Well, this is awkward.

I was scheduled to leave over a half hour ago for the airport, but no one who really knows that I am here is around. Not sure what my next step should be.

I also lost the cell phone number of the person who picked me up. Which is more than a little awkward.

But I've still got tons of time before my flight. Here's my agenda as I see it:

Item 1: Figure out ride to airport
Item 2: Eat some cheetohs.

Mmmmmm.

If I don't make it back by tonight, just wait a little longer.

Day two, fellow businesspeople.

I woke up in a strange and gigantic bed, one surprisingly unoccupied by dirty clothes and tennis racquets. Now, one cinnamon roll and two fish tacos later, I've just about made it through the trip.

According to the "agenda" which was made for me (and which I didn't receive until about 1/3 of my activities were completed) I'm scheduled to leave for the airport in about five minutes, even though my flight isn't for three more hours. The agenda has been something less than accurate, however, and I'm not convinced that the person who picked me up at the airport is even still here today. I can't tell you how many times I've walked up to people and asked, "do you know what I'm supposed to be doing now?" It's sort of like a combination of being babysat and just being ignorant.

I'm looking forward to the flight beverage, though. I so rarely drink soda that it's something of a treat. Should I get a ginger ale? It's the beverage that best embodies travel by flight! Orange juice is always delicious, too.

Special thanks to Tom for the wonderful, lengthy, municipal-related emails.

Well, I just hit up the local used book shop (sparsely stocked), a hole down the street for some beef pad thai, and the corner liquor store. Now I'm nursing a little high life and trying to make heads or tails of some Gene Wolfe.

The really exciting news, though, is that I used both shampoo AND conditioner in the admittedly superflous shower I took. I even briefly considered using two towels to dry myself. But that would be gauchy. I mean gaudy. And gauche. Gauche and gaudy.

I feel like a puppy that ran around all day and then all of sudden exhaustion hits it like an alcoholic man with a stick. Hans, how did you ever do this over and over and over?

Wow, the hotel.

It's huge! Two beds. I just got finished watching Clueless. What a day... I'm having the time of my life down here.

I already went a little stir crazy, and spent a solid quarter hour dancing in front of the bathroom mirror. I might take a shower just for the hell of it.

Now I'm watching the Bulls hold on to a slim lead over the Miami Wades. I guess Wades/Marions. I have to go find dinner soon, but the only restaurant I saw on the way here was a Seven Eleven. It HAS been a while since I had a slurpee. Probably years.

Hats off to TomRoyClark and MeditativeRose for their support and comments. No, TRC, I wasn't suggesting you. And MR, that's the only song I know, but it is a good one.

I think maybe I'll look for a flask while I'm out to dinner.

They did! Have more cake, that is. And some brownies.

Just received my agenda... meeting with the CEO next. Ooftah.

First business blog entry. I've been here at the LA chapter just about 4 hours already, which is a normal work day for me. Still got about that much more to go.

They've put me in a tiny cubicle -- maybe half the size of my normal one. It's also chock-full of boxes and spilt paper. But I'm not crying. I guess I displaced an intern, whom I overhead talking about presents she is buying for a special someone on this most holy of days. The lucky dude is getting Madden '08 (which we might also have (hats off to Kev-co!)) and a journal to "write songs in." He sounds like a real tool.

But they had a catered lunch today, and in the short four hours I was here I managed to recruit three different people to come and get me when it was chow time. That's .75 people an hour! Backups for backups for backups. Now I'm trying to decide whether it's rude to go see if there's any more cake left. I have to walk up there anyway to throw away my plate...

My last entry received a mysterious (and very welcome) anonymous comment. I have three guesses for who it was: an ogre, a sheriff, or a potter. Let me know if I'm right, dear readers. I do enjoy lowball glasses, though.

Still haven't checked into the hotel yet... that's a whole can of worms I can't even begin to imagine. Maybe there will be ruffians in the parking lot! Here's to hoping.

I have been very clumsy as of late. In the past week I've spilled beer on my bed, spilled whiskey on my bed, spilled water within an inch of Kevin's computer, and peed on my foot.

Man, it's been a while. Good to be back, though.

I had a great idea for something to blog about today, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was. So I'll talk about another great idea, but it is only a great idea given two preconditions:

Precondition #1: You have a flower garden
Precondition #2: You have children

At any rate, as long as you have these two controversial things, I think it would be swell to combine them along with a healthy dose of entrepreneurial spirit, and have a roadside flower stand. Who could resist a petunia from your cherub of a child? Then, you could make the kids buy more seeds with their profits, pay you wages to plant more flowers, and then have to wait until next year to see any real profit. It'd be a good lesson in economics, and also in how learning makes things less fun.

I found a pattern in recent love songs I've written. That pattern is crime. I noticed it first with arson and next with drug dealing. But instead of fighting it, I've decided to embrace it like an affection-starved child. So I'm writing a new love song about robbing banks. Mostly, I checked out a book from the library about bank robbers and am dropping obscure references like I'm trying to impress some cute hipster.

I went to check the forecast for Tom online and there was a link for "free weather on your desktop." Which is funny, because free weather is the only kind I know (barring human-made snow?) and also my desktop is happily weather-free.

I've got some great ideas for guerilla activism, which is the only kind I can ever get interested in, but I need to do some research first. Let me know if you're interested -- if you have a computer, you might be able to help out.

New movie up.

New show:

Bazaar Cafe
7:00 PM Saturday, October 13th.


News?

I sang songs for preschoolers today. I biked 14 miles, drank scotch, and started freelancing at 1 1/2 times my normal pay. I read some science fiction. I found this site. I thought of rhymes for as many colors as I could.

To your health!

I'm sitting at Kevin's new computer, I just put the kettle on, and I'm going to write emails. I have a bunch that I need to return, ranging all the way back to January 17th of this year (Weeze! That's you!).

I promised myself that I would load up RBI Baseball III and write an email every inning, but instead I ten-runned the Rangers in four without writing a single one.

Hold it! Kettle's ready. I'm going to search for the Peach Tree Honeybush tea, but if I can't find that I might have to settle for Lemon Zinger. Hold on.

Found it! But not before knocking over the castanets.

Right.

The point is that I'm updating this blog instead. But that won't get me down! The entire internet is my oyster, so to speak, and the tabula rasa that is my mind is raring to go.

I guess the real point is that I don't have anything much to say. My friend Kate started a blog and I am jealous.

This is old, but it's still my first!

Dear Madam,

How are you? I am fine.

I am writing concerning the incident that took place on the N-Judah line yesterday, just as you were disembarking at the Church and Duboce stop. You may recall this episode clearly, or perhaps it has blended together with the numerous other similar experiences. Suffice it to say, I remember it clearly, as does the outside of my left foot.

Perhaps you took exception to some aspect of my manner or personal appearance? I will be the first to admit that my dress leaves much to be desired (especially around the "pants" area), but given the wide variety of passengers that make use of our shared city's wonderful public transit system, I'm confident that with very little effort you could find someone with even less taste than yours truly.

What else might have provoked you, then? The book I was reading, a Donald Westlake novel, is surely not the paragon of modern literature. Fine. Maybe I had been picking my nose on and off for the past few stops (there was an itch in there) and you found this sight less than pleasant. Understandable. Or maybe you decided a surprise attack was in order because my position was slightly blocking the door. Admittedly, I could have been more aware of my surroundings.

However, one of the reasons I was standing was so that the elderly among us might have a place to sit. And, speaking of the elderly, even if my actions or appearance warranted your physically manifested aggression, did the old man with the cane and sunglasses truly deserve the kick in the shin and bop on the head you gave him as you continued your exit?

Dude man. Seriously.

At any rate, I guess the point of this letter is that I found it difficult to disagree with the aforementioned old man when he called you an "insane b****."

Take care,
-Drew

Pictures!

This is a picture my friend Bob took of me with her polaroid. She also gave me the shirt.





Here's one of my knuckles on my boss's last day of work. I mean, this is me when I got out of prison.





That's all I've got.

Do you, dear reader, ever find yourself in a rut?

For the past few months, every single notable piece of correspondence to have escaped my head has had one of the two following lines:

1. How are you? I am fine.

or

2. Dude man.

Tom made me a profile on facebook. It's pretty funny. Look at all the collars! You should friend me if you are bored.

My new hobby is pretending that my actions have much greater significance than they do. For instance, here are some of my recent acts and the resulting state of affairs.

1. Cause - I explicitly mention the Mariners' win streak Effect - Manager Mike Hargrove resigns and Seattle loses its first game in almost two weeks.

2. Cause - I (temporarily) lose my cell phone, and think about how if I need to get another it might be cooler than my current model Effect - Apple releases the iPhone, people wait in line all day.

3. Cause - Ok, I lied. This isn't my new hobby. My new hobby is skateboarding, and I'm going to go do that. Later.

We had a nickname party last night. Some of my favorites were: Purple Stuff; The Ugly One; Tragedy Muffin; and Heliotrope, Esq.

Hold on! The mail's here.

Ok. I'm back.

My life has taken an exciting new turn. I found a skate board! I'm thinking of starting to listen to Blink 182.

But even more exciting is the fact that I got my friend Emma (who is a preschool teacher) to make her students write lyrics, which I put to music. The resulting creation is called "Monkeys and Bananas (It's a song about)" and you can listen to it here.

Here are the lyrics and writing credits:

Monkeys and Bananas (It's a s ong about)
by Claire, Christopher, Tyler, Marcus, Dagan, Darrin, Enya, Samantha, Keane and Teacher Emma

Once upon a time ther was a girl named Annie.
Once upon a time there was a girl named Joshua.
Jed-Jed ran into the woods.
My mommy and a guitar- it's 'cause the instruments- my mommy and daddy bring me the intstruments.
Mommy, daddy, daddy drives- yeah, daddy drives.
Teacher Elaine walks into the woods and smelling the flowers. My mommy goes to drop me off sometimes.
Mommy.
It's a song about monkeys and bananas.
Claire needs water.



I just accidentally poured a whole bunch of wine into my shoe.

Notable meals of the last week:

Tuesday: Dinner - pizza (restaurant)
Wednesday: Lunch - Pete's Oats (i.e., Pizza Toast (toast, marinara sauce, cheese))
Thursday: Lunch - see "Wednesday: Lunch"
Friday: Lunch - pizza (frozen)
Saturday: Dinner: see "Tuesday: Dinner"
Sunday: Brunch: Pizza Omelete
Dinner: see "Saturday: Dinner"

I had a great show with Jennie Wayne and Anna Laube... both worth checking out. Jennie had some nice picking patterns and Anna played a mean harmonica. It bit me after the show.

Does anyone know a kid? I want to find a kid and make it write lyrics for me.

1.





+







2.





+





+





3.





+






4.





+

Holy crap, did we hit the jackpot.

Walking home last night (from the, ahem, museum) we stumbled upon a half-full twelve-pack of TaB.

Now, for a solid percentage of my life I have been lamenting the lack of variety when it comes to beverages. Then those drinks with the weird gum balls (jujubees? hell, I don't know) came out and I felt more or less to blame. But I soon got back in the cockpit.

At any rate, when I first heard of TaB (around four years ago) I was more blown away than a dandelion in a hurricane. A whole new kind of soda? Sweet Jesus!

Unfortunately, TaB is harder to find than the Ocarina of Time, so my curious thirst was never satiated.

Even more unfortunately, Tom informed me last night that TaB is nothing more than a sort of cola. Even worse, I guess it is supposed to be a diet-y sort of cola.

We'll see, though:

The cubes of ice are hitting the bottom of my Carleton Tennis Mug. The fridge, from which I removed my as-yet-untasted TaB is humming serenely. I lick my lips and am immediately grossed out by the sound of saliva.

But the tik-pshhhh! of the opening soda can is a fanfare of triumph and optimism! The trickle-trickle-shhhhhhhhhh is a river of refreshment! The pshaphsaphsa of tiny carbonation is an updraft of excitement!

The smell is somewhat nondescript. I've never been very good at smelling.

First taste... second taste... third taste...

This is somewhat disappointing. Tom's description was quite apt.

Oh, dear.

My mom offered me some suggestions on how to update my myspace page today, which was kind of funny. At least she can't access my facebook page.

I'm going to go for a walk... does anyone have a leftover can of crystal pepsi?

I'm writing without glasses and am very low on battery power. Excuses!

In "The Laughing Man," by J.D. Salinger, the narrator tells his dear readers that there were only three instances when he can remember being blown away (I'm paraphrasing here) by the beauty of women.

At any rate, in chronological and somewhat uninteresting order, here are my three.

1) Two of the three _______ triplets, with whom I shared the second grade of Wilson Elementary in Cincinnati, Ohio. One had blonde hair, one had brown, but both left their mark. The third (and perhaps unloved, Biz) was a dude. All I remember about him was that he wasn't that good at sports.

2) A tour guide at a museum in Bolivia. She only smiled once (at a small child) but it was worth the wait. I can't remember what the museum was about, nor did I understand a single word she said. Part of that was because it was in Spanish. Also, she had a giant head.

3) Last Tuesday I skipped dodgeball and went to an art opening. On the way the third incident passed. She looked like Maria Sharapova on a skateboard.

I made a pie today. And stir fry.

You are weak with hunger.

You find an urn.

This urn contains another urn.

You hear noise.

This urn contains another urn.

This urn contains another urn.

You find +2 gauntlets.

You eat the urn. This urn contains rotten food. You gag.

You hear noise. You die.

Drew Piston died in the forest.