine. Strange.

Porch and Lake

Home Again

I’m back in Baltimore after a whirlwind tour of San Francisco. My internal time clock, which has never really been that accurate, woke me up at 7:45 EST after being forced backwards all week.

I didn’t really get the chance to take a lot of pictures this time around, because much of my time was spent working, commuting, eating, or sleeping. The job itself is new and challenging, and I like the people a lot. While I was out there I was able to catch up with a bunch of friends, which made the trip twice as valuable to me—a lot of good people are out on the Left Coast now, and my work schedule has made it possible to visit with them and get paid for it, something I appreciate greatly.

Meanwhile, I’ve taken over some additional responsibility on a current project which should make April a very frantic month, something I view with a mixture of excitement and dread. There are a lot of balls to juggle in the upcoming weeks, and I hope I have the ability to do so.

Calla Lilies

Another shot from the Golden Gate National Recreation Area.

Point Bonita Lighthouse

Through the fog.