I wasn’t really kidding about being in an episode of the Sopranos on my trip to Long Island. My clients are half-Italian and half-even-more-Italian. I was here about 2 hours before the f-bombs started flying. Now listen….I am sure I have driven my audit clients to curse more times than I can imagine….but not right to my face. I don’t usually get a “What the $%#?” before my coffee’s even cold (or Diet Coke is warm, as the case may be).
The first day I was here…one of the owners spent our entire lunch talking about the two times he’d been held up at gun point (let me guess…you stumbled upon a trash-can fire, didn’t you???) Very nice Pauley [not even kidding on the name]….but I’m from Tennessee. We just don’t have a lot of guns-stuck-in-your-face stories to entertain everyone with at lunch. But I’m now afraid to walk to my car…thank you very much.
Then THIS week, I sort of…ummm…called them “the Soprano’s” to their face. Yeah….I thought we were bonding….apparently…not so much. Now what could be BETTER for client-relations than walking through their conference room wall??? I KNOW…mistakenly calling them a bunch of gangsters. Excellent. What? I can take my #%@^$ debits and credits and “go marry my cousin”? And did you just call me a “#%@^$ hilljack”?
Well, I can see my work here is pretty much done. Another success for the roving ambassador of cultural diplomacy (at least I didn’t call you the Riyadh Rockettes).
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Brooklyn Heights
This past weekend I stayed at the Marriott Hotel in Brooklyn Heights in order to visit with my buddies Tim and Dan in NYC. Honest to god, I came downstairs at 9 a.m. on Saturday morning to go for a run…and WHAT am I greeted by in the hotel lobby but 15 women dressed exactly alike in some middle-eastern pantsuit/burkha ensemble with the matching hat/veil. Seriously. All I could think was “Oh, goddammit, did those hallucinogenics not wear off yet?” [Just kidding mom…I mean…I don’t even know what those things are – I had to have Anne Louise explain it to me.] =)
It was either the entire crew of flight attendants from Saudi Arabian Airlines or a very, very conservative dance troupe. Actually, it wouldn’t be Saudi Arabian Airlines seeing as the Saudis aren’t especially crazy about pantsuits…or ummm…women.
And here is this little old infidel trotting through the lobby in her shorts and a ballcap, drawing p—len—ty (!) of stares from the Riyadh Rockettes. If that picturesque waterfall behind them had been more real, I would have been in for a good, old-fashioned stonin’ right thare at the Marriott.
And just to top it all off…there was some adolescent beauty pageant ALSO going on at the hotel. So on one side of the lobby you had a gaggle of 14-year-old girls all trying to purge while lowering their IQs by 20 points and on the other side of the lobby you had Esther Williams and her merry band of synchronized Shii’a. It looked like the United Nations’ Committee on Feminist Trainwrecks had sponsored a multi-cultural version of the West Side Story. ummmm…where the $%#&^ IS this hotel…at the corner of aberrant and absurd?
Finally, I just had to say…look people…I am going to go for a run…and when I get back…I’d like for all the “there-but-for-the-grace-of-god-go-I” characters to have returned to my therapy sessions where they belong.
It was either the entire crew of flight attendants from Saudi Arabian Airlines or a very, very conservative dance troupe. Actually, it wouldn’t be Saudi Arabian Airlines seeing as the Saudis aren’t especially crazy about pantsuits…or ummm…women.
And here is this little old infidel trotting through the lobby in her shorts and a ballcap, drawing p—len—ty (!) of stares from the Riyadh Rockettes. If that picturesque waterfall behind them had been more real, I would have been in for a good, old-fashioned stonin’ right thare at the Marriott.
And just to top it all off…there was some adolescent beauty pageant ALSO going on at the hotel. So on one side of the lobby you had a gaggle of 14-year-old girls all trying to purge while lowering their IQs by 20 points and on the other side of the lobby you had Esther Williams and her merry band of synchronized Shii’a. It looked like the United Nations’ Committee on Feminist Trainwrecks had sponsored a multi-cultural version of the West Side Story. ummmm…where the $%#&^ IS this hotel…at the corner of aberrant and absurd?
Finally, I just had to say…look people…I am going to go for a run…and when I get back…I’d like for all the “there-but-for-the-grace-of-god-go-I” characters to have returned to my therapy sessions where they belong.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Blog distribution
So Nicola gave my brother AND my mother my blog address? (!) Dude, what the HELL am I supposed use as material now???
This may be the appropriate time to review the “do’s” and “don’ts” of blog distribution. Otherwise, I am likely to get caught in some horribly awkward situation where I jokingly (jokingly, always a joke) blog about someone (Anne Louise) I didn’t even think was computer-literate (Anne Louise [!]) only to find out they’ve been reading my blog for a month =) [smiley face rule]
So let’s just be clear about who should NOT get access to the “save me the call” blog:
Anyone else who may post a comment calling me a pig-in-heels
Ummm….my boss. I mean SHE thinks I keep missing deadlines because of the complexity of my assignments. Which I guess is true – if you consider blogging about my FABULOUS vacation to be complex
My brother-in-law (just in case)…[oh, c’mon – its just a jooooooeyyyyyy]
Anyone who may have recently funded an incredible vacation to Rio and who may not think I’m as funny as I think I am
Eliot Spitzer. But that poor guy can’t read ANY blogs.
My family. No, no….they can have access to the “save me the call” blog, just not to my other blog…y'know the ”save me the therapy” blog
Anyone opposed to overt acts of plagiarism
Otherwise…feel free to spread this viral happiness (which is probably the only “viral happiness” you should be encouraged to spread)
This may be the appropriate time to review the “do’s” and “don’ts” of blog distribution. Otherwise, I am likely to get caught in some horribly awkward situation where I jokingly (jokingly, always a joke) blog about someone (Anne Louise) I didn’t even think was computer-literate (Anne Louise [!]) only to find out they’ve been reading my blog for a month =) [smiley face rule]
So let’s just be clear about who should NOT get access to the “save me the call” blog:
Anyone else who may post a comment calling me a pig-in-heels
Ummm….my boss. I mean SHE thinks I keep missing deadlines because of the complexity of my assignments. Which I guess is true – if you consider blogging about my FABULOUS vacation to be complex
My brother-in-law (just in case)…[oh, c’mon – its just a jooooooeyyyyyy]
Anyone who may have recently funded an incredible vacation to Rio and who may not think I’m as funny as I think I am
Eliot Spitzer. But that poor guy can’t read ANY blogs.
My family. No, no….they can have access to the “save me the call” blog, just not to my other blog…y'know the ”save me the therapy” blog
Anyone opposed to overt acts of plagiarism
Otherwise…feel free to spread this viral happiness (which is probably the only “viral happiness” you should be encouraged to spread)
Monday, April 7, 2008
Another Day at the Office
I’m sitting up here in the Soprano’s corporate offices and this place is nice. The space must be pretty new because all of the main offices and the conference rooms have mahogany and muted colors and glass walls. My co-worker & I are sitting in our glass fishbowl-of-a-conference-room like the main exhibit at the Lawng Eyelund aquarium.
So Friday afternoon…I’m coming back from the fax machine and the door to the conference room was open. Glass walls, open door…you could see how someone could have mistaken the open door for the glass wall and walked.right.into the plate-glass wall. That’s right…undershot the door by a very critical 3 feet and walked directly into the freakin’ plate-glass conference room wall. And not just walked into it – I must have been traveling with some kind of spectacular velocity because I bounced off that thing like i was being repelled by an invisible force. I looked like a sparrow hurtling itself at an enemy aviator only to be horribly, horribly surprised to discover its own reflection. And the collision (“collision”, mind you) was the loudest #%$&^ sound I’ve ever heard in an office – every.single.person still there at 4:45 on a Friday came rushing out of their cube or office to see what was going on. All I could do was stand there like Wile E. Coyote waiting for the entire wall to shatter. “Help me”
Now listen, I am NOT the most intimidating creature on a good day – but careening into a glass wall like Inspector Clouseau is NOT helping with my presentation. Between the sound of the impact and the crimson color of my face, the owner – otherwise known as my client – was prepared to rush me to the hospital. Nice.
Today there is a big masking-tape “X” on the conference room wall where my face-print used to be. Um…"thank you"?
So Friday afternoon…I’m coming back from the fax machine and the door to the conference room was open. Glass walls, open door…you could see how someone could have mistaken the open door for the glass wall and walked.right.into the plate-glass wall. That’s right…undershot the door by a very critical 3 feet and walked directly into the freakin’ plate-glass conference room wall. And not just walked into it – I must have been traveling with some kind of spectacular velocity because I bounced off that thing like i was being repelled by an invisible force. I looked like a sparrow hurtling itself at an enemy aviator only to be horribly, horribly surprised to discover its own reflection. And the collision (“collision”, mind you) was the loudest #%$&^ sound I’ve ever heard in an office – every.single.person still there at 4:45 on a Friday came rushing out of their cube or office to see what was going on. All I could do was stand there like Wile E. Coyote waiting for the entire wall to shatter. “Help me”
Now listen, I am NOT the most intimidating creature on a good day – but careening into a glass wall like Inspector Clouseau is NOT helping with my presentation. Between the sound of the impact and the crimson color of my face, the owner – otherwise known as my client – was prepared to rush me to the hospital. Nice.
Today there is a big masking-tape “X” on the conference room wall where my face-print used to be. Um…"thank you"?
Friday, April 4, 2008
Brazil - one more thing
Okay – this is the LAST note on Brazil, I promise. I am off to NYC for the weekend and that ought to be good for a laugh or two (provided I don’t run into any trash-can fires). But i thought i would include some last random thoughts on Brazil:
It turns out I have a Brazilian ass (They actually get ass-augmentation in Brazil because they value a big backside. I signed up to be an ass donor).
Barry Manilow songs are not as popular in Brazil as we may think.
Wow – that’s some yellow water in that country…no replacing the vodka in the mini-bar with THIS stuff.
Brazilian delivery boys can carry ANYTHING on a freakin’ push cart. I STILL do not know how that guy got that live pig on there, but he was making better time than I was.
Every where you go, Brazilians ask you about Hillary & Obama…and oh yeah, “Eliot Speetzer”. No wonder they think Americans are insane.
When Brazilian men do the samba, they look like the gayest men who could beat the crap out of you.
They will sell you anything on the beach. I ordered a sweater from Land’s End while working on that base tan of mine.
It turns out I have a Brazilian ass (They actually get ass-augmentation in Brazil because they value a big backside. I signed up to be an ass donor).
Barry Manilow songs are not as popular in Brazil as we may think.
Wow – that’s some yellow water in that country…no replacing the vodka in the mini-bar with THIS stuff.
Brazilian delivery boys can carry ANYTHING on a freakin’ push cart. I STILL do not know how that guy got that live pig on there, but he was making better time than I was.
Every where you go, Brazilians ask you about Hillary & Obama…and oh yeah, “Eliot Speetzer”. No wonder they think Americans are insane.
When Brazilian men do the samba, they look like the gayest men who could beat the crap out of you.
They will sell you anything on the beach. I ordered a sweater from Land’s End while working on that base tan of mine.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Lawng Eyelund
One day I’m in Rio and the next day I am in an episode of the Sopranos…that would be Long Island, NY for those unfamiliar with my whirling-dirvish itinerary. Let’s see….Rio/Long Island…Rio/Long Island. Nice contrast.
Coming into Long Island, I was scared to death of driving through NYC. For someone who refused to take jewelry mugging in a foreign country seriously, I was CERTAIN I was going to end up as a “fictional” victim on Law and Order. You know…the poor schmuck that Jerry Orbach makes some horrible joke about right before the opening salvo. Seriously, I just figured I’d lose ALL ability to read signs to the interstate and end up down some alley next to one of those trash-can fires. Man, if you end up next to a trash-can fire, you are screwed.
What I SHOULD have worried about was the airport. Remember that post where I said the Albany airport was roughly the size of my living room? Well, uh…JFK is roughly the size of Albany.
Incidentally…never, never, never check your bag to JFK. First, there are about 362 baggage claim carousels in that airport. Second, there are roughly 361 planes ahead of you for baggage unloading. Finally, bags are unloaded by….well, New Yorkers. I mean, did someone RIDE my bag to baggage claim? Didn’t my bag used to have an outside pocket??? Can I please have the aloe back that was in my bag when I checked it??
I’m flying back through Albany.
Coming into Long Island, I was scared to death of driving through NYC. For someone who refused to take jewelry mugging in a foreign country seriously, I was CERTAIN I was going to end up as a “fictional” victim on Law and Order. You know…the poor schmuck that Jerry Orbach makes some horrible joke about right before the opening salvo. Seriously, I just figured I’d lose ALL ability to read signs to the interstate and end up down some alley next to one of those trash-can fires. Man, if you end up next to a trash-can fire, you are screwed.
What I SHOULD have worried about was the airport. Remember that post where I said the Albany airport was roughly the size of my living room? Well, uh…JFK is roughly the size of Albany.
Incidentally…never, never, never check your bag to JFK. First, there are about 362 baggage claim carousels in that airport. Second, there are roughly 361 planes ahead of you for baggage unloading. Finally, bags are unloaded by….well, New Yorkers. I mean, did someone RIDE my bag to baggage claim? Didn’t my bag used to have an outside pocket??? Can I please have the aloe back that was in my bag when I checked it??
I’m flying back through Albany.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
About that suntan
Okay, apparently the suntan prediction for my trip to Brazil was a tad optimistic. It was certainly not for a lack of opportunity…because I am pretty sure our little island straddled the equator (which probably cost extra).
Let’s just get this straight…I am on a yacht, surrounded by water, straddling the equator. I wasn’t afraid I was going to burn, I was afraid I was going to spontaneously combust. I pretty much took a bath in sunscreen while checking through customs and did not stop at any point throughout the weekend. I didn’t even bother to rub it in…it looked like a primer coat. I mean…I put sun screen on my follicles. By Thursday, I was paler than when I arrived. I looked like I was vacationing in Vermont.
THAT is when I decided to play a little radiation roulette. You know…see if I could stay out for an hour without sun screen just to get a “base tan” (it’s all relative, folks – it’s a tan for me). Not in Rio, baby. I went to the beach without sun screen for THIRTY minutes on Thursday and came away looking like a walking isotope.
Thursday happened to coincide with the tour that we were getting from a Brazilian local. When we were introduced, he just stared at my “base tan”…I don’t think he blinked for about 3 minutes…his eyes were probably seared open from the heat emanating from my skin. I told him it was an Irish suntan and that no, I didn’t need to be rushed immediately to the hospital. He told me I needed to wear sun-screen in Rio, because they are “ultra-violent rays”. very freakin’ funny…please pass me the aloe.
I never had these problems in the tanning bed.
Let’s just get this straight…I am on a yacht, surrounded by water, straddling the equator. I wasn’t afraid I was going to burn, I was afraid I was going to spontaneously combust. I pretty much took a bath in sunscreen while checking through customs and did not stop at any point throughout the weekend. I didn’t even bother to rub it in…it looked like a primer coat. I mean…I put sun screen on my follicles. By Thursday, I was paler than when I arrived. I looked like I was vacationing in Vermont.
THAT is when I decided to play a little radiation roulette. You know…see if I could stay out for an hour without sun screen just to get a “base tan” (it’s all relative, folks – it’s a tan for me). Not in Rio, baby. I went to the beach without sun screen for THIRTY minutes on Thursday and came away looking like a walking isotope.
Thursday happened to coincide with the tour that we were getting from a Brazilian local. When we were introduced, he just stared at my “base tan”…I don’t think he blinked for about 3 minutes…his eyes were probably seared open from the heat emanating from my skin. I told him it was an Irish suntan and that no, I didn’t need to be rushed immediately to the hospital. He told me I needed to wear sun-screen in Rio, because they are “ultra-violent rays”. very freakin’ funny…please pass me the aloe.
I never had these problems in the tanning bed.
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