Coolest Car on the Planet

No, it's not the Delorean I dreamed of owning, but it's still pretty darn neat.

The Toyota Hybrid Prius. I get more compliments and comments about this car then any vehicle I've ever owned (even my Katana, which was my 2nd most favorite ride).

"Do you really get 60 MPG in that thing?" No, somewhere between 48 and 55 MPG.

"I heard you have to replace the batteries in those things every 4 years." I heard that, too. I'll let you know in another 2 years.

"Does that thing go faster than 55 MPH?" Yes, but I seldom drive above 65 MPH. My wife is a lead-foot, however, and has had it well over 70.

"I heard those things were bad for the environment, because of all the strip-mining they have to do for all that nickel that goes in those batteries." Really? It's a good thing I'm not an enviromentalist-whacko. I might never have bought one. Then I'd be spending a lot more money on gas tank fill-ups.

"Can you fit all the kids in there?" Yes, but we have an enviromentally unfriendly minivan, which we usually use for family stuff.

"It's not exactly a jaguar, is it? Bet you haven't gotten a hand-job in it." No comment.

The Ways of the Force

I have something here for you. Your father wanted you to have this when you were old enough, but your uncle wouldn't allow it. He feared you might follow old Obi-Wan on some damn fool idealistic crusade like your father did. It's your father's lightsaber. This is the weapon of a Jedi Knight. Not as clumsy or as random as a blaster, but an elegant weapon for a more civilized age. For over a thousand generations, the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic. Before the dark times, before the Empire.

Ready? One, two, three ... Grimace!

Why is it that most photographers, when taking a picture of someone else, ask their subject to smile? And then the subject has to hold the pose, and wait, and wait, and wait for the shutter to snap. The photographer is never happy, of course, with that first smile. "No, not like that. Smile like it's your Birthday. Big smiles. Big, big! Show me your teeth. No, don't grimace at me ... SMILE!"

Not me, not ever. I hate those canned smiles. I much prefer catching someone in the "act" of just being themselves. Even, and perhaps especially, when they are not smiling.

But my kids, so conditioned by hearing other photographers telling them to "smile", they just do it instinctively, whenever someone is pointing a camera in their direction. It's a habit I'm trying to break them of.

Smile when you're happy, not when someone is pointing a camera lens at you.

Wiped Out

I know what you mean, kid. There are days that just wipe me out, too.

What Do You Want to be When You Grow Up?

Mom: So Julian, what do you want to be when you grow up?

Julian: Mom, I'm only 9 years old. I'm just a kid. I don't know what I want to be when I grow up yet.

Mom: Ok.

Time passes.

Julian: Mom, I think I might want to be a marine when I grow up.

Mom: A marine? How come?

Julian: So I can help protect my country.

Mom: Well, do you want to be a marine with a gun in a battlefield, or to do you want to be one of the generals making all the plans.

Julian: I think maybe a general ...

Mom: Well you have to get really good grades in school, then go to officer's training and the military academy. You know, you might not be able to be a marine because you're going to be so tall. They told grandpa he couldn't join the marines because he was so tall.

Julian: Really?

Mom: Yes, but he helped defend our country in other ways.

Julian: How?

Mom: He went to college, became really smart, and then helped pioneer the development of aircraft radar, which the military installed on those big AWAC planes.

Julian: Oh.

Time passes.

Julian: I think I want to be a marine.

Yes, I'm Still Here ...

I was asked, this past weekend, how come I haven’t been keeping my blog updated. I was surprised that it is still viewed and looked at! I told the commentator that I ALWAYS right for my blog, every day. But lately, well, for the past few months, most of the blog entries have been work-related, and for that reason, I have marked them private. I just reviewed a number of them this morning and I think it’s probably best if they remain that way – at least while I’m still gainfully employed here.

I work at a small telecommunications start-up firm (it’s my third telecom start-up in the past 15 years, you’d think I’d have a clue by now). It’s the most peculiar company I’ve ever worked for, and it’s been the source of many “colorful” blog entries in the past few months. Some day these blogs might see the light of day, become exposed to the national limelight, but it won’t be before this company is either publically traded (not likely to happen soon) or acquired (not significantly more likely). And even then, it probably won’t happen until I’m off to my next venture.

So for now, knowing that I still have a loyal readership, I’ll try to focus a few daily blog entries to some topic other than work.

Red Phone

The phone rang – caller ID reporting the incoming call as “Red Line”.

You remember the old 1966 Batman television series, starring Adam West. Millionaire Playboy Bruce Wayne had this Red Phone in his study. Although it was a rotary phone (I think everything was rotary back then), it didn’t have a rotary dial on the top. This phone could receive calls only, not place them. It sat on a small oak pedestal, covered by a glass dome “cake cover” to reinforce it’s solemnity. It was the ultimate hotline, and just damn cool.

I don’t have a Red Phone. I don’t even have a Study that I could put a Red Phone in. Even if I did have a Study, I’m not a Millionaire Playboy (not for lacking interest, mind you), so I wouldn’t be allowed to spend a lot of leisure time in my Study waiting for the Red Phone to ring. Instead, I’m constantly on the go, with a Blackberry mobile phone on my hip. And quite frankly, I think I’d look pretty silly walking around with a glass dome cake over resting on my hip, covering the Blackberry on its belt holster.

So I guess I did the next best thing – I programmed the Blackberry to record every call coming in from work as “Red Line”. Calls from D come in as her Indian name “Stomps Around House Slamming Cupboard”. Calls from my Dad come in as “Dad”. Calls from my Stacy come in as “Baby Sis”. Calls from Her come in as “Only Desire” (sadly, these calls don’t come any more).

But last night’s call was from the “Red Line”. I always hate to receive this call, because inevitably it means I’ll spend the next 1-12 hours managing a crisis. But, that’s why they pay me the big bucks. I picked up the phone and joked, “Go ahead, Commissioner Gordan … this is Batman.”

It’s getting to be a pretty lame joke, they’re tired of hearing it, I know. But they didn’t groan, or laugh. In fact, I could barely hear the caller at all. I jacked the volume up, and faintly made out the sound of my boss’s voice, and some others in the background. I started shouting his name. “Jack. Jack! JACK!! J-A-C-K!!!!!!”

He couldn’t hear me, so I hung up. The “Red Line” rang again. Jack again, I must have been on auto callback. So being the voyeur that I am, I put the Blackberry on mute, and just listened. There’s a certain thrill of listening in on people’s private conversations. I wonder if cops on stake-out feel the same way, or government officials using CALEA to monitor calls. I was hoping for some juicy conversation that I could share in the office the next day – maybe accolades on what an outstanding performer that JP is in the office, or maybe my boss getting funky with his live-in girlfriend, Christine (who’s a hottie, btw). Or maybe news about the company being bought out, going IPO, or … anything.

Nope, nope and nope. Just talk about the truckers on I-89, and how the commute is horrendous, and zzzzzZZZZzzzzzz.

I’m not a very good voyeur, I confess, because I’m also terribly impatient. And the juicy stuff doesn’t happen within the confines of my limited attention span, I’m off on some other tangent and miss it completely.