Thursday, January 31, 2002 |
|||||
neighborhood thrift store
"I do not mind lying but I
hate inaccuracy."
|
|
asleep at the wheel I actually leave the house around 4am. I arrive in the Houston office when it's barely light. If I'd delayed it would have taken longer, inching along in bumper-to-bumper traffic. I find a conference room and get my presentation sent off. Then we breakfast with analysts, I do an informal meeting with another colleague and decide to head home. But I stop at Spec's first to look around, get some fun wine. And I stop at a couple of convenience stores to get garbage food. I stop in Ellinger for a Wild Cherry Pepsi like I always do. I eat some snack mix, some cheese and, yes, some of those awful sugar candy hearts. But I get home without falling asleep. But barely. Oh, and it drizzled a little on the way over and then as I left Houston, the wind kicked up straight out of the north and it rained pretty hard and the trucks drowned me. But I drove away from it apparently. It likes to rain on me on that trip. Whenever I go to the home office, I like the looks I get from people
who think I'm someone new (I have an employee number under 500, ass wipe,
and I actually made money on stock options) and I'm amused by little
displays showing which building is which in 3D which is pretty confusing
when the dummies change building 1 to 2 and 2 to 3 but left the conference
room numbers with wrong prefixes. I even smile at the cowhide elevator
walls. That's not leather, friends, that's cow hide with tufts
and barb wire marks and probably a brand somewhere. I'm mildly amused
that they decorated with 0's and 1's etched on glass building panels and
that the badge readers are so subtle and modern that I can never find
them. I think it's funny that they named the cafes dot commissary and
'Z'Rose and Juan's' (subtle, that one). Mildly. It looks like an office
campus for a dot.com but we are really kind of a stodgy company with no
debt. And heck, now that Enron has flamed out, the mayor is touting my
little company as a great Houston asset. I mean to nap when I get home. But I check business e- and voice mail, mess around with place cards for the party Saturday, write personal e-mail, download pictures from the old Kodak digital camera that FFP uses to shoot pix for his West Austin News column called 'West Side Stories.' We go to the Opera Center where a friend's niece is giving a recital in the Armstrong Community Music School. It is in the Forrest Preece Recital Hall which everyone thinks is amusing. Including some ex-exec from the company where we met who couldn't give us the time of day when we worked there. Suddenly, we're his old friends. A lot of the friend's family and friends are there...parents of the niece, her other niece and her husband, friend's husband. Last time I saw a lot of them, my friend was getting married in the backyard. The music is good and it's incredible how wonderful and pure the sound is in that recital hall. They spent tons getting it all just right. I only have drifting eyelids a couple of times. The music is seriously beautiful and they are funny...sending up 'early music' with an anonymous piece using rocks and yelps and grunts and flipping signs like you might have in a silent film. She's accompanied by a guy on piano then harpsicord and on some by an oboe. Very enjoyable. We don't stay long at the reception. I am dead on my feet. |
|
|
JUST
TYPING |
176