Chicken Noodle Soup?

Oh my gosh. I am so sick! It seems like I am catching bug after bug. Last week it was stomach aches and the flu and this week it seems to be in my lungs. That's a big weak spot for me ever since my time in the military.

I got pneumonia pretty bad in Basic Training. It was about a week and a half before Basic ended and we all moved on to our respective job training schools. I was so worried about being held back that I didn't go to the hospital. Not for another three and a half weeks, but by then it really wasn't an option.

I remember when it first hit me. It was a hot Texas summer and the hike back from the training ground was almost more grueling than the night without sleep that had preceded it. The TI wanted us back in time for chow but we'd gotten a late release from the instructors at the outdoor training area. It was up to us to make up for lost time.

One of the guys in our unit was in charge of assigning the door guard shifts. I don't think he liked me much. He had assigned me the night before the outdoor training, where we had to stay up all night, and then the night after. The shifts were scheduled on 24 hour rotations, so I often found myself scheduled for the last shift of one day and the second shift of another. That would only give me a few hours of sleep between shifts. I think that was a major factor in why I got so sick. My body just couldn't keep up, but I struggled on.

My wife was pregnant with our first child. I had joined the military as a way to get from where I was to where I wanted to be. Some of the old timers will tell you that's a selfish reason and a person should join for the sole purpose of serving their country. Regardless of my reasons, I was there and she was back home and pregnant with our first child. We were working ourselves out of a hole that we'd gotten into while trying to help out a friend. We couldn't afford to have her move out to my post-Basic training base, so it was imperative that I finish up on schedule with no hiccups. One bad step and I could be held back a week, which could impact everything in a chain reaction that could cause me to miss the birth of my little girl. I was driven, I had a reason to succeed, and I did my best to deliver.

That march back, at doubleplus speed, was the first moment in my life where my body truly screamed "I can't!" while my mind pressed it onward. Sure, getting a stitch in my side while running in gym class had been tough. But my mind didn't protest when the piercing pain suggested I stop to "tie my shoe". During this march, though, every fiber of my being was screaming to fall out with the select few who had already done so. I was already on thin ice.

One TI in particular (we had 4) wanted the guy who slept on the bed next to mine gone. He wanted his Carolina ass out of his Flight and on a bus back to mommy and daddy. The guy wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was a decent kid. So when it came time for the wall locker inspection, the clincher, the opportunity to make this kid go away... he couldn't. I had meticulously secured my own locker, ensuring folded clothing items met the required measurements, tucking away every conceivable thing into the correct spot. But he was having trouble. The end was in sight for him. Soon he'd be on his way back home with his tail between his legs. We'd already seen several guys pack up and go and had never seen them again. If memory serves me right, I think he started to cry. I worked with a speed I didn't know I had. I measured, I folded, I primped. I fixed his hospital corners on his bed. It was a lot of work, but in the end I had saved him from dismissal. I knew it, he knew it, and the TI that wanted him gone put it together when he inspected his locker. The dismay that flashed on his face had been quickly replaced with anger. He had torn through my locker, desperately seeking to find something, anything. The only thing he could find was a sticker on my toothbrush holder. I hadn't taken it off after the required purchase. No one had said to do so and I didn't bother. He held it up for the world to see.

"What is THIS!?" His deep voice had boomed. "Trainee Frost, why is there a sticker on your toothbrush holder? Is this an authorized addition to your required equipment?!" It went on for several tirading minutes. He had to make an example.

When he had asked what I had to say for myself, what possible reason I could have for failing to ensure my equipment was fully functional and up to standards, I felt all eyes on me. I knew what they were thinking. They were thinking I was a gonner. They were hoping they wouldn't be the next target of this man's rage. The same man who had, the week before, thrown the bed of the trainee I had saved from a failed inspection across the room, knocking several other beds aside.

In that moment I could think of only one thing to say.

"It was negligence, Sir."

He was at a loss for words. It wasn't what he had hoped for. He had expected a stammering list of excuses, most likely an "I didn't know" but what he got was intelligent, unarguable. He looked like an ass. He knew it, I knew it, and the rest of the room was catching on.

They say in Basic that the goal isn't to be a superstar. They say you have to lay low. They tell you to never give one of your TI's a reason to learn your name. That day, in front of everyone, my name had been etched in stone.

So I couldn't give up. I couldn't just Fall Out with the few who would probably get away with doing so. No. Trainee Frost had to finish with the Flight. Trainee Frost had to be called up to The Snake Pit to answer a barrage of questions, testing him on the rank stucture, the current chain of command, all the way to the President. Trainee Frost could not give up. So he didn't.

When we got back to the barracks I went to the bathroom and found an empty stall. I didn't have to go. I just needed to rest. I was burning up. My back was sunburned like it had never been before. It burned. But even deeper than that, I knew something wasn't right. I had a fever. My brain felt like it was shutting down. The water in the toilet gave off a cooling aura, a sensation I had never encountered while sitting on a toilet.

Almost four weeks later, Basic was finished, I had made it. It had been a month since that march. Three times a week I woke up at 4 AM to run three miles. I studied a lot. The training was boring and I had to make flashcards to remember all of the information. I always felt like sleeping. Things didn't get easier, they got harder. I couldn't eat. I couldn't drink. I always wanted to sleep.

I had just taken the test for Block 1. I thought I was dying. Somehow I had done it. I scored a 96 percent. We had gone to lunch after taking the test. I stared at the food on my plate in discust. The blue flavored drink didn't look the least bit appealing. I forced a sip. Someone told me I needed to go to the hospital. They suggested that I call. I was groggy, my thoughts were incoherent. I felt like I was burning up. I looked at the phone on the wall across the dining hall. For a moment I almost got up and made the journey over to it. Every single step was a journey. My body ached. My head throbbed. I just wanted sleep.

I got on the bus with the rest of the group and we headed back to our building. When we arrived, we all filed down the hall and waited until our room was unlocked. Once we were let inside, I gave up. I put my arms on the table in front of me and laid my head down to rest. It was a dangerous move. Sure, this wasn't Basic. This was Tech School. There were no TI's but the instuctors could still hold you back. I had just finished Block 1 and missing a day wouldn't put me behind. If I was going to give up, this was the only reasonable point to do so. It didn't take them long. A passing instructor burst into the room.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!!!!?"

I didn't answer. Someone did for me. "He's really sick. He's burning up. I think he needs to go to the hospital."

After a moment the instructor realized I wasn't trying to sneak a cat nap. He put the back of his hand to my forehead and the expression on his face sickened. He looked at me with pity in his eyes. The next thing I knew they had called a base taxi to come pick me up and take me to the hospital. I was in the bathroom splashing water on my face. I started to cry.

I had always thought that I could endure anything by sheer force of will. I had been sick for over a month now and it had finally won. I couldn't keep going. I was too weak. It was not a realization that came easy. I knew that if I kept going, kept running, kept marching in the hot sun, I wasn't going to make it. Eventually my body would give out. My mind was not strong enough to make it comply.

Then something strange happened. In the taxi to the base hospital I started feeling better. The air conditioning was a sweet nectar from god. I didn't just feel better, I felt good. That's when I started to panic. If I showed up at the hospital and felt good they might report me as faking. We had been warned not to try to use the hospital as a way to get out of things. This was a training base. They'd seen it all and punishment would be swift if it was abused.

I put on my game face. I tried to will myself to feel bad again, if only long enough for them to see that I wasn't faking it. I filled out the forms and waited. When I entered the initial examining room they asked me questions about my symptoms. I couldn't remember a lot about the haze of the last month but I tried to list off everything: the incredible fever, the aches, the weariness, the overwhelming desire to sleep. I did my best to look the part.

"Oh my goodness!" The nurse exclaimed.

My temperature was 104. I felt good and my temperature was 104. What had it been in the classroom? In the chow hall? What had it been when I felt an inch away from death itself?
They took me to see a doctor and lead me down halls and cooridors. My mind was still foggy and I just followed wherever they went. Soon I was getting X-rayed. The doctor showed me the water in my lungs and told me he would probably have to hospitalize me. I told him that wasn't an option and why. He squinted his eyes. "Okay" he agreed, but on the condition that I remain confined to my quarters for the weekend and take anti-biotics. Running was out of the question. He wrote me a profile so I could miss it for the next few weeks. No more marching the two miles to the training building in the morning. I got a bus waiver instead. The final gift was a strict warning that he would put me in a bed if I did not comply with every word of his instruction. Hospitalization meant missed training days. Missed training days meant that I would be pushed back to the next class. That was unacceptable. I agreed to comply.

Ever since then, any time I get sick, the cold, whatever. It seems to like heading for my lungs. Now that I have a better understanding of the world, I suppose I might have been able to get away with going to the hospital in Basic. But the problem was that I was no doctor. I figured that lack of sleep and the strain of training was wearing on me. I had no way of knowing I had pneumonia. Even to this day it astonishes me how long I fought it. I think about that moment when I broke down in the bathroom often. My body was trying to tell me something. Things were not right. My stubornnes could have cost me my life.

That's it for story time. Sorry if I rambled.

Article Submitted to Helium!

That's right. I took Jena's advice and decided to try out Helium, just to see what all the buzz is about. You can see my first article here.

This has been a very rough week for me. I've been having a lot of stomach problems and flu-like symptoms. I had to take a few days off work, and just as I thought I had to start getting better... well, I didn't. Nothing life threatening, of course. But it never feels good to be under the weather.

We finished up the framing of the closet in what will be my future office in the basement. It sure does look nice. My father-in-law has been a tremendous help. I've learned quite a lot from what we've done so far. My own father tried to show me how to frame when I was younger. It didn't go very well. I must have been around 10 or so, whenever it was that I moved into the basement of the old house. He thought it would be a great idea to put the responsibility of finishing my own room with him. I'm sorry, but at 10 the average kid doesn't have the ambition to learn how to frame a room and takes no enjoyment in hanging sheetrock. I've heard of grown men crying at the thought of it.

When we built the new house next door we had to do a lot of sweat equity. This happened when I was 14. Again, my dad thought it would be a great idea to make me responsible for finishing my own room. Just as before, I was in no hurry. I didn't take the opportunity to learn anything about what we were doing, in fact it was probably more the opposite. I resented it.

Do I look back at those times and think about how much I missed out on valuable life lessons? Not at all. There is a correct time in a person's development and I just wasn't ready. Besides, I'm not at all sad that I don't have a blue collar job building houses in the cold. Those guys are the unsung heroes of modern civilization and no one should look down on them. But not every man can wield a hammer as a gladiator in a grand coliseum of blood and subcontracting... it's just not the way of things.

What does all of this have to do with my article submission for Helium? Not a whole hell of a lot, but I hope you enjoyed the ride. Now go check out that article!

Creative Writing Prompt:

Someone stole my gas!

Someone stole my gas! And, no, I don't mean figuratively.Someone walked up my driveway and siphoned the gas out of my Jeep. They took half a tank's worth, sucked it bone dry...

What ever happened to not taking things that don't belong to you? I guess it would be one thing to have someone steal your gas in a parking lot. But to have it happen while your vehicle is parked at your own house, well... I don't know. It makes me angry. I guess it would have been a bit different if someone had an emergency and needed gas really bad in order to take someone to the hospital, in which case a note slid under the wiper blade would have been nice. Still... the audacity.

I suppose this means that as soon as the basement's finished I'll need to start parking in the garage.

It's unfortunate that my second blog post on the list of things to do had to bear such ill tidings. I discovered that the 2009 Writer's Market we picked up from the library wasn't going to be much help for finding a home for my short stories. So last night we went out and picked up a copy of Novel & Short Story Writer's Marker. I've only had a chance to browse through it but it looks like it may be better suited to my needs. It's a step in the right direction anyway.

I read the introduction and the first chapter of "The First Five Pages" last night. I bought this book when we discussed it in the writing group I was a part of. I say 'was' because it has since disbanded. I met some interesting people but I guess it just didn't work out. That's all right. It won't stop me from writing, that's for sure. And this book seems pretty decent, though in all honesty, reading about writing isn't exactly the same as writing.

I've also worked on my list of short stories. While staring at the page, scouring my mind for possible stories to add to the list, I remembered some ideas I had that somehow didn't make it into my idea book. A few weren't half bad, I suppose I'll have to be a little more diligent about writing those ideas down in the future.

Creative Writing Prompt:

(My mom's birthday was on the 12th)

Writing Efficiency: Making a List.

I've made my list and I've checked it twice. The holidays are approaching and I'm buckling down my resolve to keep writing. This week I intend to write another article for Triond.com, work on my short stories, find a place to query / submit "The Boy in the Window", write 2 independent blog posts (this is #1!), and start reading a book called "The First Five Pages" by Noah Lukeman.

So, while you shouldn't expect me to be hopping down your chimney with gifts galore, we can expect that I should get at least some writing done this week. And just so we're all on the same page, waiting until the weekend for this is out since I'll be working on my basement, just as I did this last weekend.

I'm looking forward to having the basement finished, though it probably won't happen until after the new year. Once everything is finished, I'll be moving my home office downstairs and the wife has already given me the okay to set up my own little haven for writing and whatnot. I don't expect that I will always be afforded the opportunity to work from home, which comes with its own caveat of responsibility, so having a dedicated office / den will secure my writing space well after I find myself returning to the regular workforce.

I think my manager would be a bit upset to read that. I'm not actively looking for a new job, I just realize that sometimes business decisions have to be made that don't always suit all parties involved. This post is only in reference to my writing, not my work during normal business hours. (That's my disclaimer and I'm sticking to it!)

The truth is that I'm very serious about my future and writing. I don't see myself ever losing the desire to write and I'm never really happy when I'm not writing in some form or another. This summer provided its share of... distractions. I would be a fool to try to convince anyone that I wasn't disheartened in the least to find that "The Boy in the Window" didn't receive even an honorable mention, though I realized that Fantasy / Sci-Fi didn't really suit the type of story it is. But I've got a copy of the 2009 Writer's Market on my desk, fresh from the library. So we'll see if we can't get another rejection letter or two before we find it a home. Of course, that will take some time between notices and responses. I'll keep you updated though, if you'd like.

I'm only looking to sell first publication rights to my short stories. I have a little something in mind for them in the months to come and I don't like the idea of having no control over something I've created. Sure, it's just a short story. But it's my short story. If I want to give it away for free, or put it into a collection of stories for a later reprint, or post it on a bulletin board on the moon, well... I want to have the option to do so. Is that so bad?

Anyway, what do you have planned for the week?

Creative Writing Prompt:

Ancestor - Free AudioBook Podcast by Scott Sigler

The first time I'd ever heard of Scott Sigler, I was reading my October edition of The Writer Magazine. He had published an article about how he had given away his first couple of books at the dawn of Podcasting, after failing to secure a publisher. The outcome was phenomenal, he soon amassed a fairly large following and drew the attention of a publishing company. He continues to give away his novels via podcasts and sells the hard copies to his loyal fans and anyone else who might stumble across them.

An interesting idea, I thought. This could be an option for me as well, but once I start writing novels, well, I'm not sure I would want to take the time to sit and read each one into a microphone and then spend hours editing for quality... it might be fun to try, but I'm not sure I could stick to it and still write at the capacity I'd like. I decided to file away the idea as a viable option further down the road.

Then an interesting thing happened. I bought my iPod the night before leaving for New Jersey for work. I had a few chapters of Brisingr to listen to but I knew that wouldn't last me through the trip. I didn't have time to find and purchase another audiobook, so I opened up iTunes and searched for audiobook in the free section. I found Ancestor. My expectations weren't high. First of all, it was a free audiobook. I had forgotten about Scott's article by this time and the first impression I got was that this was most likely an audiobook by someone trying to break into the business. Now, I've read some really crappy bestsellers in my time, so I'm not trying to say that getting published automatically makes you good. And on the flip side of that, I'm not saying that authors who have yet to be published aren't worth looking into. I suppose an accurate representation of my inclination was that I figured I would be listening to an audiobook by a "green" (read: inexperienced) author; one who has yet to be tried and tested and perhaps lacks the mettle it takes to create a good read. If I still sound like a pompous ass, I don't mean to.

What I found instead, was a very interesting novel. The podcast is labeled as Explicit for violence, language and some sexual content. If the following bothers you: "Fuck a duck, duck fucker!" then this probably isn't something you would enjoy listening to. I didn't have a problem with it at all, and I found the entire audiobook very pleasing. Hell, I spent six years in the military. I can deal with foul language. The only thing that bothered me was the excessive science at certain parts of the story, and even then it was only a minor irritation. I only say that because it was a pretty good book and science in a novel can start to take away from the movement of the storyline if overused. Though, I appreciated the understanding of the process after-the-fact.

Ancestor is a book about genetic experiments and corporate greed. The characters are very easy to identify with as Scott uses different voice inflections for each speaking part. Magnus was very easy to picture with the aid of his slower and deeper tone. ("Thank you, thank you.") I highly recommend this to anyone. Please stop by Scott's site or look him up on iTunes.

Here is a link to this book on Scotts web page.

Creative Writing Prompt:

Eragon's Waking Dreams (Brisingr)

While on site in New Jersey I finished up the audiobook of Brisingr. This was supposed to be the last in the trilogy, but was extended to the second to last in the cycle. The author, Christopher Paolini, had been unable to resolve the plot within this book and so extended it one more novel.

In truth, Brisingr felt a lot like the seventh book in the Harry Potter series. Perhaps that was because I was still expecting to see a resolution to the trilogy until about halfway through when I scratched my head and asked aloud, "So... when do we see Galbatorix? Are we going to get to the end of the book only to find out he had a mysterious heart attack?" That's when I got down to business and found out what had happened after a few minutes of "google research".

I won't give any spoilers but I will say this: if I heard the phrase 'waking dreams' one more time I swear... someone was going to get hurt. For all the flourish that Paolini's vocabulary seems to have, he still repeats many phrases throughout the book. It's deceptive at first. But then you realize that even though he's using some of the more rare words of the english language, he still abuses them as if they were any of the common words that average writers often abuse. Another descriptive phrase I seem to recall being used a few times was 'bone-crunching ground', but there were several.

Don't get me wrong, he's a decent story teller, but his plot resolutions and twists often come about a bit too easily. I had hoped this would get better as the books moved forward, but success is hardly ever a good teacher.

It's a common thing, I hear, for writers and aspiring writers to critique harshly the work of other published authors. There is a fine line between critiquing harshly for the sake of ego and learning from another's mistakes. Each book I read, or listen to as the case may be, I try to take away things that I both liked and what I think could have been improved. In this, I learn valuable insight that I hope I can apply to my own writing. Whenever critiquing someone else's work, always try to keep an open mind. Don't forget to see the forest for the trees. A book isn't always the sum of its many flaws. Sometimes the power of the story is compelling enough to allow the reader to ignre the prbelms in odrer to gte to the haert of the story, to its essence. (Yeah, I did that on purpose.)

In truth, it's easy to be a crusty ol' bastard and poke fun at others from the outside, yet they are out there, published. Somehow, though we may refuse to believe any sane editor or publisher would ever have had a hand in it, someone deemed their work worthy to send to the masses. Perhaps that means there is hope. If someone else was able to sell shoddy work, it could just be a matter of time before some publisher sees the value in your own labor of love. Afterall, you'd never make the same mistakes as they did, right?

My advice? Keep on keepin on. And beware those horrid waking dreams.

Creative Writing Prompt:

Welcome to the iPod Nation

I mentioned in my last post that I was listening to my new iPod at the Newark International Airport. I have long been one to scoff at the idea of what I've called an 'iPod Nation'. To this I always referred to the mentality of needing to buy the latest and greatest gadgets, often without the proper means to do so, i.e. on credit. Of course, I am not bagging on Apple and their products, so any fanboi's out there can kindly put down their clubs and pepperspray. Just understand that when I coined the term the hottest thing on the market was the iPod and you could always tell who had one by the signature white colored earbud speakers.

Well, it's finally been long enough that we have all sorts of other, newer i-gadgets to play with. The first i-Phone and the second upgraded release are the first that spring to mind. The iPod is old news, it's yesterday's turkey. Almost everyone has a cell phone and those not savvy enough to have an iPhone are texting nearly one hundred messages per minute on cells that transform to expose full qwerty keyboards. It's enough to boggle the mind!

So, yeah, I finally got one. Well, not one, I got two. One for me and one for my wife. The good old iPod Classic, complete with 120GB hard drive space. In the immortal words of Salt 'n Peppa, "Ooo baby baby!" (or something like that...)

So what's the difference between me going out and buying two expensive mp3 players and the people I used to poke fun at? Well, for one, I still poke fun at those people... They are still buying every new gadget when it comes out, as long as they can fit it into their over-extended credit card "budget" (good luck with those minimum payments, Sparky!)... Another difference is that I've waited years to get an iPod (x2) that I appreciate and will take good care of. Why will I take good care of it? Well... in truth, I did put it on my American Express card, but not two days later the money was transferred and sent to pay off the balance. I'm not paying one red penny of interest on those bad boys. In fact, I'll be getting a little back at the end of the year for my cash back bonus that's part of the card agreement. When you back something with cold, hard cash, you're that much more likely to appreciate the effort it took to get it. Sure, there might be a few people out there with thousands in credit card debt and student loans that take immaculate care of every item they purchase... but technically, that stuff isn't theirs until it's paid off. Good looking out for someone else's stuff in the event that your creditors want what's theirs.

All that said, and the finacial responsibility bush fully beaten, I've got to say how truly impressed I am with a few of the features the iPod Classic brings to the table. I don't have any movies formated to play on the screen, but I did download some video podcasts for free from iTunes. I also downloaded a serial podcast novel which seems rather decent. So far I've listened to the first chapter and it has surpassed the quality of my expectations. I'll get a few more chapters in before I recommend it to anyone, though.

I did finish the last part of Brisingr (audio cd ripped to mp3 files) on the iPod while I was on my onsite in New Jersey. It was nice not dealing with the bulkyness of a cd player and heaven knows their 'anti-skip' functions don't always work out very well...

All in all, I am pleased to be a part of the 'iPod Nation', though I'm sure I will have to coin a new term for those gadget go-getters and credit afficionados to whom I used to refer.

Hero of Newark International Airport Honored!

Okay, not really. But it turns out that soon after I wrote the last post, I shutdown my laptop, packed it away and went meandering through the terminal. Not maybe fifteen minutes had gone by when out of the corner of my eye I saw a man sitting in a bench drop his wallet. It sort of cartwheeled under his seat.

What a strange coincidence! He didn't even seem to notice either... I was right there behind him so I just reached over and tapped him gently on his shoulder. He turned slightly and glared at me, I pointed downward under his chair. He leaned over, saw the wallet, picked it up, and placed it in his pocket. He totally ignored my existence!

Now, to be fair, I did have the earbud speakers from my new Ipod in my ears, but in that circumstance it would seem fair to give a nod, shake a hand, or somehow recognize that a perfect stranger didn't kick the wallet to the side, bend down in a fake shoe-tying session, and then retrieve the wallet for their own.

It got me thinking as I walked away, continuing my meanderings. The way the wallet dropped seemed almost intentional. There's no way I could be certain though. And let's admit, this is an international airport in New Jersey, practically a subburb of New York. I really don't think it's all that far fetched that this second guy could have been a pickpocket. People are heading to many various locations from this one terminal. They either just spent hours on a plane and are making their way out of the terminal, or they just went through security and took everything out of their pockets to avoid setting off the metal detector.

I suppose a thief dumping a wallet after draining the cash would be a bit irritated if someone saw him do it. Especially if that person was a young looking punk like myself. I mean, I'm twenty-eight, not exactly a spring chicken, yet I constantly get mistaken for being a high school student.

So, I guess the moral of the story is, watch your wallet in the 40-47 section of Terminal B at the Newark International Airport. Even if the guy really did just absentmindedly drop his wallet and had some other excuse for being an ass, better safe than sorry.

A Post From Newark International Airport, NJ

I found a man’s wallet today. I was looking for a power outlet in the B-Terminal of the Newark Airport in New Jersey. I found the wallet instead. It was on the floor under one of the chairs. An old man had been sitting in that general area and was making his way to the gate with his woman companion. I imagine she was his wife.

I picked up the wallet and popped open the two metal buttons holding it closed, hoping to confirm the identity of the owner. It was not the old man’s. I scanned the faces of the crowd, looking to match the face on the ID. No luck. I walked to the closest gate and nodded at the attendant behind the counter. She looked at me with something close to contempt and said in a very agitated tone, “Sir, you are going to have to get in line.”

I looked at the row of people all standing at the counter, probably stand-by ticket holders about to find out that all seats were booked. I smiled at them and waved my hand over the counter in front of me in a manner that I hoped dismissed the idea that I was cutting in line and replied, “Oh, no, no. I’m not, no. I just found this wallet over there.” Then I pointed in the direction I had come from.

The people in line for the gate and those at the counter suddenly responded with comments such as:

“Wow, that was so nice of you!”
“Oh goodness, how nice!”
and even “That sounds like someone should get an upgrade on their ticket!!!”

The woman behind the counter rolled her eyes, I smiled at the people around me and silently walked over to a bench and sat, resigned to the fate of a having a laptop without an outlet to charge from.

A few minutes later I resolved that I wouldn’t give up so easily and resumed my search. I was rewarded with a quiet corner and an outlet to charge my laptop and from there my iPod. Not too long after that I saw a girl wandering around, laptop in hand, looking earnestly for something along the walls and at the base of the columns circling the peculiar circular terminal structure. I waved my hand in her general direction and pointed at my outlet, one terminal open. She didn’t notice. I hope her search went well.

So, why am I in New Jersey, sitting in the airport?

I just finished an on-site for a large school here in Newark. It was a success, beautiful even. It was the kind of migration where you finish up and everything works much better than it had in the first place. It was an upgrade really, not a full migration. In the process though, I discovered there were a few things that hadn’t been set up right in the beginning by whoever performed the initial implementation. I corrected them and we moved on.

The people at the school were great, amazing to work with. So, even though I was in California last week and then New Jersey this week, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

I know I’ve been gone a long time, crazy really. Some of it has been my fault, some has been work. I’ve been saving the world one server and one wallet at a time.