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Wednesday, October 01, 2003
Have you signed up for NaNoWriMo yet? Have you? Have you?
How about now?
Also: Sarah Hepola is back! Calloo! Callay!
How about now?
Also: Sarah Hepola is back! Calloo! Callay!
Monday, September 29, 2003
Hello! I'm back from Indianapolis. I read David Foster Wallace on the plane (thanks to the lovely Adria and Prague's Own Ed Casper for the recommendation!) which inspired me to write a diary-style journalistic report of my trip1. Sadly, I was not inspired enough to actually take notes, which means that you're only going to hear about the stuff I can remember. I guess I'm not a very good journalist. I'm going to make up for it by using these fancy bullets to boost my credibility.
ߦ ߦ ߦ
When I got to the airport on Thursday I decided to revive my Las Vegas habit of wearing my sunglasses inside. I don't exactly know what I expected to happen, but it didn't. What do I ever expect to happen when I try to look cool? "Hey, check out that sexy guy over there in the stylish shirt, the 89-or-possibly-11 dollar jeans, and the backpack which, based on its size, color, and apparent weight, resembles nothing so much as a small school bus? I've got to sex him up, but quick!" I decided right then and there that I'm done trying to look cool. It doesn't work, and no one would be impressed if it did.
After passing the Security Striptease (in which I was required to remove my watch, wallet, keys, shoes, and belt in order to make it through the metal detector), I stopped at a "deli" in the airport so I could spend $5.89 for a ham sandwich and the privilege of waiting in line for 15 minutes to pay for it. While I was waiting I noticed that the deli had all sorts of clever air travel-related names for their sandwiches, e.g., the "Jumbo Jet", the "Pilot's Club", and my favorite, the "Turbulent Tuna Salad". This name is impressive in that it manages to evoke negative feelings about air travel while simultaneously evoking negative feelings about food - both highly desirable outcomes for a business that sells food at the airport. Horrible name-wise, the Turbulent Tuna Salad is batting 1.000. I'd love to hear the names that didn't make the cut. The Fiery Death and Dysentery Deluxe? The Black Box Botulism Burger?
ߦ ߦ ߦ
I'm extremely wary of second-tier airlines, for reasons that I may relate in detail someday, but I decided to fly ATA this time since they claimed they had a direct, non-stop flight to Indianapolis. This turned out to be completely "true", which is an airline term meaning "false". To most people, a "direct non-stop flight" from Seattle to Indianapolis is one which goes directly from Seattle to Indianapolis without stopping. According to ATA, however, a "direct non-stop flight" is a flight which goes directly from Seattle to Chicago, stops for 45 minutes, and then goes directly from Chicago to Indianapolis. It's not that the journey as a whole is non-stop and direct, it's that the numerous individual legs of the journey are non-stop and direct. It's another one of those situations where specialized industry jargon gets confused with our normal everyday names for things.2
ߦ ߦ ߦ
Have I mentioned what a wonderful thing the iPod is? I highly recommend it, especially if you travel alone or with people you do not like. Not only is it good for filtering out all of the irritating background noise you hear on airplanes - engines, that weird hum that you can't figure out where it comes from, screaming babies seated in the row behind you and one seat over for maximum sound transmission3 - it's also great for softening the blow of the horrible video entertainment they force down your eye sockets on those persistent TV screens placed right at eye level. While everyone else was suffering through some horrible fluff news stories from CNN4, I was sitting in my seat getting quietly retarded. That kind of freedom and control is truly liberating on an airplane, where virtually nothing is in your control. I'm never getting on a plane again without my iPod.
ߦ ߦ ߦ
The reason I went to Indianapolis, besides visiting my family, was to watch a Formula 1 auto race. Now, I know what you're probably thinking. You're thinking that this event is nothing more than a weekend-long exercise in penis envy expressed by material lust for expensive and phallic-looking race cars. But it's more than that. It's also a weekend-long exercise in penis envy expressed by a material lust for expensive and phallic-looking camera gear.
I can't imagine anywhere in the world with a larger concentration of expensive cameras in the hands of people who don't know how to use them. Everywhere I looked I saw people carrrying $3000-5000 lenses attached to $500-$2000 cameras. And these are amateurs, not professionals. Formula 1 auto races typically attract technophiles who are both wealthy (or in debt) enough to afford the camera gear they need to photograph Formula 1 cars and dumb enough not to be deterred by the fact that Formula 1 cars are notoriously difficult to photograph. The cars are far away, they're located behind several layers of thick fencing, and they travel at speeds in excess of 200 miles an hour. In spite of all this, these people will still move heaven and earth to capture that One Great Image that they can show off to their friends, who typically don't care. I clearly am a member of the former population, while you are likely a member of the latter.
Given this, it's a good thing that I'd already jettisoned my ambitions about being cool, because I looked like a major dorkus malorkus once it was time to go to the track. I assumed the guise of Strappy McGee, a lad who is normal in every way except for the fact that every inch of his upper torso is fetsooned with nylon webbing. What I lacked in equipment I made up for with nylon. First, I put on my three-layer Gore-Tex windbreaker. After that came the aforementioned School Bus Backpack, which itself contains more straps, belts, clasps, and clips than your average straightjacket. Over one shoulder went the camera bag on its shoulder strap. The bag did not contain a camera, of course - stay with me here - but provided easy access to additional lenses, filters, and other highly non-essential photgraphic items. Finally, around my neck went the camera itself on its strap, which configuration kept all of my gear close at hand so I could immediate photograph anything that might grab my attention, such as a race car, or another, different race car, or someone with an expensive camera lens. Just for good measure, in my jacket pocket I slipped my tiny point-and-shoot camera (of course I carry two cameras), which I can adhere to my person with the attached nylon wrist strap.
This setup worked extremely well - until I had to sit down, take off my jacket, put something in my backpack, or breathe. Any of these activities required a time-consuming de-strapping process, which I'm sure looked like a small army making camp. I therefore tried to avoid these exercises, which freed up more time for taking pictures. I managed to shoot 1533 pictures over the course of three days, and that was without really trying. Neither I nor my camera gear were really sufficient, of course (my lenses didn't cost anywhere near $3000), so I'm guessing that roughly 100 of these will turn out, and of those I'll be happy to get 20 that are any good. (I can be cavalier about these numbers because I'm using digital cameras; shooting that much film would have cost over $500.)
Fortunately for you, however, I haven't gone through all of the pictures yet, so you have a few days in which to go out of town, get busy with work, or break your computer in order to avoid the torture of pages and pages full of race car photos. I will throw in a few other shots to spice things up for you - perhaps a shot of the Lobster Hut, or possibly even a picture of Strappy McGee himself - but I can't promise you'll enjoy it. I'll let you know when they're ready.
ߦ ߦ ߦ
OK, that's all for now. I have to go eat some dinner and paw through the hours of TV that my Tivo picked up for me while I was gone. Thanks for reading this far!
_____________________________________
1It also reinspired my love of footnotes.
2Also, "late" and "on time". As we approached Seattle, the pilot came on the PA and said, "We're beginning our descent into Seattle now. We should have you there right on time...or, possibly, a little late." He seemed unclear on the difference. (We ended up being late.)
Things were even more surreal when we landed in Chicago. After coming to a stop (a highly-exciting procedure in which the pilot waits until the plane is about to run headlong into a hangar before slamming on the brakes at the last minute, causing everyone to pitch forward in their seats), we were told that we had arrived "early". The pilot ruefully noted that this was a big problem, since there was still another plane sitting at our gate waiting to leave. This caused further complications that were never made clear but which resulted in us sitting on the tarmac for a while and arriving at the gate 25 minutes after our scheduled arrival time. If it weren't for the fact that we arrived ahead of schedule, the pilot seemed to be saying, we would have been right on time. As it was, we were early, which meant that we were late.
3iPod Volume Level Required for "Baby Got Back" to Drown Out a Screaming Baby Seated in the Row Behind You and One Seat Over: about 80%, just above the level of sustained hearing loss.
4Online stores have lower overhead than regular stores! Cell phones sure are small these days - and can you believe that some of them have cameras built right in?
ߦ ߦ ߦ
When I got to the airport on Thursday I decided to revive my Las Vegas habit of wearing my sunglasses inside. I don't exactly know what I expected to happen, but it didn't. What do I ever expect to happen when I try to look cool? "Hey, check out that sexy guy over there in the stylish shirt, the 89-or-possibly-11 dollar jeans, and the backpack which, based on its size, color, and apparent weight, resembles nothing so much as a small school bus? I've got to sex him up, but quick!" I decided right then and there that I'm done trying to look cool. It doesn't work, and no one would be impressed if it did.
After passing the Security Striptease (in which I was required to remove my watch, wallet, keys, shoes, and belt in order to make it through the metal detector), I stopped at a "deli" in the airport so I could spend $5.89 for a ham sandwich and the privilege of waiting in line for 15 minutes to pay for it. While I was waiting I noticed that the deli had all sorts of clever air travel-related names for their sandwiches, e.g., the "Jumbo Jet", the "Pilot's Club", and my favorite, the "Turbulent Tuna Salad". This name is impressive in that it manages to evoke negative feelings about air travel while simultaneously evoking negative feelings about food - both highly desirable outcomes for a business that sells food at the airport. Horrible name-wise, the Turbulent Tuna Salad is batting 1.000. I'd love to hear the names that didn't make the cut. The Fiery Death and Dysentery Deluxe? The Black Box Botulism Burger?
ߦ ߦ ߦ
I'm extremely wary of second-tier airlines, for reasons that I may relate in detail someday, but I decided to fly ATA this time since they claimed they had a direct, non-stop flight to Indianapolis. This turned out to be completely "true", which is an airline term meaning "false". To most people, a "direct non-stop flight" from Seattle to Indianapolis is one which goes directly from Seattle to Indianapolis without stopping. According to ATA, however, a "direct non-stop flight" is a flight which goes directly from Seattle to Chicago, stops for 45 minutes, and then goes directly from Chicago to Indianapolis. It's not that the journey as a whole is non-stop and direct, it's that the numerous individual legs of the journey are non-stop and direct. It's another one of those situations where specialized industry jargon gets confused with our normal everyday names for things.2
ߦ ߦ ߦ
Have I mentioned what a wonderful thing the iPod is? I highly recommend it, especially if you travel alone or with people you do not like. Not only is it good for filtering out all of the irritating background noise you hear on airplanes - engines, that weird hum that you can't figure out where it comes from, screaming babies seated in the row behind you and one seat over for maximum sound transmission3 - it's also great for softening the blow of the horrible video entertainment they force down your eye sockets on those persistent TV screens placed right at eye level. While everyone else was suffering through some horrible fluff news stories from CNN4, I was sitting in my seat getting quietly retarded. That kind of freedom and control is truly liberating on an airplane, where virtually nothing is in your control. I'm never getting on a plane again without my iPod.
ߦ ߦ ߦ
The reason I went to Indianapolis, besides visiting my family, was to watch a Formula 1 auto race. Now, I know what you're probably thinking. You're thinking that this event is nothing more than a weekend-long exercise in penis envy expressed by material lust for expensive and phallic-looking race cars. But it's more than that. It's also a weekend-long exercise in penis envy expressed by a material lust for expensive and phallic-looking camera gear.
I can't imagine anywhere in the world with a larger concentration of expensive cameras in the hands of people who don't know how to use them. Everywhere I looked I saw people carrrying $3000-5000 lenses attached to $500-$2000 cameras. And these are amateurs, not professionals. Formula 1 auto races typically attract technophiles who are both wealthy (or in debt) enough to afford the camera gear they need to photograph Formula 1 cars and dumb enough not to be deterred by the fact that Formula 1 cars are notoriously difficult to photograph. The cars are far away, they're located behind several layers of thick fencing, and they travel at speeds in excess of 200 miles an hour. In spite of all this, these people will still move heaven and earth to capture that One Great Image that they can show off to their friends, who typically don't care. I clearly am a member of the former population, while you are likely a member of the latter.
Given this, it's a good thing that I'd already jettisoned my ambitions about being cool, because I looked like a major dorkus malorkus once it was time to go to the track. I assumed the guise of Strappy McGee, a lad who is normal in every way except for the fact that every inch of his upper torso is fetsooned with nylon webbing. What I lacked in equipment I made up for with nylon. First, I put on my three-layer Gore-Tex windbreaker. After that came the aforementioned School Bus Backpack, which itself contains more straps, belts, clasps, and clips than your average straightjacket. Over one shoulder went the camera bag on its shoulder strap. The bag did not contain a camera, of course - stay with me here - but provided easy access to additional lenses, filters, and other highly non-essential photgraphic items. Finally, around my neck went the camera itself on its strap, which configuration kept all of my gear close at hand so I could immediate photograph anything that might grab my attention, such as a race car, or another, different race car, or someone with an expensive camera lens. Just for good measure, in my jacket pocket I slipped my tiny point-and-shoot camera (of course I carry two cameras), which I can adhere to my person with the attached nylon wrist strap.
This setup worked extremely well - until I had to sit down, take off my jacket, put something in my backpack, or breathe. Any of these activities required a time-consuming de-strapping process, which I'm sure looked like a small army making camp. I therefore tried to avoid these exercises, which freed up more time for taking pictures. I managed to shoot 1533 pictures over the course of three days, and that was without really trying. Neither I nor my camera gear were really sufficient, of course (my lenses didn't cost anywhere near $3000), so I'm guessing that roughly 100 of these will turn out, and of those I'll be happy to get 20 that are any good. (I can be cavalier about these numbers because I'm using digital cameras; shooting that much film would have cost over $500.)
Fortunately for you, however, I haven't gone through all of the pictures yet, so you have a few days in which to go out of town, get busy with work, or break your computer in order to avoid the torture of pages and pages full of race car photos. I will throw in a few other shots to spice things up for you - perhaps a shot of the Lobster Hut, or possibly even a picture of Strappy McGee himself - but I can't promise you'll enjoy it. I'll let you know when they're ready.
ߦ ߦ ߦ
OK, that's all for now. I have to go eat some dinner and paw through the hours of TV that my Tivo picked up for me while I was gone. Thanks for reading this far!
_____________________________________
1It also reinspired my love of footnotes.
2Also, "late" and "on time". As we approached Seattle, the pilot came on the PA and said, "We're beginning our descent into Seattle now. We should have you there right on time...or, possibly, a little late." He seemed unclear on the difference. (We ended up being late.)
Things were even more surreal when we landed in Chicago. After coming to a stop (a highly-exciting procedure in which the pilot waits until the plane is about to run headlong into a hangar before slamming on the brakes at the last minute, causing everyone to pitch forward in their seats), we were told that we had arrived "early". The pilot ruefully noted that this was a big problem, since there was still another plane sitting at our gate waiting to leave. This caused further complications that were never made clear but which resulted in us sitting on the tarmac for a while and arriving at the gate 25 minutes after our scheduled arrival time. If it weren't for the fact that we arrived ahead of schedule, the pilot seemed to be saying, we would have been right on time. As it was, we were early, which meant that we were late.
3iPod Volume Level Required for "Baby Got Back" to Drown Out a Screaming Baby Seated in the Row Behind You and One Seat Over: about 80%, just above the level of sustained hearing loss.
4Online stores have lower overhead than regular stores! Cell phones sure are small these days - and can you believe that some of them have cameras built right in?