Liloia.com Archives: March 2006
March 30, 2006
Stained Glass Cookies
Originally uploaded by taragl.
On the agenda tonight was some baking for the school Spring Fair. We made some spring-themed cookies with "stained glass" (crushed Jolly Rancher) centers.
And I'll tell you one thing, there's nothing that makes a seven-year-old more excited than being handed a hammer and a bag of candy...
(By the way, a coffee grinder works much better than a hammer for crushing candy. It's just not as much fun.)
Archery
Trevor 1 Originally uploaded by taragl.
Trevor and his Cub Scout den had an archery lesson last night. He managed to shoot two balloons... but I got a bear in the front leg.
So if a bear is chasing you, call me. If two purple balloons are chasing you, call Trevor.
March 28, 2006
Trade Show Swag
also known as "The beginning of the end of the crap"
Over the last year I have attended, presented at and walked along over 15 different trade shows, conferences, summits, etc. While this number is not all that staggering, you should note that I have just passed my 10 month anniversary with "Company X".
At these kinds of shows, vendors put lots of crap out on their tables in an effort to lure in customers so that they can have a conversation with them. "Company X" is no exception. I give away the worst, boring, drab crap that my company can find. I used to collect some of these things for myself, Tara and Trevor but I have mostly stopped this activity. There are two main reasons for this:
1) Crap will always be crap.
The companies giving this stuff (I call it stuff even though I hate that word, because it really is the best way to describe it. It really isn't anything in particular at all) didn't go out and buy these items because they thought, "Wow! Dave will really like this gift. I sure hope it fits!" They bought it because it was cheap and unique enough to attract people to their booth for a low price.
Essentially, it's crap, and you are the garbage man by picking it up. A plastic keychain, a pencil, a commemorative pin, a squishy penguin or a cut-rate mouse pad (why anyone needs one these days is beyond me) will NEVER EVER turn into an Ipod or a hot model...so don't waste your time. If your life is so pathetic that a foam light bulb with the phrase "We've got bright ideas!" peeling off in little flakes onto your sweaty palms, then please...by all means....disregard my comments and carry on. Get another bag...those things can get heavy.
2) I don't want to buy a bad story.
Seth Godin would and probably does cry while watching people take these things. If he were a guest blogger on this site, he would be saying the following. Don't buy a bad story. No reason to, it's just not worth it and it is disrespectful of the company to try to lure you in with this poor excuse for marketing.
The only reason why companies really need or use these items is because of bad marketing. If the messaging, look and feel of their booth and documentation, professionalism of their staff etc. was worth its muster, none of this would be necessary. People should feel compelled to speak with your staff because they are approachable and because the booth tells a good story about what you do. The message must fit into the world view of the products this customer is used to buying, as well as the lifestyle they lead.
Crappy swag doesn't truly support marketing efforts; enhance a customer understanding of the products or build relationships. All they do is say "I cost less than a nickel and was made by a small boy in Guadalajara making 11 cents a day! Oh, and by the way, I look forward to living at the back of your junk drawer for the next 9 years!"
March 27, 2006
Down and Out in Kentucky
I mentioned already that there's a grown-up fun about Disneyland. A creepiness to it all, like a veneer of wholesome fun over something old and—if not menacing—then indifferent to you. So you read DAOITMK and though it takes place in the park and it's all about the park... it's not really about the park. It's about everything under that veneer; the gears, the history, the murder. It's a fun post-visit story.
Except that, at the training, I used the word whuffie in an offhand comment in one of my presentations and the entire training ground to a halt as the group stopped me to ask what I meant. I take for granted, living with Dave, that my listeners are tech and scifi geeks. Whelp, there are now 30 Kentuckians who have—as part of their DFA training notes—to go buy Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom.
Just doing my part.
March 24, 2006
Trevor's New Pets
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Tumbleweed
Trevor:
"We think there are snakes under that thing in the woods, mom. You know, that thing. It looks like in the western movies when the two guys are standing there about to shoot each other and their fingers are wiggling. What is that thing that rolls by?"
March 21, 2006
From seat 18A
** Written on March 17th **
I am writing this from seat 18A, the last row in the plane on my way to DC (again) for a one hour meeting, only to come right back early this afternoon. Arguably, based on the rank and office for some of the people we are meeting with today, they deserve the trip even if it meant a 10 minute meeting.
From this location I can hear the engines, smell the fuel mixed with the aroma of bad airplane coffee. I hear the banter of the attendants about who is sleeping with who, as they fill aluminum trays with ice, take off their matching blazers and don matching aprons. Does one really need an apron to serve half opened cans of Diet Coke? If they made popovers served with melted butter and homemade strawberry preserves, then perhaps an apron is apropos. Actually, now that I think of it, why do they need the blazers?
Here I see the backs of everyone's head. When viewed from behind, everyone has bad hair. Bald spots, cowlicks, static electricity, and clumps of hair gel and mousse that were missed in the mirror all become visible from here.
** Fast Forward to Today **
I forgot that although the airline industry is not doing well (when has it ever done well?) some of their planes and flights actually do fill up. Yesterday I flew from Burlington to Chicago and then on through to Seattle. Ugh. I was dumped in the 5th row and then the 6th row for each flight. The first flight wasn't so bad, as it was only about 2 hours and I had a window seat.
The second flight could have been really awful. I was in the middle seat between a man who felt that he was so important that he actually had extra elbows surgically implanted, and an infant. Not to mention that the flight was 4 hours and that I was arriving at 1:30 AM EST. The infant actually turned out to be really cute and slept the whole flight. No such luck for Mr. Elbow-stein.
One more night here and then I take a red-eye to Baltimore for a trade show. Why did I sign up for this again?
March 12, 2006
Broken Flowers
Last week, Tara and I (in an effort to distract us from my constant whining and sickness) rented Broken Flowers from OnDemand. This indy film starring the always entertaining Bill Murray.
The story drops us into the life of Don Johnston, an alleged Don Juan fresh off a breakup with his young, recent tryst. Don receives an anonymous letter from a former flame letting him know that he is the father of a 19-year-old boy. While very much against looking into this as more than a blip on the radar, Don reluctantly begins a cross-country road trip at the request of his best friend Winston in order to find his son, and obtain closure.
Bill Murray, once again dutifully dons the hat of the accomplished, conflicted man, depressed, lost and yearning for more out of life than the fame, fortune, or whatever else this story happened to plop into the slots. He is the quintessential "satisfied" man who has achieved his life ambitions financially, professionally, and yet has realized (or is soon to realize) that perhaps he may not have achieved his personal goals, hopes and dreams along the way.
Broken Flowers is a very good movie that deserves a watch, if only to see the awkward, subtle comedy that Bill Murray brings to this character. The movie itself begs the question of "What is success?" and isn't a complete waste of time.
By the way, if you are looking for a movie that is almost amusing and a partial waste of time, please find a small child to stem the tide of embarrassment and go see The Shaggy Dog. At least Trevor liked it.
Disney for Non-Disney People
We aren't Disney People. We have friends who are Disney People and they are not like us. They have a closet full of princess costumes, a DVD collection of digitally-remastered decades-old animated films and dated limited edition Mickey Mouse statues that arrive in the mail each Christmas season like clockwork.
So I thought Disney World would be a nice diversion for our vacation—a place to stay offline and let Trevor roll his eyes at costumed college interns while we tried to convince him to get on boat rides through puppet shows. I didn't think we'd enjoy it any more than a state fair or a Six Flags. I was wrong.
There was the Disney World I knew when I was five, the one where my parents hung a purple park ticket on a string around my neck (which I promptly lost). Bryan and I were given Mickey ears embroidered with our names and I got a tiny wishing well made of spun glass. All of the rides were breathtaking and the sensory input was overwhelming (in a good way).
Then there was the Disney World from when I was eleven. I liked the park, but only ironically. I was tired from walking, sunburned and sweaty. I probably got yelled at a few times for pouting. Pouting was big with me then.
Look at me here, I have no socks on. There are definitely blisters involved in this picture. All I wanted was to chill out on a bench and my Dad was snapping pictures of me. That's a "Go away, Dad." look if I ever saw one.
It rained a lot and we covered Sean's carriage with a protective biohazard seal because he apparently melted in contact with ordinary rainwater. The rest of us just got wet.
I asked my parents to get in the stocks in Liberty Square—and to their credit they not only did it, they played along.
Dad and Sean at the Carousel of Progress. They've changed the song since then. It used to be:
Now is the time.
Now is the best time.
Now is the best time of your life.
Now it goes:
There's a great big beautiful tomorrow…
I liked the old song better.
Based on my last experience at Disney World, I thought this trip would consist of going through the motions while watching Disney People act like idiots, but it was wholly different. It wasn't "kid" fun, and it wasn't "ironic" fun... just fun.
You might never have watched Bambi or worn a cap with mouse ears, but the park evokes a certain amount of involuntary wonder for its ability to scale. From the individually-wrapped soaplets in our hotel tub stamped with mouse ears, to the night-time majesty of Big Thunder Mountain—the little things and the big things have been thought through to their logical conclusion. You can't help but have an appreciation for the details that have been thoughtfully considered.
But the creepiest, most intriguing parts are the little cracks in the Disney World facade. During the week, Space Mountain was shut down a few times for repairs. We just happened to travel through it on the Blue Line while the lights were on and the cast members were making fixes. It was amazing inside with the lights on; dusty, drab and old. That ride is only one year younger than I am. The ceiling looks like an ancient roller rink dome without the spinning planets projected on it.
A game called "I could live there" evolved from the exposed underbelly of Disney World. At first glance you think the entire set is seamless—but there are oodles of dark spaces where a person might live undetected for a day or two. Like the dark caves in the prehistoric jungle on Ellen's Energy Adventure, or the houses in Pirates of the Caribbean; shallow, but with just enough room to lie down unseen. Do they turn on the lights and sweep every inch at night? Or could you stay there a few days with a bag of beef jerky living behind Snow White's witch?
But the highlight of the trip was our after-hours foray into the Magic Kingdom. Forget about lines, we had the place completely to ourselves. We walked up into the Swiss Family Robinson tree house at 1:00am. It was poorly-lit by the lanterns within the scenes and hard to navigate the steps. We stumbled through together, holding hands and giggling in the dark.
During the day, you might wait an hour on a snaking line to get into most attractions. But there were seven of us total in the Tiki room show—three Liloias and four others. The cast member in charge was slappy with fatigue, which was funnier than his scripted lines.
We went next to Aladdin's magic carpets and rode several times in a row without leaving our seats. It was cold and windy up there, but no one wanted to leave when we could ride our fill. They let us do the same on Big Thunder Mountain; we rode four times in a row. A cast member showed me how to unlock the car behind us that kept getting stuck, so I could step on the lever for the next pair of guests behind me.
And why would anyone ever go on the Jungle Cruise at any time other than midnight, when it's pitch black on the river and the wait time for a boat is fifteen seconds?
Disappointingly, Extra Magic Hours at Epcot were not dramatically different than regular hours, except for the darkness. I haven't determined why. Earlier closing? Fewer attractions on which to spread people out? The wait for Soarin' was still 90 minutes, so we never ended up riding it.
There was one important lesson learned at Disney World; one that I will not soon forget. That no matter how many warnings are hung, flashed, narrated and spoken to me about "motion sickness associated with spinning," I will mindlessly do whatever Gary Sinise tells me. Gary Sinise says I'm an astronaut... then I'm an astronaut. Doesn't matter that I get carsick while watching a road trip on tv. I'm aware that I don't do well with spinning. I've never been on a Gravitron; heck, I don't even play Pin the Tail on the Donkey, but I was coaxed into an immense centrifuge—the type you could spin eight-foot test tubes of extracted DNA in—by Lieutenant Dan. Oh it felt like takeoff, all right. It also felt very close to unconsciousness.
As long as FOX doesn't air the new show, "Gary Sinise Stares into the Camera and Tells People to do Bad Things," I guess I'm all right.
March 8, 2006
We actually were dead
Adam asked via the Valentines Day post, if the Liloia's were dead. We actually were for a while there, well almost. After Valentines Day I was sent off to DC again for the week of the 20th for a conference on Public Health Preparedness, as well as to meet with some high level people within the Department of Homeland Security.
While I was in DC, I was able to hang out with Clay a bit and after he wimped out and went home, I spent some time hanging with some of his cohorts Liz, Erin, Kevin and Karl (with a K)
The next day it was clear that something was wrong. I could barely keep my eyes open and I felt awful. On the plane ride home I passed out right after the wheels lifted off the ground and didn't wake up until we were home in Vermont. Work was not that great the next day either. I was freezing cold, burning hot and coughing like a madman. It was clear, I had the flu.
I was nice enough to pass it along to Trevor although I held back on the Bronchitis that I had also picked up. That I kept for myself. Some things you just need to keep private.
Tara was sweet enough to stay at home and take care of us for three days, while trying to juggle work during the day and heading into the office whenever possible. I don't get sick all that often, and most of the time I just suck it up and keep working and moving through my day. That said, I almost have an inverse reaction when I get REALLY sick. I become a huge baby and can't do anything for myself. I sigh and cough anytime someone comes into the room, and I lament over every little shift in my temperature. I don't know how Tara was able to stand it, but I know that if it had gone on for much longer she would have divorced me.
After being home for a full week, I was determined to get back into the office. I still feel pretty run down and tired but at least I am not hacking up a lung at every meeting and I can at least sit up for more than 10 minutes at a time. Trevor and I still have a lingering cough but that is to be expected.
We were dead, but that wasn't nearly as fun as being alive and snarky.