Finally . . . I’m in the home stretch, stuck in Seattle for the next two hours, but at least it isn’t New York! Eighteen days, but I am finally free. I had a final lunch with the guys in NY. If not my last, most likely my last as an employee of the Borg. Why? Well, it’s been about four weeks since my manager informed me I had no real future with the company if I wanted things like pay raises, and about eight hours since I received a new job offer. Yay! An immediate $35K raise, and a bonus to boot. My loyalty only goes so far for low pay and lots of travel. It has been a fun ride, though. Considerably less travel or more money and I’d love to have it continue. Some days, I almost feel like I know what I am doing.

Easter was interesting. Away from my immediate family and surrounded by extended family. I hadn’t seen my cousin Julie, several times removed, in almost twenty years. We are the same age, both started the breeding thing in our late twenties ad have two children almost the same age. She went boy/girl, I went girl/boy. Not sure how much choice we had in those options. Being geographically distant, we wrote each other regularly years ago, then stopped abruptly. I have theories, but am unsure why. Unfortunately, I am also a coward. So even after seeing her again, I have no further insight. Women, even those distantly related, continue to be a mystery. Probably doesn’t help that I do not speak up. Better to be thought a fool and all that.

So, a two-hour layover in Seattle, then home again. I look forward to sleeping in my own bed and not waking up to the sounds of construction emanating from the World Trade Pit. I suppose I have to stop tossing my towels and wash-cloths in the tub every morning. Hmmm . . .no more chocolates on my pillow either. I may have to re-think this whole going home thing.

Julie has cute kids — much quieter than mine. Or maybe it was situational. I certainly hope so, otherwise I’ll have to face the fact that mine are spoiled little hellions. Sigh . . .

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I celebrated Easter on Long Island today, a continent away from my children. No hiding of eggs or sharing of chocolate. No hugs, no peeps, no hurt feelings because the girl-child found all the eggs, or the boy-child stomped her eggs.

On the plus side, I did get to spend Easter with my mother, grandmother and various relatives that I haven’t seen in 20 years. Still, I miss stealing all the good stuff from the kids’ Easter baskets. 🙁

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Well this is just sad. I thought it was a chocolate Obama, not papier mache. Chocobama sounded so much more interesting. I was hoping there would be a follow-up piece as well: Edwards in white chocolate with a marzipan filling . . .

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My last excursion was up to China Town, which led me to the following discovery: I am not ready for authentic Chinese cuisine. Fried duck tongues? Pass. Snails and pork intestine in porridge? Pass. Snails and crispy fins? Yes, still pass. Speaking with the only person I know who has admitted to eating pork intestine, I learned that they “taste like crap.” Since this is coming from a Chinese woman, I am willing to accept it as an accurate assessment. Who would have guessed?- the conduit for crap tastes like crap. As the punchline goes — Alimentary, my dear Watson!

No Chinese food today. Instead, I am going to the Long Island cousins and enjoying an Easter dinner away from home. True, I would rather enjoy an Easter dinner at home, but it doesn’t look like that is going to happen this year.

Yesterday after the Natural History Museum, I had lunch at NorthWest, a café on Columbus Avenue. Halfway through my meal, Matt Dillon and his friend Lease, who were on the way out of town to visit Matt’s sister for Easter, came in and sat at the table next to me. Or maybe it was ‘Lise, I’m not sure. It sounded like Lease. Being an avid people-watcher and eavesdropper, it was great fun. While Matt fidgeted and wolfed down his eggs Benedict, I stared out the window at the gawkers. Most people walked by, oblivious to being so close to greatness, blind to the shining star that is Celebrity. Okay, I’m playing things up a bit here — most people just walked by. Really, I shouldn’t mock the famous. Considering that nobody ever comes up to me and says “Hey, you’re that guy who put all those silly comments in the C-NET web sites! You hack together some great code, man . . . can I have your autograph?”, I think I deserve the chance to mock, dammit! Crap, off-track again.

A few, though, would look in, then do a double-take. They would then slow down and whisper something to their friend, who would also turn, trying not to be too noticeable, and they would then either stare unabashedly, or argue over whether it was really Matt. Yes, everyone on Columbus Avenue in New York walks in pairs, or did so this Saturday. I just sat there, eating my wild mushroom ravioli, then later my apple cobbler, enjoying the viewing opportunities and wondering whether I should start making faces to see how many people I could distract. Is it rude to make people laugh while they are trying to stare at a celebrity?

So, what do the famous talk about? Well, Matt likes to talk about bread, pastries, and the Sicilian Mafia, the myths behind the color of blood oranges, and being in a cave. Waking up in the dark and thinking he was trapped in a cave, actually. All in all, a great day for an eavesdropping people-watcher.

Hey, what about Rental? Or Lease, or whatever her name was? Oh yeah, she had a salad (Cobb?), was very blonde with entirely too much make-up and rarely spoke. When she did, she had a habit of mangling words. Much too painful to listen to, thank you.

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Is it April already? The months keep slipping away . . . just a month ago it felt like March. Whatever. It’s April, and I am sitting around in my boxers in a hotel overlooking the World Trade Pit. What a life. Earlier today it was still April, but at least I wore pants. Had I not, I’m sure my wanderings through the American Museum of Natural History would have been considerably shorter. Great place, especially the butterfly exhibit. Here, have a peek:

Great, isn’t it?

Oh, hey, those aren’t butterflies! Okay, let’s try again . . .

There, isn’t that better? (pssst!- click on the moth and it gets bigger! Really)

I have been stuck here in Manhattan for over two weeks on a job that I was told would take a day or two. I feel somethwat misled. Since I had to work weekends as well, I was promised comp days. Hopefully this is true, otherwise I think my seven-year employment with, er, my employer, is about to come to an end.

Two weeks; I must have done more than just tour the Natural History Museum. Why yes, since you ask, I have. I also spent some time wandering Chinatown, wandered through some graveyards and church grounds, and discovered that the Wall Street Bull has some serious brass cojones.

Okay, that’s all for today children. In other words, that’s the end. Groan . . .

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Here I sit all brokenhearted, tried to work but only, um, got locked out because the *@!**! customer decided to sleeep in. At least it’s a padded hallway.

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Today marks a full week of on-site time for what I was told was a two day install. Today marks the end of the second week since I was told my promised “salary adjustment” (a pay raise to those of you who don’t like doublespeak) was finally rejected. I waited three months to be told this? Well, what’s next. I tried company loyalty and discovered it is a one-way street, so I suppose now it is time to brush up on my networking terms and try Verisign. 14 hour days and 80% of my life spent on-site and in hotels just isn’t worth it at 75% of the standard salary and no bonuses, especially not during a labour shortage.

A tangent . . . how unusual for me. Why has it taken me a week to do two days’ worth of work, you ask? Excellent question! The answer, rather boring, is that it hasn’t. I’ve spent most of this time relaying conversations from a 3rd-party consultant (whose source is the customer) to an engineer, who then relays it to another engineer, who responds and we reverse the whole process. Time-consuming and quite frustrating for all concerned, but it’s the only way I am permitted to do this.

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It’s a sad, sad day. I’ve been a bit preoccupied lately and had not realized that Tom Vilsack was no longer in the race. A pity, that, since I’ve been thinking up grassroots campaign slogans for him: Vote Vilsack: He’s got balls!. Vilsack — it’s in the bag. Speak softly and swing behind the big stick.

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I give up . . . Wal-Mart wins. Sure, they’re supposedly evil, but up here, they’re the only store selling local dairy products, fresh produce and organic produce. Yes, there are other stores that sell fresh produce, some that sell organic, but none so far that sell local dairy, and other than Wal-Mart, none that sell whipping cream that isn’t ultra-pasteurized (yes, that’s important once you learn the taste difference). It’s a sad day when only Wal-Mart is doing it right.

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You thought I forgot you, didn’t you? No, I haven’t forgotten you. I think about you every day, actually. Usually just before falling asleep. As my mind wanders, the nightmares set in and I think “Oh crap, my reader must be lost without me!” So no, I haven’t forgotten you. I also did not mean to leave you alone so long. Was it sheer laziness? No. Was it because I am bored with blogging? No. Was it because I am too busy? Not really. What the hell was it, then? Oh, you want an answer . . . I was sick Yes, the last few months have been a rollercoaster of fun as my body attempted to expel things from pretty much every orifice except my ears. Not all at once, thankfully, as that would be even more disgusting than it was. No, since early December, I’ve been enjoying a series of customer on-site visits and thrilling illnesses and as a result, haven’t had the energy to write stuff down. So no, I haven’t forgotten you. Jeannie/Shawna, I still owe you an email. Tae? I owe you a phone call. Anyone else? I probably owe you a quarter. And that’s it for today — I need to pee.

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