Uh... Cum Again?

Why is the guy holding the microphone fighting to keep his laughter contained?!?

A Good Looking Young Fella

I'm not quite sure if I should feel good or dirty about the whole thing, but I'll tell you the story nonetheless.

Today, I had to fly out to Rhode Island for a three-day gig. Well, technically it's not a gig, because I'm standing in on a long-term project while my buddy who I referred to I B M goes on an Alaskan cruise vacation for the week. It's simply amazing that this will be the first time I'll ever be in Rhode Island, a state no bigger than metropolitan Chicago, my hometown. Simply amazing. And to make it all the sweeter, I have never visited a city with a stranger name than Woonsocket. Well, of course, other than Wisconsin, which seems to have some of the America's hardest-to-pronounce cities.

Anyway, I had to go somewhere for a little private engagement for an hour, which turned out to be two hours. Trust me, it wasn't an all-you-can-eat lunch buffet at a strip club, although that would have been better. Relatively speaking, that is. But at this moment I simply can't divulge the details. As I was leaving, my Hippo had the luck to break down on me in the parking lot under the intense heat of the parking lot. It was so freaking hot today, that I had to roll down all the windows to cool it down before I could head home. As I pressed the buttons for the rear passenger windows, I heard two loud cracks. What the...?

At first, I didn't pay any attention to it, before I finally noticed that the left rear passenger window wasn't down. I played with the switch a little, and realized that the physical mechanism to roll it up and down had snapped and broke! I investigated, and to my shocking surprise, was able to put my palms on the window and force it to go up and down! This is not good! I had to go home and pack, and head out to Midway. At first, I thought the odds of some would-be car robber to discover this little anomaly is too slim, so I didn't worry too much.

My Hippo finally cooled down a little, so I tried to roll up the right rear passenger window so I can keep the nice and cold air conditioned air basting through the cabin. But the window wouldn't roll up? What the...? What are the odds that two window regulators break at the same time? I tried to use my palms to force the window up, but it wouldn't budge. Mothereffer! I couldn't possibly park my Hippo at the airport with a window rolled down. I might as well have gotten a bright neon sign that read: Thieves, please rob this car!

So I had to take my Hippo to the Land Rover service station for an emergency fix. What a drag, especially when it was eating into my packing time and commute to the airport. After Land Rover courtesy shuttle dropped me off at home, I only had less than a half hour to do pack before heading out the door. Fortunately, I was able to pack super quickly. I just hope I didn't forget anything.

I thought things were on a roll, until I waited nearly 20 minutes for the 147 bus. I wanted to catch the Lake Shore Drive Express to the Orange Line Lake Station, but it simply wasn't meant to be. After wasting 20 minutes, it simply was way too late to ride the slow Red Line to downtown where I could transfer to the Orange Line. Darn it! So I hailed a passing cab.

Oops!

Of all the cabs I could potentially get into, I had to pick the shadiest one where the air conditioner functioned just as well as a broken sauna room. And to top it off, the driver was a chain smoker. And a chain talker. Much like those you'd find in old movies where he would continually badger you with unprovoked nosey questions. "What's your name? I'm [some-name-I-totally-forgot]." "Where are you going?" "Isn't it hot out today? Do you reckon it'll be just as bad in Providence?" "Man, I'm hungry. You hungry, John? Do you like Burger King?"

This guy simply would not let me have a break. Even worse, he tended forget things he had already asked. I was asked where I was flying to twice! All this is not too terribly bad, except for the fact this guy shared way too much information with me that I was comfortable with. Not even four blocks had passed after being picked up, he told me that he lived at the nice condo in the northwest corner of Hollywood and Sheridan, but just for a couple months because his buddy, another cab driver, was injured and couldn't afford rent. He even went to tell me about how he helped out his buddy with using the restroom. And that they both enjoyed watching Sci-Fi movies.

I didn't want to be a total ass, so I gave him short answers, like, "Really?" or "That's nice of you!" Unfortunately, he wasn't undetermined by the short answers. In fact, it even egged him to talk more. Then he shared with me that he used to be a sailor. At first, I didn't believe him, because he was this tiny man. But then he got real nasty in his conversations. Yup! He is definitely a sailor!

Cabbie: So John, you got yourself a girl?
John: Nope.
Cabbie: What? A good looking young fella like you should have a girl!
John: Well, I guess I'm not good enough.
Cabbie: How old are you?
John: I'm about to turn 30.
Cabbie: John! That is the prime of your life! You should have a girl! I don't believe you don't have one. I'm sure you're boning a different girl every week!
John: ...
Cabbie: C'mon! You're a good looking young man!
John: I guess some women simply don't see it.
Cabbie: I've got a girlfriend!
John: That's nice...
Cabbie: She is only 41, and I'm 60. Nice, huh?
John: Wow. Look at you!
Cabbie: But I've got a 28 year old son and a 30 year old daughter!
John: [Thinking disgustingly about how he has a girlfriend almost the age of his daughter...] How's that?
Cabbie: Oh, my ex-wife and I divorced.
John: Sorry to hear that.
Cabbie: Nah, it's okay. I'm now with a 41 year old girlfriend!
John: I guess that's good.

By this time, the cabbie lit up another cigarette.

John: Buddy, may I ask you to put that out?
Cabbie: Why's that?
John: I have asthma.
Cabbie: Oh, okay. Sure thing!
John: Thanks!
Cabbie: So have you ever smoked?
John: Yeah, when I was a kid.
Cabbie: My man!
John: It didn't last long though.
Cabbie: I see. What about funny smokey?
John: I've tried it before.
Cabbie: How did that affect you?
John: No different than regular cigarette, except it made me funny.
Cabbie: You know, my ex-wife used to smoke doobies.
John: Oh?
Cabbie: Yeah, I really didn't care so much for the high.
John: Me neither.
Cabbie: But my ex-wife would always smoke up before we f**ked. She said it made it all more pleasurable.
John: ...
Cabbie: I guess it just heightens her senses while f**king.
John: ... [Looking out the window to see how much further away I'm away from the airport. At least another 20 minutes. Damn!]
Cabbie: So John, you enjoy sex?
John: Uhm, I suppose I do.
Cabbie: When was the last time you f**ked a girl?
John: I guess you can say it's been a while.
Cabbie: Man, all this talk about sex is making me having nice thoughts of pussy!
John: ...
Cabbie: So John, do you think of pussy often?
John: Err, sometimes, I guess.
Cabbie: Pussies are good, aren't they?
John: ...
Cabbie: So you travel for work?
John: Yeah.
Cabbie: Do you often get pussy while on the road?
John: Uh, what?

[I should interject here that at this point, the rather hot girl in a miniskirt sitting next to me just woke up, and glanced at the screen before quickly turning away. Now I'm sure she probably thinks that I'm a huge pervert writing one of those letters to Penthouse magazine. Now I feel like having the need to strike up a conversation and explain the whole thing with my blog. But this presents another problem, as usually good looking girls tend to avoid talking to strangers, especially when said stranger appears to be writing about f**king and pussy.]

Cabbie: You know, women will do more things with men from out of town.
John: ... Uh... ...
Cabbie: I'm telling you. It's the whole female psychology!
John: [Thinking is this guy for real?] I didn't know that... But, uh, thanks for info.
Cabbie: No problem. I love pussies!
John: ...
Cabbie: So you hungry?
John: Not really.
Cabbie: Oh, you have eaten then.
John: Well, kind of.
Cabbie: What did you have for lunch?
John: Just a banana and some fries.
Cabbie: That's it? That's not enough for a young man like you.
John: [Here we go again with the young man thing.] Yeah.
Cabbie: I'm hungry. I haven't had lunch yet.
John: Sorry to hear that.
Cabbie: I think I might get a burger. After I drop you off, of course.
John: Good to hear.
Cabbie: I might get the Whopper at Burger King for a dollar. That is a good deal. You like Burger King?
John: I prefer Wendy's, actually.
Cabbie: Oh, I can also go to Speedways. They have a deal where you get two hot dogs for just two dollars. Isn't that a good deal?
John: I guess.
Cabbie: [Finally speaking up after hearing my cell phone go off several times due to incoming text messages complaining about gaining eight pounds.] So, you're a busy man, huh?
John: Yeah.
Cabbie: Are those text messages?
John: Yeah.
Cabbie: I don't know how to text people. But my phone has it. Don't you have to type it out one by one?
John: Yeah.
Cabbie: So is that a coworker bothering you?
John: No, just a friend.
Cabbie: What kind of a friend?
John: Just a friend.
Cabbie: Is she a girl?
John: [Damn! I knew he was going there...] Yeah.
Cabbie: So, does she have a good pussy?
John: What?!?
Cabbie: Oh, that kind of a friend.
John: Yeah, just a friend.
Cabbie: But you're a good looking young fella!
John: Well, she's just a friend.
Cabbie: Oh, I know! She's fat and ugly, isn't she?
John: No, she's not fat. She's just a friend.
Cabbie: Then why haven't you f**ked her yet? I'm telling you. Even though I'm 61, I still f**k all the time.
John: [Trying to swallow the puke in my mouth.] Congratulations.
Cabbie: I'm glad she doesn't need to smoke up when we f**k.
John: That's good.

My cellular phone beeps again with another text message. Saved by the bell!

Cabbie: Damn. I don't know how easy it would be for me to get to Speedway. I will have to get back on the highway, and go to the other side.
John: What?
Cabbie: I was just thinking about hot dogs.
John: Oh.
Cabbie: You know, you're a good looking young man, you should sow your wild oats!
John: What's that?
Cabbie: Have you ever heard of that saying?
John: Not till now.
Cabbie: [Laughs like a crazy pirate. Or drunken sailor.] That means you need to f**k around! With as many chicks as possible!
John: [Is this guy for effing real?!?] Oh. Ha ha.
Cabbie: I'm telling you. You're almost 30. You really should be having lots sex!
John: [Looking out the window. Damn! This bumper to bumper traffic on I-55 is killing me. It's only Kedzie. Still another 15 minutes at least. Double damn! The meter is $40 already!] I'll think about it.

Then miraculously, he stopped talking! He talked on and on and on for more than half an hour from my condo to the Cicero exit on I-55. What I've written down barely covers the entire conversation, as I only wanted to highlight the strangest portions.

Seriously... If you ever see a white cab that is really beat up, and the medallion number is 2209 (or was it 2409?), avoid it like the bubonic plague! Trust me, because I'm a good looking young fella!

Fewer Asses of Evil

I woke up this morning (uhm, noon) to some really good news when I turned on my television to CNN Headline news and browsed to News.Google.com on my computer.

Attorney General Alberto Gonzales resigned! That jackass finally resigned! Hallelujah! There is a God!!! =)

But seriously though... First, Donald Rumsfeld resigned on November 8, 2006. Next, the Wall Street Journal published on August 13 an interview with Karl Rove that revealed his intended resignation at the end of this month. And now? After mounting pressure from both Democrats and Republicans calling for his resignation, Alberto Gonzales finally resigned today, August 27, 2007!

You really know that he is a piece of shit when even Republican conservatives wrote in the National Review back on March 28:
"We have never seen evidence that he has a fine legal mind, good judgment, or managerial ability. Nor has his conduct at any stage of this controversy gained our confidence."

Oops!

Dubya today spoke out today after "reluctantly" accepting Gonzales' resignation, calling him a man of "integrity, decency and principle." Dubya also blamed the onset of the resignation "after months of unfair treatment." This is what the man who can't even pronounce the word nuclear have to say:
"It's sad that we live in a time when a talented and honorable person like Alberto Gonzales is impeded from doing important work because his good name was dragged through the mud for political reasons."

Uhm, exsqueeze me? What about the good name of many innocent people accidentally detained forever at Guantanamo Bay as a result of Gonzales' fine interpretation of the law? I'm not saying all detainees at Guantanamo Bay are innocent, but there is enough innocent people caught in this nasty dragnet that it is proof that it was all a bad idea with horrible planning!

How can you call someone a man of "integrity, decency and principle" when he was fundamentally central in blowing away the principle of checks and balances in the United States government by creating the most controversial legal framework ever seen to date for which the Executive branch can abuse its powers?

If Gonzales is truly "talented and honorable," then why do legal scholars and philosophers view Gonzales as a rogue cowboy ass-raping the Constitution? Maybe these old timing scholars and philosophers are less talented than the young and inexperienced Gonzales?

If Gonzales was so good at doing his job, how is it possible that he only has support from the White House, but not even some key Republicans? Does that even make sense?

More importantly, how is it possible for Gonzales who was supposedly good at his job, the position of the Attorney General which is politically in the stratosphere in the realms of the Judiciary branch that demands so much responsibilities, recall so little? In fact, Gonzales said either "I don't recall" or "I don't remember" over 100 times during his Congressional testimony! And for some of his critical claims during testimony to be later refuted or contradicted by the United States Department of Justice Director of Public Affairs Monica Goodling (now resigned), former Deputy Attorney General James B Comey, and FBI Director Robert S Mueller III.



Oops, I did it again!

Good riddance today of a piece of trash. Now we just need to clean up the rest of the garbage. Translation: Dick Cheney and George Walker Bush. Till then, we still have a few Asses of Evil left in this government.

But honestly, it is a sad thing to see Alberto Gonzales resign. He said today, "I often remind our fellow citizens that we live in the greatest country in the world, and that I have lived the American dream. Even my worst days as attorney general have been better than my father's best days." For a Hispanic American to go so high in the political food chain, he had the great opportunity to show minorities that there is no political ceiling when you do well. But Gonzales just had to squander that opportunity.

What a shame... What a shame...

A Slow Gotham Sunday?

Unlike families with little tykes or lovers who share the night at the Hilton Times Square, I woke up real late this Sunday morning. As usual, I rushed down to the Hilton restaurant at 11:35 for my free breakfast, a perk of being a Dimaond VIP, which would otherwise end at noon. [I suppose I'm glad that half of year of non-travel did not demote my elite status!]

Hot cheese blintze, Spanish omelette, scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, smoked salmon, fresh fruits and yogurt. Yum! I took a bagel, cream cheese, capers and the smoked salmon and made them into a delicious breakfast sandwich that most restaurants will gladly charge almost a $10 premium. I love my creative thinking. Outside the box... Notice that I did not get anything healthy for me, like cereal or oatmeal, which were sitting there whispering, "John, you know better than to eat all those other foods. Shame on you!"

I suppose I sort of redeemed myself later on, as I didn't eat all of the sausages and bacon on my plate. The sausage was cold and tasted sweet. Maybe it was those maple apple flavor kind? And the bacon was crisp and hard like a dip stick. Does nobody know how to cook proper bacon these days? They should be kind of soft and chewy.

While not wanting to be bored all alone, I decided to keep myself entertained. So I went to the front desk and saw before my eyes a large stack of the Friday edition of USA Today, and a lone pile of the New York Times Sunday paper. I thought fresh news was better than two-day old news, so I reached for the New York Times. As I grabbed it, I thought Holy Shit! It was the one and only last copy of the New York Times! Yet somehow, it sat taller than the stack of six or seven copies of the USA Today!

The cute front desk girl saw the unspoken reaction on my face, so she struck up a small chatter. I asked if that whole thing was the entire Sunday paper. She replied, "Yeah, I know, right? It has been a slow day! Even the morning news anchor opened today with, 'Well folks, it has been a real slooow weekend.'"

I had to gather myself for a second and process what she said. Here I was, with a single copy of the New York Times without the adverts thicker than the typical Chicago Tribune Sunday paper with all its glorious adverts, and she said it has been a slow news day. Was she being sarcastic? But soon enough, I realized that if this is what a slow news day looks like, I really wouldn't want to be the Sunday paper route boy working for the New York Times when it had been a busy news day!


Holy shit, indeed!

Just a Bit Rusty

It has been ages since I last flown. Dubya was the President of the United States. Oh wait, he still is. I guess it just seems like forever in the life of a road warrior. If not for the perception of the ocean of time, then at least I know for sure it has been a while since I last flew on a non-Southwest Airlines flight.

You see, as a road warrior, I know many tricks here and there to allow for efficiency so as not to waste any time idling around. For example, how to time things just right so that when you finally get to your gate, you only have to wait five minutes before you board your flight. Of course, several of my friends have told me in the past that this kind of planning greatly increases one's stress level exponentially. For me, it isn't all that particularly more stressful, other than the fact that there is an element of gambling involved in the whole process.

Mind you, I only have less than the count of my fingers in a handful when it comes to the number of times where I have completely missed my flight. Other than the one time where I went to the wrong terminal at Denver where the now defunct Kansas City based Vanguard Airlines printed the gate information misleadingly. As for the rest? I slept through them all. Yeah, that's why not even a full 12 months have passed before I started avoiding Monday early bird flights, opting instead for Sunday evenings.

So on Thursday night, I got a call telling me that I might have to go to New York City on Saturday. The client needs someone there at 16:00. But I also had Garth's bachelor party to go to that day.

Side note. So I have an aisle seat on my flight, and across me is the fold-away seat used for flight attendants. I just noticed that she is actually cross stitching. I thought sharp objects like an inch and a half needle is not allowed on flights?End of side note.

Where was I? Oh right... A full day of bachelor party festivities for Garth. If I had to make it to Manhattan by 16:00 local time, I would have been forced to totally miss out on the entire thing. And seeing how I have been on the bench for almost a full month without any billable hours or viable project, it wasn't exactly in my favor to tell my manager that I turned down a billable project, despite the fact that it is only for five hours. So I played the work-life balance game. Namely, compromise. It was either that, or handing my employer another bullet on a silver platter that he can use to lay me off.

I told them that I couldn't possibly miss out on my good friend's bachelor party, but I would be willing to enjoy half the festivities. After all, I couldn't really drink any alcohol since I've been on the marathon training schedule, so I didn't really need to go bar-hopping later on. The best I could make it? 21:00 local time. If the client didn't like that, then they will have to find another person. This strategy has the benefit of not having another reason to lay me off in light of my shortage of billable hours, as well as having a 50-50 chance that I might be entirely off the hook. It was a gamble...

Since I'm writing this on the plane, you may as well guess that I'm en route to La Guardia. After only spending a meager three hours at the Arlington Park. For the brutal near two hour sitting in traffic getting there and the $10 valet parking fee, all I got to see was just four races. Oh well. At least I made an effort to spend some QT with Garth and his friends.

Anyway, back to the whole original point. Whenever I fly, I always patronize Southwest Airlines. I can't even tell you when the last time I had to fly a non-Southwest Airlines flight. So it has been a long, long while since I went to O'Hare International. And instead of the smart road warrior, I blindly drove into the daily parking garage while totally ignoring the five big signs a quarter mile prior that indicated which terminals serviced which flights.

I turned into the ramp for parking, and let out a loud, "F**k!" There were six gates to the humongous parking facility. Terminal 1, Terminal 1 & 2, Terminal 3 & Hilton, Hilton, Terminal 4 & 5, and Terminal 5. And that was all they said. Shit, what terminal is American Airlines? After sitting by the side of the road with my hazards blinking away for a few minutes, I decided that the parking facility for Terminal 1 would be a good choice, because there was a good likelihood that at least three terminals service American Airlines.

So I went in and parked with confidence. I got into the elevator, went up the escalator, then noticed the wave of United Airlines logos all over. F**k! I totally zoned out and thought that American Airlines was based at O'Hare. Funny thing is, as a Chicagoan, I already knew that O'Hare is a United Airlines hub. What was I thinking?

While walking the miles of underground tunnel to Terminal 3, I thought to myself that a rational road warrior would have picked Terminal 3, because if it wasn't the right one, then I could easily go in either direction. I don't know why I didn't think correctly. After all, I learned this little lesson when I was trying to fly home from Dallas Fort Worth, which ironically is the American Airlines hub. But given the fact that I had given myself plenty of time, I wasn't in a hurry. I enjoyed the humid, hot and damp air in the underground tunnel for a good 10 minutes, before getting to my destination.

Man, I'm getting rusty at this traveling, with only half a year of hiatus! But then, I kind of got my mojo back. Since I rarely fly the major carriers, I have absolutely no status with them. And hating to wait till the plane was almost full to board the plane, I sneaked onto the plane with the boarding group who has Platinum privileges. And the girl checking us in didn't even bat her eye when she scanned me in. My secret? Eye contact. A sweet smile. Say hello. Ask how her day has been. She was too busy telling me how long her day had been to even notice that I didn't have that special logo on my boarding pass. When she returned my boarding pass, I said, "Thank you, and have yourself a nice day!" She smiled back.

I'm kind of glad I still have it in me to work the magic. But before I get too confident, I have to tell you that a cat got my tongue when I tried to talk with the cute girl sitting next to me. C'mon! She had a little cage with a two month old Japanese Chin puppy. A practical golden ticket into an easy flirt. Yet, I somehow managed to screw that up. Yup, I definitely am way out of practice, at least when it comes to flirting with strangers on planes. =)

Mobile Update: Holy 16 Cows

I can't believe what I accomplished today! After running a half marathon two weeks ago and a 16 miler last week, I actually ran another 16 miler today! My long run this weekend was supposed to be 12 miles, but seeing how i skipped the four mile run on Thursday due to severe storms and a tornado warning (yes, in Chicago!), I had to make up for it. I can't believe how many large trees I saw that either broke off or got uprooted, not to mention so many public park property got damaged. It felt like a mini natural disaster had hit Chicago! I never realized how bad and serious it was!

Food For Thought

Think of your immediate and extended family. What are your fondest memories? Who were the ones who made everything seem okay? Was it your favorite uncle? Your aunt who will let you do something when your own mom explicitly disallowed? Or was it one of your grandparents who enjoyed rubbing it in your parent's face when she overrode your mom's steadfast stand on not letting you go to a water park with your cousins because you did something naughty?

Well, of all my family members aside from those immediate ones like my sister, mom and dad, my grandparents were probably the ones who made the biggest impressions on me as a child. They don't judge, and they don't spank you even when they were angry. I suppose now as an adult, I suspect that they never spanked me possibly due to back pain or arthritis or some other physical ailment.

Just like your parents, you never ever imagined that the thought of sexual activity would ever cross their minds, right? I mean, even though I knew from previous studies that there was a tiny "epidemic" going on in America's elderly hospices (aka retirement home, elderly home, nursing home) where some of the elderly are catching sexually transmitted diseases, I still believe that old people simply don't have sex. After all, my reasoning is that old people for the most part don't have the blood pressure high enough to sustain such cardiovascular-heavy activity.

Until today.

In this week's New England Journal of Medicine, a comprehensive nationwide study led by the University of Chicago's Dr. Stacy Tessler Lindau found that seniors in their 70's and 80's in America are very sexually active!

Not exactly the kind of eye-opener I want ever in my life. Now I feel like I gotta go rent Bambi and watch that tonight. Twice.

Dangerously Close to Being Laid Off!

As a consultant in I B M's consulting services division, I have a duty to perform project work for clients who have contracted I B M for whatever technical service they need. And as such, much like attorneys, I have a billable goal. When I joined I B M, I was pretty happy with a billable target of mid 60%. But when the new year rang in, I was given the shocker: Upper 80% billable target. And my time spent traveling to client sites doesn't count.

With my previous "local" project here in the Chicago suburbs, I was almost 100% billable month over month from February till the end of July. My manager didn't care about my continuing education, as I was making our group look good by the numbers. But after that "local" project ended, I had been on the bench week after week after week. In fact, my billable time for the month of August is currently set at 0%. In a flash, my year to date billable number was crashing harder than the stocks did that jumpstarted the Depression Era.

It wasn't as if I wasn't looking through the signed contracts database to find myself a new project, nor was I not being diligent in talking to sales leads on potential contracts. Sometimes, the stars just don't align. A great opportunity is there, and I'm the perfect candidate, but the client wants a local resource, or will only pay X percent of travel and lodging. Or the client wanted me, but the client was not ready to start the project even with the contract signed. You know, the little things that are normal to a constantly fluctuating business environment. Business school professors call it change, and change is good. I call it a pain in the ass.

I thought I had found a great project in San Francisco, but something happened that was out of the client's and my control. Without going into details of internal bureaucracy, my candidacy was rejected not by the client or my resource deployment manager, but some other individual in the food chain. So with that promising and desirable project out of reach, I only had another promising gig I could potentially hit.

Unfortunately, everything was going against me. I was the fourth person to submit myself as a candidate in this one particular contract, and my resource deployment manager could only submit candidates to the client in that order. Then finally it was down to two candidates, which I was one of the finalists. My competitor? Supposedly, he was nearly identical to me in terms of skill and knowledge. Worse yet, he was a local resource, whereas I would have been half a country away.

So on Tuesday, both of us had phone interviews with the client. I was the first at 12:00, with the other guy calling in a half hour later at 12:30. Of course, the important technical people were busy and didn't get into the interview till 20 minutes after we started. And to make matters worse, the other candidate dialed into the conference call five minutes early at 12:25. If there was an awkward moment in my life, that would've been it. I actually had to coax him into dropping off the call and have him dial in later, because it just wasn't right for him to listen in on me while I was in the hot seat. And, as if the stars' misalignment wasn't enough, I had to tempt fate by eating my lunch and mumbling during the entire interview!

I'm telling you, when this boy is hungry, there ain't nothing stopping him from doing what's right. Besides, Hyatt Center cafeteria had a special showcase in the ethnic food section: stuffed cabbage and Pierogies. Who can turn them down? And who would even want to eat them when they had gotten cold? This is Chicago, man, and I like my Polish foods the way they were meant to be served. I'll just pretend that they weren't made in an assembly lined cafeteria kitchen, sat under heat lamps, and served by people who may have questionable immigration status from the south of the border who incidentally probably never saw a Pierogie till that day.

When I hung up the phone, it finally dawned on me that I might have bombed my own interview! I didn't prepare myself in remembering my previous projects. I sent them an outdated resume that excluded my recent "local" project, which was huge and brag-worthy. I forgot to read up on this potential client's contract, as I got confused with the hundreds of other contracts I had been reading everyday. And I chewed with my mouth open while answering their questions. With a realization as big as this, who could ever fault me for drowning my sorrows later that evening over happy hour? I was getting sick and tired of my manager hounding me day after day, "Found yourself a project yet?" Whenever I hear our internal instant messaging chat pop up, my heart would skip a beat, and dreaded seeing if it was my manager. The last thing I wanted to read in an instant message was: "You're no longer profitable to I B M. Get a box and gather your belongings."

Although I do wonder at times how effective that would have been, considering I don't have a physical office space or cube that I could claim as my own, and I work from home.

Anyway, come Wednesday evening, just as I was getting ready for my eight mile run around 18:15, I heard the dreaded instant message sound: "Bing!" My manager has been known to instant message me at odd hours of the day as long as my laptop is still on. I looked at the name, and it wasn't my manager. It was somebody else.

"Congratulations! Welcome to Seattle!"

Marathon Pseudo Training Week 11 (minus 5)

Well, I have to say I am sort of proud of myself. Having started my marathon training two weeks late (due to basketball league) and a three week absence in the midst of the training schedule (due to stupid injuries), I was extremely excited and pleased with myself that I ran 16 miles nonstop (except for hydration and human waste excretion breaks) this past Saturday!

You may wonder, You have already ran a full marathon before, so what is so special about running not even two thirds of a full marathon, especially when you ran at a slow 12 minute/mile pace? Well, you have every right to ask that question, and I have every right to answer it with glee. There are two significant points here.

First of all, I ran the 16 miles on Saturday only six days after my half marathon. Not only that, but during those six days, I ran a five miler and an eight miler in between. In the past, after every half marathon, people who saw me walk in public would always think I had some severe case of hemorrhoids, or an extra large heavy duty tampon stuck up my ass. I was usually so wiped out and sore for two weeks after half marathons that I needed a deserved exercise break. But not this time.

Second and lastly, the longest I have ever run in my life was technically 17 miles, at the Arizona Rock 'n Roll Marathon. I ran for approximately that much distance before getting injured due to stupidity, or more commonly referred to by smart athletes as lack of training. After that injury, I simply walked the remainder of the marathon, which dashed all my hopes and dreams of finishing the race in my 4:30 goal. So with running a 13.1 miler followed by a 16 miler in two weekends in a row without any pain, soreness or tampons up my ass, I feel pretty damn good!

Wouldn't you agree? Of course, the thing that sucks about taking marathon training seriously this time around meant that I had to give up basketball and football for a long time. Friends are already bugging me about my absence. And worse yet, I have to give up drinking for just as long. But seeing how I ran the recent half marathon without any alcohol consumption resulted in a poorer performance than how I set my better half marathons without training or cutting back alcohol, I think I may just have a couple beers and wine once in a while. After all, at least I deserve it after my recent accomplishments.

Posting my personal worst included. =)

C'mon! Where's the Modesty?!?

It is simply human nature that at least once a day, we just have to go to the grounded lavatory and relieve ourselves. And it is much more so especially after a hefty lunch. Well, today is no different than what's normal, other than the fact that I am actually in downtown at my office instead of working from home.

I knew the time would come after having a huge Patty Melt for lunch at Poag Mahone's, famous for its burgers and anything beef. So much so that they even have a Poag Mahone's Burger Eater's Bill of Rights!

Anyway, as I'm the germaphobe type of a guy, I generally avoid using restrooms outside of the comforts of my home. But it didn't bother me today, because I knew the restroom at the I B M office is very nice and, dare I say, kind of upscale. I mean, it's even got a nice little couch, which I have only seen in women's restrooms at fancy restaurants! Not only do they provide nice cowboy hats (those silly protective paper you use to cover the toilet seats), but they also provide real toilet paper instead of thin sandpaper that is just as absorbent as a plastic sheet. I know it is definitely not Quilted Northern (my favorite!), but I think it is definitely Charmin. Two-ply, no less!

I view my number two breaks at the I B M office as something of a R&R moment. I would go in there, all nice, quiet and comfortable, pull my trousers down, and relax. While others may go on a couple cigarette breaks lasting 10 minutes each a day, the number two break is my equivalent. This is where I would take my time, no rush, and simultaneously get on the Internet with my cell phone and catch up on news on current events and popular blogs.

So earlier I went for my number two break. Although I had already gotten snug and comfortable, I had yet to begin my business before some guy who sounded larger than life waltzed into the decently-sized restroom. I was occupying the last stall, yet this guy chose to go into the stall next to me, of all the other possible choices! And we all know that men's dress shoes have this slight clicking sound to them, right? Well, this guy's strides were so heavy that I swear a woman in high heels was in the men's restroom!

I'm not a mean person, so I was not quick to judge. At least not on the mere loud clicking noises he produced with his suave, shiny shoes. But what happened next irritated the shit out of me. Literally!

I don't know about common etiquettes typically exercised in women's restrooms, but I believe what happened next was definitely beyond the boundaries of what I consider normal. First, he simply had to push so hard that his fart echoed throughout the walls of the restroom. I swear I thought the partition walls between our stalls shook. Next, he felt the need to high drop his things that you may have mistaken the restroom in an office high rise for the restroom in a swimming pool with a dive board, where a fat kid just jumped in.

Grr! What is this guy trying to prove?!? The toughest man on earth?!? Despite what he did, I tried to enjoy reading a blog. But he quickly interrupted me by yanking on the toilet paper so hard that the toilet paper holder rattled like a poor kid shaking a steel piggy bank violently. Without missing a beat, he blew his nose as if he was practicing for a tuba solo. What the hell is up with this guy?!? A competition to see who is the loudest?!?

And of course, it is simply natural, and biological, that once in a while a fart would come along when you go drop the kids off at the pool, so I let out a gentle fart. Sorry to say this, but I like modesty. Not to mention that I don't like pushing my fart out so hard that your ass cheeks hurt from the ripple effects of the sonic boom. But immediately after I let out a whimper of a fart, the guy next to me had the audacity to chuckle! Oh, this guy thinks I'm an import, eh?!? [Import cars typically have a joke of a horn, compared to American made cars that have authority sounding horns.] Then he proved my theory correct: He let loose a loud fart, again, as to assert his authority. Not to mention the misguided idea of being on top of the societal hierarchy.

I was so turned off by this jack ass that I simply wiped up and got the hell out of there. But while I was washing my hands, I heard him clean up and get out of his stall. As I looked at him through the mirror, this short guy just looked at me and smiled.

WTF?!? Obviously this crazy guy has got some issues! I can't believe some guy suffering from the Napoleon Syndrome was competing with me on shitting!

Worse? On the grand scheme of things, he was technically a coworker of mine, even though I don't know him. I might venture to guess that he probably was in sales.

Holy Spam

So exactly last week, I got this email from God saying hello. No big deal, right? Except today, God is saying hello again!


I didn't know God was a spammer!

A New Record!

Unlike previous attempts, I have been diligent this time around. Instead of just running three miles regularly and rarely running five miles as my long runs, I have been loosely running five milers during the week and long runs of 10 or more on Saturdays this year. I say loosely because there was a period of four weeks where I could not run after getting injured from playing football. And my doctor threatened if I didn't stop running for three weeks, he would not treat me for the additional injury. I thought he was kidding, but I didn't want to test it like how I did with my mom when she would yell, "Do that one more time and I'll spank you!" Somehow, my mom always ended up following through with her threats. My well-scarred ass can attest to that.

Anyway... While all my CARA (Chicago Area Runners Association) friends began training on June 9 for the marathon, I didn't even start my long run till a couple weeks later, which was only 6 miles on June 23. Not much of a "long" run, I'd say. The following Saturday on June 30, I ran 8 miles, which preceded the Race to Taste 5K the next day. This is where I was not thinking straight, because right after the 5K race, I went and played over three hours of intense football, which ended me up with a twisted ankle.

Even though I was supposed to rest for three weeks, I couldn't resist going to the Nike Rock & Run on July 14 after just two weeks of rest. I simply wanted to test out the healing progress of my ankle. My injured ankle felt tingly and numb during the race. I thought, Yup, it isn't completely healed yet! so I forced myself to slow down. After that race, I took a couple weeks off until July 28 (for a total of four weeks), when I ran 11 miles, followed by 12 miles on August 4.

All in all, I felt pretty confident for the LaSalle Bank Chicago Distance Classic Half Marathon this past Sunday. Even with a four week running break, I actually had some distance training under my belt overall. I couldn't say nearly the same for any of my previous half marathons, which preparation typically involved running no more than 5 miles and drinking and staying up the night before a race. My goal this time around was to simply beat the flat two hour completion time. It wasn't entirely impossible, since my average slow pace has been 10 minute miles.

Knowing what I know, I went to bed on Saturday night pretty early. The plan was to wake up super early on Sunday, eat some breakfast, sit on the toilet for a long time so I could empty out my colon, and spend time putting on Body Glide at strategic areas around my body such as my nipples, waistline, and jock lines. After all, forecast for Sunday August 12 was going to be super hot and humid, and I didn't want what happened to me previously to recur.*

But alas! I woke up a full hour later than planned, ate too much cereal, and although I did relieve myself in the wash room at home, I still ran into problems at the race. Apparently, I did not empty myself all out, because right into mile 4, I began spending a lot of my energy holding it in! In all my experiences in many races, I have always prepared myself fairly well as far as avoiding the need to drop the kids off at the pool. And this was my very first race where this has ever happened to me!

The feeling sucked! Remember when you were a kid, and your parents' idea of an excellent family QT (quality time) was to strap you to the back of the station wagon and drive all day across the country to some promised land where you will definitely love and enjoy, which ultimately always ended up being a disappointment? Yeah, remember those times, when you were at the mercy of your parents' restroom schedule, not your's? Yeah, that's how I felt during the race.

I had the opportunity to relief myself at mile 6 while running under McCormick Place Convention Center, where they had huge restrooms instead of portapots, I stupidly ran on. My thinking was that if I held it in long enough, my body will simply forget about it. But it didn't. Besides, we had been running pretty slowly, and my target was simply getting out of reach. We couldn't waste any more time, and needed to catch up, thus we soldiered on.

Somewhere in the middle of mile 8, I saw a park restroom. Having had a torturous run the last four miles, where all I could think about for the better part of the last half hour was using a restroom just like in those silly incontinence medication adverts you see on television, I decided that it was time to just take the Browns to the Super Bowl. Unfortunately, the park restroom only had two toilets, and I certainly was not the only runner with a similar problem. So I had to wait. After wasting almost 7 minutes, I was out of there.

Oh! My! Gosh! I felt nearly a hundred times better. My mind suddenly became clear, thus allowing me to run better. I didn't have to spend the extra energy on the muscles in the lower abdomen and posterior for anything. Now all I had to do was use less of my abdominal muscles, just enough so as to control my breathing and balance. I suddenly could run faster!

And faster I did run! Consider this: It took me 1:16:43 (hr:min:sec)to get to the halfway point of the race. And the rest room I used was located in the second half of the race. Including the near 7 minutes I spent dropping the kids off at the pool, I ran the second half of the race in 0:53:22! My previous personal best split for a half marathon was 0:57:12! Cool, huh?

Unfortunately, that isn't my new personal record that I am writing about. My first half marathon result at the 2005 Chicago Distance Classic on August 7, 2005 was 2:04:25, with an average pace of 9:30 minute mile. My second half marathon result at the 2005 Chicago Half Marathon on September 25, 2005 was 1:55:33, with an average pace of 8:50 minute mile, my personal best.

My new personal record was definitely established this year! If you did the math based on my split this year, you would have known that I completed the 2007 Chicago Distance Classic half marathon in 2:10:05 at an average pace of 9:56 minute mile.

YES! A new personal record! My slowest half marathon ever!!!

I know with the heat and humidity I couldn't possibly beat my personal best record, but I didn't think with some training I could possibly run worse than my previously worst record, which was the result of zero training whatsoever! Even if I was to shave off 7 minutes to account for the restroom time, I would have matched my personal worst record!

I guess to be fair to myself, I did gain weight last year, and 2005 was probably my fittest year, weighing in at around 155 lbs. Excluding my fat years in college, the heaviest I had gotten was 189 lbs this past winter, while I have recently brought it down to 177 lbs. But still, accounting for the extra 22 lbs and the heat, I should have run better, considering the training I actually had! Sigh...

We'll just have to see what happens on October 7 (Chicago Marathon) and October 21 (San Francisco Half Marathon) later this year... Because honestly, I had a shitty race on Sunday. [Pun intended.]


* Read more about this in a future blog entry coming soon! It will be titled "Hey, Nice Tits!"

Cheeseland, Here I Come!

The furthest north I've ever been to on this side of Lake Michigan is East Troy, Wisconsin. That is pretty much near the border of Illinois. The last time I went there was July 1st, 2006, when I went to the Alpine Valley Music Theatre to watch Dave Matthews Band with Kelley.

Ever since then, I have never ever crossed the Wisconsin border, before or after.

Well, it is no more!

A couple hours ago, my manager called and told me to pack up and go to Milwaukee. Yeah, that wasn't much of an advanced notice, but what the heck. Given the really short notice, all I could do is book a hotel, and just dump the necessities and a change of clothes in a plastic bag and hit the road.

So it's 20:15 now. I guess as soon as I post this, I'm outta here! =) (Finally, my first out of town business trip in months and months and months!)

The Bakery Story

In this one neighborhood, there are two bakeries. They both make gorgeous wedding cakes and other similar items. And they are both fierce competitors, constantly one-upping each other. Furthermore, their salespeople (let's just assume that the bakeries have traveling salespeople) are always undercutting each other, touting their products better and cheaper than the other.

Well, as I work for one of the bakeries, I can't even imagine the shock I received when the other bakery called in desperation for our assistance. What the... I tried to contain my laughter and control myself from spouting out puns here and there, and remained as professional as possible throughout.

Isn't that embarrassing? I wonder how much pride they have to swallow to make that desperate call? I'll definitely not look at their cake the same way ever again... =)

OMG! God Has Email!!!

I checked my email a few moments ago. To my surprise, God said hello! Through email! Now I want to know what service provider he has...

My Mayor!

Note: This is a mobile blog!




Well! While I was having breakfast at Pauline's, I noticed that Chicago Mayor Daley was there too having a business discussion with the local Alderman and other parties. I think this was the closest I've ever been to my mayor! Right in the next room!

I Screwed a Fat Chick!

Earlier today, my friend called and asked if I could go help her out. Of course, being the nice guy that I am, I gladly offered my assistance. So she came and picked me up, and we drove around.

Finally, we got to this one place, and we waited in the heat for a little bit. After a while, money was exchanged for the services requested. Then I asked her, "Do you have protection?" Her response was resoundingly instantaneous with conviction: "Of course!"

Unfortunately, it was a little small and too tight for my head. But seeing that it was all she had, I simply had to make do. Not knowing what she was like, I was quite surprised that she purred up like a little kitten just getting out of a peaceful nap. Her engine got started right away, all nice and warm without the "warming up."

Then I began to ride her. At first, I went gently. I wanted to break into her slowly, you know. But I soon realized that she didn't need any breaking in at all. Every time I turned up the heat, she reacted right away with equal amounts of exhilaration. It felt as if I had wind blowing in my hair, but my hair was just there, simply stationary.

I rode her for a while... Going fast at times, as well as going slow. I had to stop and let her catch her breath a couple times too. But when I made a fast go at it, her response was instantaneous with all the eagerness a guy could ask for. I couldn't even let anything slip by her!

Unfortunately, all good things had to come to an end one way or another. After about a half hour, she slightly complained about running out of gas. But it didn't bother me, because I myself have reached my intended destination. With no serious accidents, if you know what I mean.

Then I began feeling a little down, because I had such a great time during the last half hour. My friend finally asked as she was getting up, "What did you think?"

I gave her a resounding approval. "Your moped rode just fine! They did a good job replacing the carburetor! But my hair is all messed up though, cos your helmet was way too small."

Oh, did you think I was talking about sex? No... The entire time I was riding my friend's moped back from the shop; I was hoping nobody I knew saw me riding a tiny 50 cc moped through town. But it sure was fun as all hell though!

In case you didn't get the blog title, I was making fun of the popular American joke that went like this: Screwing a fat chick is like riding a moped; it's fun to ride one until your buddies see you doing it. Of course, I don't mean to make fun of bigger girls, because I myself was way bigger a couple times in my life. I'm simply making fun of an American joke by turning things around. That's all. =)

Oh, and my friend isn't fat. In case if you're wondering.

"No Engrish!"

Alternate Title: Compel me, dammit!

Since I've been working from home lately after the conclusion of my project out in the suburbs, I have finally understood why my answering machine gets so much action each day. For a while now, I've been pretty good with identifying telemarketing calls. A telltale sign would be the silence lasting about a second or two after you make a sound before someone picks up the phone and say, "Hello!"

Well, I've been bored lately. So I decided to see who these people are. On Tuesday, Sprint was the lucky recipient of my curiosity. Instead of saying the usual lame things like, "Maybe I'm John, maybe I'm not," or speaking in tongues (a mix between pig Latin and stuff I made up, or "Please help me, I killed the lady but she's too big for me to carry!" I decided to actually respond nicely.

And this Indian guy with a motor mouth who can probably speak a sentence in half the time I would take was telling me about how he can give me a free Sprint phone that was better than what I have, as well as a rate plan better than what I'm paying for. Of course, I got curious, because how did he know what kind of a phone I had? The conversation went something like this, and it would really help if you imagine an accent similar to Apu's:

Sprint: May I ask what kind of phone you have?

John: Sure! It's a Nokia N91.

Sprint: Uh-huh. John sir, I can give you a better phone! And best of all, it's free!

John: Okay, do you know what the N91 is?

Sprint: No, sir. But I can give you a better phone! You'll be amazed!

John: Okay, but why will I be amazed? What features does the phone have?

Sprint: It gives you early night calling, sir! It starts at 19:00 instead of 21:00!

John: Wait. That has nothing to do with the phone. Why would I want a free phone? Compel me!

Sprint: It has a color screen, and it can play music, sir!

John: Did you know that my N91 is an advanced smart phone, with a 4 GB drive for music, PDA functionality, WiFi and Bluetooth connectivity?

Sprint: I see. But this phone is better. And it's free!

John: Okay, but you haven't really described the phone to me, and I'm not convinced it is better than my Nokia.

Sprint: [feeling frustrated, so began to raise voice.] John sir, I'm giving you free phone! Why don't you want it?!?

[A crackle came on immediately, and a woman's authoritative voice chimed in.]

Sprint 2: Stay focused on the call.

John: Hello? What was that?

Sprint: Who do you have for your service?

John: AT&T.

Sprint: What kind of a rate plan do you have, and how much do you pay?

John: I have 900 rollover minutes, early night and weekend calls at 19:00, and unlimited data access for the Internet. And I pay $60 for it. [A lie.]

Sprint: John sir, Sprint can offer you a better plan!

John: Really? Please tell me more about it.

Sprint: Just for today, I can offer you a plan that you can't get anywhere else. For $49, you can get 450 minutes with early night and weekend calls!

John: Wait a minute. How is that better than my plan?

Sprint: John sir, it's easy. You are paying $60, and with Sprint, you'll be paying less!

John: Sure, I'm paying less, but it's not the same number of minutes.

Sprint: But you pay less!

John: Does it have data access?

Sprint: Yes sir.

John: So how much data allowance do I have a month?

Sprint: I don't know, sir. So you would like to sign up with Sprint?

John: No, I'm not ready yet. I'm still confused. You didn't answer me. Does the $49 plan include data access?

Sprint: No, but you can get it for a very nominal fee, sir. So where should I send you the free phone?

John: Okay, what is nominal? How much is nominal? Do I pay as I go? How much is it for 1 MB of data transfer? Or what kind of additional packages can I get? I want to know how much it would be for unlimited data access.

Sprint: John sir, don't worry, the data fee is very nominal, sir.

John: You keep on saying nominal, but I need to know the exact figure. Don't you have that in your pricing sheet?

Sprint: John sir, I don't know what a pricing sheet is.

John: But you're a salesperson!

Sprint: So do you want to sign up with Sprint? Clearly we can offer better phone and plan for you.

John: Wait. I am not yet convinced that you can offer a better rate, much less a better phone!

Sprint: But you don't have to pay for the phone!

John: Okay, if I do sign up for the service, you would have to record your statements and questions along with my responses with all the details regarding the verbal contract. So obviously for that reason you cannot use arbitrary terms like nominal. So what is the data fee?

Sprint: Great! So you want to sign up with Sprint! Is this your correct address...?

John: Wait, did you not listen to what I said?

So this goes on and on and on, with him going around in circles and not providing me with any real, concrete information. After seeing that I had been on the phone with this poor guy for over 20 minutes, I finally said, "Look, you're doing a poor job convincing me why you have a better phone and better rate plan, and you won't provide real details. I wouldn't hire you as my salesperson if I needed to sell something. You could have spent the last 20 minutes making at least 10 other calls."

The poor guy finally responded, "Have a good day, sir," before hanging up hastily.

Seriously, what the hell, right? So I forgot about the whole thing, until my friend and I were chatting about the iPhone and cellular phone service yesterday. He then brought to my attention about how Sprint cancelled over 1,000 contracts for customers who called customer service too much. I didn't hear about it, so I did a little research. Surely enough, Sprint did cancel subscribers who either called customer service too much, or roamed too much (although those serving in the Armed Forces will have their cancellations rescinded after catching hell). I spent over an hour reading everything I could about the whole thing.

Then the strangest thing happened. Another Sprint salesperson called right after I was done talking with my friend about Sprint, as if she felt her ears ringing and had the urge to call me up. With the news of Sprint's unreasonable contract cancellation still fresh in my mind, I promptly asked her, "Before I consider joining Sprint, may I ask will my contract be cancelled if I call the customer service too often?"

Her response was, "If you want."

I was actually speechless at her reply. Obviously, these Sprint salespeople were not trained to listen! If she had understood my question, she wouldn't have given such a ridiculous answer. So I just hung up on her, and forgot about it.

Then today, Sprint called me yet again! Damn! Sprint is sure persistent. And I don't blame them; especially they have the highest churn rate in the cellular service industry as well as the only cellular service company to lose money this year. After I picked up the phone, the following happened:

Sprint: Good morning, sir! How are you?

John: [thinking that the voice sounded familiar…] I'm fine. And how about yourself?

Sprint: I'm calling from Sprint, and I have a good deal for you!

John: Uhm, I just asked how you're doing. How are you?

Sprint: John sir, Sprint has... [A pause...]

John: Yes?

Sprint: No Engrish! [Click!]

The same bastard from Tuesday just called and hung up on me!!! I can't believe he actually told me he couldn't speak English! Oh my gosh! That was way too funny...