Tuesday I will be in Mountain View. Tomorrow I will be in Frankfurt with good friends and many drunk loud Germans screaming at a big TV. Tonight beyond the witching hour I declined an adventure in Koeln, being the wise or stupid one. Today I was rocking out with people from 10 to 79 and also teaching a tango dancer to waltz to a band playing surprisingly damn good cover songs. Also today I unexpectedly toured Bonn for two hours with a beautiful new also-unexpected friend, played piano for an entire wedding in Sankt Augustin, and ate a breakfast of bread, sausage and cheese for the many-hundredth time.
Now I am not clubbing. I am not answering any work e-mail. I am recharging my phone, my camera, and I am thinking. And yes, writing.
Writing and thinking about how every new experience, every new friendship brings discovery, along with often joy, wistfulness, confusion… reminders of what was, what will not be, and choices. Always choices.
Sometimes I envy those with simple lives. They grow up and die in the same small land. They marry their high school sweetheart. They are neither worldly nor stupid. They don’t have huge dreams to dream or to shatter or to just miss by a teeny tiny what if or an almost or a one-courage-short. With small dreams come exponentially smaller risks, fewer disappointments, less uncertainty. And certainly less angst.
I travel a lot. I see a lot. I have friends in more countries than I can count on my two hands doubled, and close distant friends in at least one hands-worth. They’re so far away. They’re having kids, they’re changing, they’re focusing.
And I… I am still exploring. Sometimes regretting. But—in those moments when I let my mind wander in the way that is not wandering to procrastinate or to forget—I am more wondering. I cannot change what I’ve done and what I’ve become, but will I make better choices tomorrow? Or, rather, will they be more important choosings of the things that matter, not which coupon site mint gum new web too oh site cool phone app sock alignment?
So here I sit, much loved and alone in yet another hotel room. And I wonder if they are fast asleep or wondering, too.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Dear PayPal - Please shrivel up and die
I like paying for things with a credit card. It’s typically pretty fast (especially with those merchants that don’t require a signature for
<$25 purchases). It's secure. And I earn travel rewards for every dollar I spend.
So when it comes to the occasional purchase online that I can only buy via PayPal I cringe. Why? Because PayPal really really really doesn't want me to pay with a credit card, and they'll harrass me about this during every checkout, creating a user-hostile experience each and every time I use their dog-forsaken service.
A friend recently lamented that it took eight clicks for them to buy something on PayPal. That sounds about right. You see, PayPal defaults users to paying from their bank account… so we have to search for a tiny “more funding options” link and then select the credit card, then be subjected to a long whiny please “Are you absolutely positively sure that you don’t want to pay from your bank account? It’s really a better option yadda yadda yadda…” followed by a charmingly shifting yes/no set of buttons.
Look, PayPal, I want to pay by credit card. I’ve told you this more than a dozen times. I’ve also read/skimmed/ignored your stupid please-don’t-pay-by-credit-card notice more than a dozen times. And, by the way, I’m well aware that you already pass on extra associated charges to your merchants when buyers pay by credit card.
So SOD OFF! Either let me set “pay by credit card” in my preferences somewhere, or leave me the frack alone.
In the meantime, I’m hoping you go out of business, to be replaced by a company that doesn’t repeatedly spit on its users.
ADDENDUM / DISCLAIMERS:
- I work for Google, which offers a somewhat-competing service called Google Checkout. I use and like that service, but am not part of the Checkout team.
- My anger towards PayPal may seem heavy given the seemingly light-transgression described above. But it’s just the last straw. PayPal has a history of thumbing its corporate nose at its users, and I’ve had the displeasure of using PayPal for many years as a buyer and seller on ebay.
<$25 purchases). It's secure. And I earn travel rewards for every dollar I spend.
So when it comes to the occasional purchase online that I can only buy via PayPal I cringe. Why? Because PayPal really really really doesn't want me to pay with a credit card, and they'll harrass me about this during every checkout, creating a user-hostile experience each and every time I use their dog-forsaken service.
A friend recently lamented that it took eight clicks for them to buy something on PayPal. That sounds about right. You see, PayPal defaults users to paying from their bank account… so we have to search for a tiny “more funding options” link and then select the credit card, then be subjected to a long whiny please “Are you absolutely positively sure that you don’t want to pay from your bank account? It’s really a better option yadda yadda yadda…” followed by a charmingly shifting yes/no set of buttons.
Look, PayPal, I want to pay by credit card. I’ve told you this more than a dozen times. I’ve also read/skimmed/ignored your stupid please-don’t-pay-by-credit-card notice more than a dozen times. And, by the way, I’m well aware that you already pass on extra associated charges to your merchants when buyers pay by credit card.
So SOD OFF! Either let me set “pay by credit card” in my preferences somewhere, or leave me the frack alone.
In the meantime, I’m hoping you go out of business, to be replaced by a company that doesn’t repeatedly spit on its users.
ADDENDUM / DISCLAIMERS:
- I work for Google, which offers a somewhat-competing service called Google Checkout. I use and like that service, but am not part of the Checkout team.
- My anger towards PayPal may seem heavy given the seemingly light-transgression described above. But it’s just the last straw. PayPal has a history of thumbing its corporate nose at its users, and I’ve had the displeasure of using PayPal for many years as a buyer and seller on ebay.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Where the hell is Matt? -- Huge smiles guaranteed!
Today’s entry is short and wonderful. Behold, in the video below, Matt Harding… “dancing” around the world, one city at a time. At the 54 second mark, watch the video really come alive when he delights countless locales who join in the dancing… and, i guarantee, charms all of you watching, too :-D.
For more information, see www.wherethehellismatt.com.
Also, you really really must see his other videos (linked under his name).
Edited on June 23 to add: Thank you to Bee for pointing out my URL typo! Now fixed :-D
For more information, see www.wherethehellismatt.com.
Also, you really really must see his other videos (linked under his name).
Edited on June 23 to add: Thank you to Bee for pointing out my URL typo! Now fixed :-D
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Adventures in flying, part 13
Once again, I was off to Germany… home of good friends, heavy food, wacky long sentences, and Lufthansa, the airline whose plane I was unceremoniously squished into not like a sardine, but wurst.
I had the foot-munching-tray aisle to my right, and a stupendously larger-than-life and dumber-than-devil-fossils young fella to my left. To his left sat an acquaintance of his, seemingly of equal gelatinousness and dimwittedness. For the purposes of this entry, we’ll call them Slad and Elad, respectively if not respectfully.
* * *
Slad had no sense. No sense of etiquette, culture, space, or time. No sense at all, really. And he was happy to share this nonsense with me, loudly… cheerfully interrupting the safety instructions which were actually melodious and fascinating in comparison.
Slad: HEY!
Me: Hi.
Slad: THEY’RE TALKING GERMAN!
Me: Yeah.
Slad: WHY ARE THEY TALKING GERMAN?
Me: It’s Lufthansa, a German airline.
Slad: [A look even blanker than usual]
Me: ...And we’re going to Germany, so there are Germans on board.
Only the first part had sunk in. And barely at that.
Slad: LUFTHANGLE?
Me: Lufthansa.
Slad: YEAH!? BUT THEY’RE STILL TALKING GERMAN!
Me: [speechless]
About 30 minutes into the flight…
Slad: HEY?
Me: Yeah?
Slad: HEY! UM, I SHOULD TELL YOU SOMETHING.
Me: You’re pregnant?
[er, actually…]
Me: Yes?
Slad: SOMETIMES I GET TIRED. AND I GO TO SLEEP AND, LIKE, LEAN TO ONE SIDE. [gesticulates in the most unfortunate of directions. My direction.]
Slad: SO IF I DO, YOU CAN PUSH ME. IT’S OKAY.
Me: [Nodding, once again quite speechless]
Slad: AND I CAN’T SLEEP WITH THIS ARM REST [pointing to the last barrier between the two of us]. SO I’LL MOVE IT.
Me: Uh, um… I…
Slad: [moving armrest] MRUMPH AAHHHH.
It was about at this time that I chuckled inwardly and looked for the camera. I had finally figured out what was happening; I was now the unwitting future star of “American’s Funniest Videos… in the Sky!”
Except I wasn’t. There was no camera. On the stage that mattered at the moment, there was just me, Slad, and his up-‘til-now mute-and-slackjacked buddy. The audience, if one considered it to exist, was likely amusedly credulous and undoubtedly happy to be more or less apart from the action.
* * *
Another hour later, I discovered that there was loving, needy-yet-giving part of Slad… which was manifested by his tender-but-firm nuzzling of his head on my shoulder, his hands in a further solid embrace upon my upper arm. Adding to the unreality of the circumstances was Slad’s increasingly-window-rattling snort-snores.
Temporarily frozen in a powerfully combimatic state of disbelief, amusement, and horror, I began to contemplate the most efficient and effective methods of extrication.
Elad was also clearly experiencing a combination of emotions, but unlike me, was decidedly unfrozen. In a quick flash, Elad grabbed one of the dirty-and-unsoft airline pillows and aimed to violently wack his compatriot-in-stupidity out of his amorous slumber.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Elad was bereft not only of speech and thought, but also aim. THWWWWACK! went the pillow into my face. I was now, even more than before, very, very awake. In contrast, Slad simply missed a snort-snore beat, which was replaced by a relatively mild gruntle before the rhythms of his sleep began anew.
It was long past time for a heave-ho. I pushed Slad to the left, causing him to flop onto Elad. Elad—stunned at this apparently not-before-experienced leftleaningness of his duncetwin—did the only thing he knew how to do. He shoved back.
A soon-mostly-awake and thoroughly befuddled Slad was catapulted squishily into my lap. Dimly ascertaining that he wasn’t where I wanted him to be, he grabbed my thigh with one hand and—with all his weight—gruntily pushed himself mostly upright.
* * *
I looked around in desperation. A couple sympathetic looks, but no empty seats. I was tempted to tell Slad that there was a big case of beer on the other end of the exit sign, but I deduced that:
1) He’d really fall for it.
2) He undeniably had the heft to easily open or at least gleefully smash through the emergency exit door.
3) I’d have even a more miserable flight at that point.
So what could I do? I rotated through the possibilities in my head:
“Excuse me, but these guys are bear hugging and pillow fighting me!”
No, no, that made it sound very warm and fuzzy. And I was not feeling warm and fuzzy.
“Pardon me, ma’am, but my seatmates are so dumb, I fear that they’re sucking brain matter out of me and it hurts.”
An evocative and perhaps all-too-true observation, but also unlikely to result in a satisfactory resolution.
* * *
Slad: HEY!
Me: Hi.
Slad: WE ALMOST THERE?
Me: Not soon enough. Not nearly soon enough.
I had the foot-munching-tray aisle to my right, and a stupendously larger-than-life and dumber-than-devil-fossils young fella to my left. To his left sat an acquaintance of his, seemingly of equal gelatinousness and dimwittedness. For the purposes of this entry, we’ll call them Slad and Elad, respectively if not respectfully.
* * *
Slad had no sense. No sense of etiquette, culture, space, or time. No sense at all, really. And he was happy to share this nonsense with me, loudly… cheerfully interrupting the safety instructions which were actually melodious and fascinating in comparison.
Slad: HEY!
Me: Hi.
Slad: THEY’RE TALKING GERMAN!
Me: Yeah.
Slad: WHY ARE THEY TALKING GERMAN?
Me: It’s Lufthansa, a German airline.
Slad: [A look even blanker than usual]
Me: ...And we’re going to Germany, so there are Germans on board.
Only the first part had sunk in. And barely at that.
Slad: LUFTHANGLE?
Me: Lufthansa.
Slad: YEAH!? BUT THEY’RE STILL TALKING GERMAN!
Me: [speechless]
About 30 minutes into the flight…
Slad: HEY?
Me: Yeah?
Slad: HEY! UM, I SHOULD TELL YOU SOMETHING.
Me: You’re pregnant?
[er, actually…]
Me: Yes?
Slad: SOMETIMES I GET TIRED. AND I GO TO SLEEP AND, LIKE, LEAN TO ONE SIDE. [gesticulates in the most unfortunate of directions. My direction.]
Slad: SO IF I DO, YOU CAN PUSH ME. IT’S OKAY.
Me: [Nodding, once again quite speechless]
Slad: AND I CAN’T SLEEP WITH THIS ARM REST [pointing to the last barrier between the two of us]. SO I’LL MOVE IT.
Me: Uh, um… I…
Slad: [moving armrest] MRUMPH AAHHHH.
It was about at this time that I chuckled inwardly and looked for the camera. I had finally figured out what was happening; I was now the unwitting future star of “American’s Funniest Videos… in the Sky!”
Except I wasn’t. There was no camera. On the stage that mattered at the moment, there was just me, Slad, and his up-‘til-now mute-and-slackjacked buddy. The audience, if one considered it to exist, was likely amusedly credulous and undoubtedly happy to be more or less apart from the action.
* * *
Another hour later, I discovered that there was loving, needy-yet-giving part of Slad… which was manifested by his tender-but-firm nuzzling of his head on my shoulder, his hands in a further solid embrace upon my upper arm. Adding to the unreality of the circumstances was Slad’s increasingly-window-rattling snort-snores.
Temporarily frozen in a powerfully combimatic state of disbelief, amusement, and horror, I began to contemplate the most efficient and effective methods of extrication.
Elad was also clearly experiencing a combination of emotions, but unlike me, was decidedly unfrozen. In a quick flash, Elad grabbed one of the dirty-and-unsoft airline pillows and aimed to violently wack his compatriot-in-stupidity out of his amorous slumber.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Elad was bereft not only of speech and thought, but also aim. THWWWWACK! went the pillow into my face. I was now, even more than before, very, very awake. In contrast, Slad simply missed a snort-snore beat, which was replaced by a relatively mild gruntle before the rhythms of his sleep began anew.
It was long past time for a heave-ho. I pushed Slad to the left, causing him to flop onto Elad. Elad—stunned at this apparently not-before-experienced leftleaningness of his duncetwin—did the only thing he knew how to do. He shoved back.
A soon-mostly-awake and thoroughly befuddled Slad was catapulted squishily into my lap. Dimly ascertaining that he wasn’t where I wanted him to be, he grabbed my thigh with one hand and—with all his weight—gruntily pushed himself mostly upright.
* * *
I looked around in desperation. A couple sympathetic looks, but no empty seats. I was tempted to tell Slad that there was a big case of beer on the other end of the exit sign, but I deduced that:
1) He’d really fall for it.
2) He undeniably had the heft to easily open or at least gleefully smash through the emergency exit door.
3) I’d have even a more miserable flight at that point.
So what could I do? I rotated through the possibilities in my head:
“Excuse me, but these guys are bear hugging and pillow fighting me!”
No, no, that made it sound very warm and fuzzy. And I was not feeling warm and fuzzy.
“Pardon me, ma’am, but my seatmates are so dumb, I fear that they’re sucking brain matter out of me and it hurts.”
An evocative and perhaps all-too-true observation, but also unlikely to result in a satisfactory resolution.
* * *
Slad: HEY!
Me: Hi.
Slad: WE ALMOST THERE?
Me: Not soon enough. Not nearly soon enough.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)