Wanted: Tarty Typist
It's 7:15 in the evening and I'm still at our lovely London office, looking at the top half of this out my window. It's warm and sunny and I'm wearing a shirt and tie, been in meetings and sales pitches all day (receiving, not giving).
My two-day workshop went really well, but I have about 25 pages of minutes to type up, a brand proposal to write, several sub-projects to manage, and I was told last night that "before you leave the UK early next week, I want you to have a plan written out to fix Project EF-UP (not its real name). And you'll need some allies, so talk to Franz and Hanz."
I'll need allies ... great, I feel like I've just been given a blindfold and pushed into a minefield. Franz is being a cry-baby (what kind of ally is that) and Hanz is off on hols for the next 3 weeks. I love Europe.
The boss is on hols next week as well, but he told me I'd get a special number where to reach him each evening. Magic.
"So you'll be spending the weekend London?" he asked.
"Yes, I've got to meet with the agency next week and have a couple more meetings to plan EF-UP."
"Well, at least you're having some fun."
Um, not yet ... but maybe on the weekend. I love typing minutes in a hotel room when the weather's nice in a fun city. Sunday is SoHo Pride. Maybe I'll drag myself away from work and have some fun.
Maybe.
And maybe I'll just work on my minutes and proposals tomorrow and go have a few pints tonight. Who knows, maybe I'll find a little London lad to pound out some dictation for me. They all love texting over here, maybe I can convince one of them to text my handwritten notes.
Which reminds me of one of my favorite jokes ...
"Excuse me, can I use your dictaphone?"
"No, use your finger like everyone else.
Still Alive
Yes, I'm still here, as are the twins from what I gather. Sorry Holly, the Kaizer Soze thing isn't going to happen this season.
Big Brother here is very diffferent. Watched some guy rub lotion on himself for 20 minutes last night. No dialogue. No music. No jump cuts to other houseguests. Crazy Brits.
Going to have to stay over through Wednesday now. Hopefully will have time for a proper entry later on.
July 27, 2004
Package Patrol
Couldn't sleep on the flight over, so I invented a new game.
Just after breakfast was served, I wandered the aisles, looked at the sleeping men, and tried to see who was sporting morning wood.
I did not win. I hate it when they put blankets on their laps.
And the movies sucked and the power outlets didn't work in my row, so I couldn't get any work done on the computer.
This week will get better. I know it will.
July 26, 2004
Are We Having Fun Yet?
This going global thing is wearing me out.
Arrive Heathrow at 6ish tomorrow am (have I ever mentioned how I'm learning to loathe the international redeye?), have an 8:30 call and meetings scheduled most of tomorrow, a brand workshop all day Wed and Thursday, and more meetings scheduled for Friday. And, bonus, the meetings go into dinnertime and beyond this week. Just saw Le Boss and he thinks since I'm over there, might as well get more meetings scheduled in Paris, Frankfurt and/or Brussels next week. Stay tuned.
Only thing good in that is that I might have some London downtime over the weekend. Who wants to play?
Last week's work and play created an all day snooze-fest coma yesterday, which might come in handy as it doesn't look like I get much time to sleep on the plane tonight as there are new deadlines to meet for tomorrow.
I think it's time to trade in the Lexapro for some Valium and speed. What's the proper pharmaceutical cocktail for calm yet wide awake and focussed? Anybody tried Provigil?
Whaaaa ... poor me, poor me, pour me another. And, sadness, I'm gonna miss her birthday.
I did learn a couple things over past several days though ...
* He's going to learn to make tiramisu for me.
* Emails stating "That was hot" do not equal "thanks for a good time."
* There is not enough flesh in The Bourne Supremacy
* My mother seems to have told most the world we're moving, so maybe she knows more than we do
* Einstein's remodeled and now you can play Jenga with their patio wall
* Eric at XES is kinda hot
* G is remodeled, but not really
I'm sure there's more, but my brain's a jumble and I've got a car coming to whisk me off to JFK.
July 21, 2004
The Sounds of Silence
I have a bad habit of staying in bed till the last minute and then scurrying about in the morning, rushing to get to whatever my first appointment of the day is.
It reminds me of being young ... "Oh, Mom, just 5 more minutes and I promise I'll get up."
"You'll miss the bus."
"Five more minutes."
Twenty minutes later, she's drving me to school.
Twenty (thirty?) years later, I'm not much different. But this morning, the grand punishment has been served to me. I've found myself at the airport without my iPod. I know exactly where it is. I saw it before I left the apartment, sitting in the charger next to the tv. Put that in your briefcase, I thought.
You wretched idiot.
Oh well. The CEO of our company is on the same flight today. Pity ... I'm sure he would have loved for me to play The Scissor Sisters for him.
July 20, 2004
Summer Breeze
It's just over 80º, not too humid, really sunny with a beautiful cool breeze. I'd so much rather be here in my office working than getting a blow job suntan on the beach.
No, really.
July 19, 2004
Maybe I Need a Rim
Why can't I seem to keep my rimless eyeglasses clean? They're like friggin' smudge magnets.
Anybody else seeing similar spectacle sorrows?
All the World's a Stage
There was the pre-show:
“It’s adopt a pet month at the SPCA,” spat the haggard troll outside the Palace theater.
We were in line to see the matinee of Aida, and as much as I love the critters, I don’t think this was the audience our aging activist was looking for. I told our Canadian guests (Larry’s way-too-cute cousins) to act like typical New Yorkers: ignore the crazy lady.
“How can you people spend $100 on a ticket for the theater and not adopt a kitten?” she shouted. “You’re all just mean, stupid humans.”
We made it into the lobby, and so did she, shouting something about calling ABC news and blah blah blah. I hate it when the activists forget their medication. I'm all for adopting the strays (and I seem to attract them quite nicely), but crazy lady really should think about her audience -- is a tourist show the right target for saving local animals?
There was the show:
It was wonderful. I’d never seen it, despite listening to (and choreographing) the OCR repeatedy. Miss Cox nailed the singing (although I think she lacked a little depth on the acting side). “Did you know she’s Canadian?” Larry asked me and the girls. Um, yeah, we all knew.
For years I’ve said “I Know the Truth” could be one of the saddest songs in the world, and now that I’ve seen it in context … I love it even more.
There was the post show:
Fast forward to the apartment, post Ariba Ariba, we’re taking a break from the rain and discussing the play. I’m playing snippets from the CD, comparing performances from the original recording and who we saw on stage.
I said something about Heather Headley being more intense than Miss Cox, but the girls liked Deborah’s versions of the songs better.
Larry chimed in, “But oh, I really did get misty when Deborah Cox was singing that great song and they put the wedding dress on her.”
“That was Amneris. Deborah Cox was the Aida.” The look on his face indicated confusion, so I went to the next level of clarification. “Deborah Cox was the black princess.”
“Oh, let me rethink this.”
Apparently he'd heard that there was this new amazing singer who sounded like a big black woman, but was not. Perhaps Joss Stone? He gets confused. At the end of the day, he loved Miss Cox, but it seems he loved Lisa Brescia as well; so much in fact that maybe he should hear the "Easy as a Life" remix so he can "dance like a Kodak camera."
At least now he knows the truth. And we mock him.
July 16, 2004
TBTB
That's "Too Busy To Blog" -- quelle crazy international work week.
Just got into a lounge here, and will soon be hurtling through the chunnel, back to London, for a night of drink and debauchery dance before heading home tomorrow. Fun fact -- the train gets up to 180 mph. Choo choo go vroooom.
Two days ago I was jogging along the Thames, looking at Big Ben. Last night I found myself walking along the Seine, eyeing the Eiffel Tower. It's all about rivers and phallic symbols, eh? Somedays I find my life just a touch surreal.
Boarding in a few minutes. More from home, once I get there. Maybe even a picture or two.
July 13, 2004
J'ai Besoin du Garçon de Cabane
I seeing London, I'm seeing France. I hope I don't forget to pack clean underpants.
Off to meetings in London and now probably Paris.
"Mais non," tu dis, "et puis Paris?"
Mais oui.
For the first time I'm thinking that this not-so-sglamourous international travel is more of a pain than a perk.
Maybe I should just live there.
Catch you on the other side, where it's raining as well.
Merde.
July 12, 2004
Paging Miss Reardon
| From: | |
To: |
Me |
Subject: |
Via Royal Email |
Dear Potential Future Subject Robert:
How are you? We are fine. Although we have a bit of a summer cold, we want no special attention.
We are given to understand that you are contemplating a move to our Kingdom. While we are most grateful for your interest in our country, we must inform you that, due to budget cutbacks and impending renovations, England will be closed until further notice.
We are quite sorry and do wish you well in all of your future endeavors.
BFF,
Elizabeth Regina
| From: | Me |
To: |
Him |
Subject: |
Re: Via Royal Email |
And which gossip monger have you been speaking with?
| From: | Him |
To: |
Me |
Subject: |
Re: Re: Via Royal Email |
You, Tipsy McDrinksalot. Or is last call at The Eagle still fuzzy for you?
| From: | Me |
To: |
Him |
Subject: |
Re: Re: Re: Via Royal Email |
hi, I'm bob
I drink a little
oops
So, yes the rumour has it that we *might* be heading across the pond. L's been offered a job and if it all works out (and there is a LOT to work out), he could be over there by fall.
Since I'm over there so much anyway, well, one never knows.
Details as they develop.
And don't believe everything you hear in bars.
That said, I'm heading back over for work tomorrow night for a few days. Please don't drink all the vodka while I'm gone.
July 9, 2004
Busy Busy Busy
Well that was a fairly productive Friday, despite having to: send out fairy tale messages, worry about Janet coming to Broadway, try to coordinate a last-minute business trip to London (still don't know if I'm going next week), lament the loss of next week's planned Ptown pilgrimage, wonder why healthy living raises one's triglycerides, *and* ponder the "what-ifs" of a soon-to-be-not-double-secret scenario that seems like it may just play out.
It's amazing I get anything done at the office. Just think if they let me have IM.
All that work can build up a powerful thirst.
Shall we go to bay-rage or the Hall of Mystery?
July 8, 2004
Something to Chew On
There were girls near the corner of my office building this morning, handing out granola bars to the commuters. I grab free promo stuff all the time, that's what it's there for, right?
So I'm sitting here at my desk with my thumb up my ass (no wait, that was this morning at the doctor), feeling a bit peckish and reach for my free Quaker Chewy bar. I notice that the postcard it's stapled to says:
July 4 |
Terminal |
discovering friends for life |
July 11 |
Spider Man |
discovering my gifts |
July 18 |
I, Robot |
discovering a transformed life |
July 25 |
Catwoman |
discovering my true identity |
Huh?
Seems like this is not your ordinary giveaway. Turning the postcard over, I see
God on FILM, lessons from 2004 summer blockbusters
Which leaves me with two questions:
1. Is that a cockring on the postcard?
2. Is it a Quaker church?
And a question for you all ... what lesson(s) have you learned from this summer's celluloid treats?
Anal Probe
Was at the doctor this morning for some regular bloodwork (let's see if this new heatlhy lifestyle lowers the cholesterol a tidge). As he's rifling through my chart, he says, "I know you don't look your age, but when was the last time I did a rectal on you?"
"Does that line work on everybody?"
He reminded me that as I'm over 40 (barely, and thank, I know, I don't look it), it should be once a year.
I told him I couldn't even remember and I thought he'd never ask.
After the routine looky-loos and listens, he remembers he wanted to check down below. "Okay, lower your pants and bend over the examining table. I'll buy you a drink and whisper sweet nothings in your ear."
"Yeah yeah, I've heard it all before."
A quick feel: not much of a poke, let alone a massage. "Perfect," he says.
"That's all you've got?" I ask, pulling up my pants and making a mental note to find a doctor with bigger fingers.
"What, you wanted my whole fist?"
"Oh my. What kind of boy do you take me for?" I buckle my belt in a flourish of mock indignity. "You'd really have to have bought me a couple drinks for that. And since there's no sling in the office ..."
"How do you know?" he says, smiling and looking up at the ceiling. "I could press a few buttons on that examining table, the ceiling could open and ... voila. We are, after all, a service industry."
I wonder what the insurance code for that is? And what's a reasonable charge?
July 7, 2004
Big Nekkid Brother
I sent a Big Brother email to a friend today, saying "'Knights of the Round Table' needs to be 'Nights *on* the Round Table' if it's going to be less than annoying. Get them naked then get them out. Especially the big dumb stud Scott."
Well, be careful what you wish for. (NSFW)
Edwards v. ???
Boifromtroy brings up an interesting theory.
Early on in W's term, I had the opportunity to hear David Gergen speak. Back then, he alluded to speculaton that Cheney wouldn't be the 2004 running mate. His sources said Colin Powell would be the next man for the spot, but the fact that Colin, Rummey, and Cheney didn't make the most lovely of triangles knocked that out of the picture.
If the GOP put Guiliani on the ticket, it'd make sense for the nightmare convention to be here in New York. If you're going to bring the circus to town, you might as well put one of your star elephants in it.
And as a bonus, Powell can encore his Village People act.
What's Worse than Celine?
Naked Celine.
NYDN tells us of the Madwoman of Quebec's desire to perform nude. "I'd like my audience to be naked, too," she said recently. "I wish we were all naked all the time.
Yikes. What happens in Vegas *needs* to stay in Vegas.
Summer Romance
via lowculture
Baby Got Back
"Just put it on my back," the midget demanded.
And there she was, lugging a side of beef, on her 4-foot frame, down the sidewalks of Uruguay.
I screamed with horror delight.
The race is going to be amazing.
As long as Alison dies.
Next week, a "little" salsa. So.Very.Wrong.
July 6, 2004
Swing Out, Sister
Better late than never, we saw Fahrenheit 9/11 last night. It made me laugh, it made me very sad, and it made me a little queasy. Everyone should see it -- especially any and all of you in the swing states.
And for my pals in the UK, it starts on Friday. I expect full reports on my desk by Monday morning.
So go see the movie ... and take a friend, epecially if they're on the fence or, heaven forbid, thinking about voting for Bush.
"But Bob, I can't afford a movie." Buzz me -- I'll buy your tickets.
"But Bob, the kids won't let me get away." Buzz me -- I'll help arrange a babysitter. And if you're kid is over 12 years old, take him or her. Yes, it's distrubing ... but not nearly as disturbing as what we're doing in Iraq, or what your kids will have to be doing when they get drafted if people like Bush are allowed to continue what they're up to.
"But Bob, I'm a Rebublican." Good. It takes all kinds. Go see it anyway. Let me know what you think.
"But Bob, Michael Moore is a pompous liberal blowhard who distorts all the facts." I know, he's the Rush Limbaugh of the left, but Moore can still feel pain, apparently. You'll be pleased to know he's not taking the spotlight in this movie, graciously offering it to Mrs. Lila Lipscomb. She, or someone like her, is very sadly someone we each know all too well. God bless her.
Sure, it's biased. So is Fox News and so is Eva BraunAnne Coulter. So is all media. But go see it and judge for yourself. It's a good story, told with humor, humanity, and compassion, and it's way better than Dodgeball.
Don't know if you're a swing state? DavidNYC lists the following:
Arizona
Arkansas
Coolorado
Florida
Iowa
Louisiana
Maine
Michigan
Minnesota
Missouri
Nevada
New Mexico
New Hampshire
Ohio
Oregon
Pennsylvania
Tennessee
Virginia
Washington
West Virginia
Wisconsin
Hello?? Why aren't you clicking here and finding the movie yet?
"There's an old saying in Tennessee. I know it's in Texas, probably Tennessee, that says: "Fool me once... shame on... shame on you. ............. Ya fool me... ya can't get fooled again."
He must go.
And All is Good
It's Edwards and the Post fubared.
Big Brother and Amazing Race start tonight.
I'm going to Ptown next week.
Summer is some good.
July 5, 2004
Gonna Make You Sweat
I decided to take a break from reading this weekend, and upon rising was surprised to find the Shroud of Southampton.
Why couldn't that perspiratory profile have come from lying on this?
And why doesn't digital zoom work better on my camera (or maybe I should just learn to work it better?)
Here are some more photos of this weekend, as well as some from last week's Pride.
That's a Wrap
"See those two over there?" one of our buddies said Saturday, nodding towards a small cluster of guys downsand from our umbrella and beachchairs. "No, don't look now."
When the coast was clear, we were directed to a pair of tanned gentlemen on one of the Hampton's homo-hospitable beaches. Both seemed gently pulled on top and slightly sagging in the middle; the yin and yang of inextreme makeovers.
Apparently, they'd brought in a team of experts to rebuild their kitchen over the winter (as the Suffolkites are prone to do, or have done, every other season or so) and chosen the finest of Italian marbles for the countertops.
Now I barely know Corian from coriander, but somehow it struck me that marble tends toward a propensity for porousness.
"Oh, cumin come on, wouldn't that stain?"
That's the point, my friend informed me. Whenever these victims doyens of overspending design throw a dinner party, or toss a salad for that matter, they must cover their mutable marble with Saran Wrap, just to make sure it's not marred. I bet they weren't Glad when they figured that out.
I suppose a surreptitious snack of culinary coitus would be out of the question. If olive oil stains, I can only imagine what Boy Butter would do.
Seems like the story's got some cling to it ... I heard it three times over the course of the weekend.
July 1, 2004
Capetown Crusader
This was in my inbox yesterday Tuesday morning.
Hey there Bob,
Saw you might be in London the next couple of days. I have been reading your blog over the last couple of weeks and thoroughly enjoyed it, so thought I might extend an invitation if you are ever bored and feel like a drink or five, drop me a line.
So I dropped a line and drinks were had, but really ... why would anyone stop at five? It's not like we're amateurs.
"So Bob, do you drink tequilla?"
Silly question.
He's adorable, the people we ended up talking (Happy Birthmonth, R) to were a riot (and thirsty as well), and I now have a new South African bad influence drinking mate in London.
I'm thinking I should move to Capetown. Woof.