Taxi rides

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Okay, so, last night's taxi ride from the airport wasn't too bad. It was a $30 taxi ride, which is about $20 more than I really wanted to pay, but well, whatever. The driver was from Haiti, had been driving in Boston for 20 years, and was happy to talk. I was happy to listen. I figure, if something bad is going to happen to me in cars, it's less likely to happen if there's some sort of emotional attachment to the victim (i.e. me), so I converse, too.

When I hopped into the van, I let the driver know I was going to the Constitution Inn. He heard Residence Inn, despite my telling him where I was going, the address of the hotel and asking him if he knew where he was going.

We arrived at the Residence Inn. I stated this was not where I wanted to go. I said the Constitution Inn. Oh, he heard Residence Inn. I'm not sure how he heard that since I specifically said Constitution Inn three or four times.

Fortunately, the Constitution Inn is just down the street from the Residence Inn. Had it been any farther away, or not along the way to my hotel, I would have been annoyed.

Probably not as annoyed as this morning's taxi ride though.

I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really should have realized that the smoke billowing out of the car did not portend well for a good ride to the convention center.

The lack of working seatbelt should have told me to get out of the car immediately.

In retrospect, I should have asked the driver to stop, left the taxi, and walked down to the next corner and flagged down the next taxi. Instead, I kept my mouth shut and hoped we weren't in an accident.

I didn't tip that guy much. I wonder if I should have tipped him at all.

Boston. Again.

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"Kitt!"

It was one of the last things I expected to hear when I walked into the baggage claim area at Boston's airport. For having never been in Boston before last year, I keep coming back here enough.

Maybe I should apply to M.I.T. for graduate school. Now THAT would probably please all of my M.I.T. friends.

I turned to the sound of my name, expecting to see some person I'd met at the various Drupal events recently. I did not expect to see Vinny.

He was on his way home, having spent the weekend in Boston with his mom.

We have good timing.

So, I'm in here Boston now, for the 2008 North American Drupal Conference (I'm sure most Drupal people would go "Huh?" with that description, and just call it Drupal Con Boston, but historically there have been two Drupal Con conferences a year: one in North America and one in Europe, so I'm using that name).

This is the first conference I've gone to where I have a list of people I want to meet and a list of questions I want to ask various developers. I happy to be excited about a conference, even though it feels odd to be so.

If meeting Vinny is any sign, it's a good one. This should be a good conference.

Did I really do that?

Blog

I left my laptop at the X-ray screening area. I cannot believe I did that. I was so busy counting the number of TSA people, and contrasting that number to the number of actual travelers, and scheming on how I'm going to manage to take a picture of this madness, that I walked away from the security area with my bag and my backpack and my shoes, no laptop.

I managed to take the picture, shove everything into my backpack, put my backpack on my back, and tie my shoes before I realized my backpack was light and, holy crap, my laptop isn't in it!

I rushed back to the X-ray screening station, going in through the DO NOT ENTER exit, looking daggers at the woman who briefly thought about intercepting me, and dashed to the screening station. Oh, thank goodness, my laptop, complete with its little green star, was still sitting there on the counter, waiting for me to rescue it, possibly also looking daggers back at me for leaving it.

So, yeah, what is it with all the TSA people here? I mean, do we really need at 2:1 ratio of agents to travelers.

Space, people

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Okay, people, I know my personal space is larger than most people's people space. I know this. I've accepted this. I've even tried hard not to let your invasion of my personal space interfere with whatever enjoyment or serenity I may have achieved in the location where, amongst all of you, I happen to be.

But, let's face it, even if it weren't so large, even if I overcame this BIG PERSONAL SPACE ISSUE, it would still be GREATER THAN ZERO.

I cannot believe the number of people who have queued up next to me today, and stood there actually touching me or my bags. I'm completely unsure when I left the United States and ended up where ever I am with zero personal space, but I really want to go home now.

An inauspicious beginning to this trip, to be sure.

Transition

Blog

Well, it's official and all now. For the first time since 1993, I am no longer on an ultimate team roster for the season. I requested a practice player spot for Mischief this season and heard the news this morning that, yay!, the rest of the team is good with the change. So that's now my official standing with the team.

The change means I'm still with my friends for the season. I'll still practice with them three times a week. I'll still run track with them on Tuesdays (provided the track workouts don't interfere with my current sprint workouts or my soon to be started even-better-plan-to-get-in-shape workouts: Having spent the last 10 years running different get-in-shape workouts, I've decided that, even though others may have ideas for what builds good ultimate fitness, I know what's best for my body. And I know what has worked in the past and what hasn't worked in the past, through Kris' and Chris' various track workouts, with Velocity Sports now, and ASA Baseball then. Certain workouts work, others don't. I'm done wasting time on the ones that don't work for me).

Being a practice player admittedly feels weird, though. It's the right decision, and I know it is. I'd been playing worse and worse over the last three years as I stop playing for the joy of the sport and the thrill of success, and started playing not to lose, not to throw it away, not to embarrass myself. What the hell is that about?

I think a lot of it had to do with the 2004 season, where I trained and trained and trained, managed the best amount of fitness, skills and mental preparation and toughness (fighting through self-doubt and questioning my desire to compete, all while continuing to push), only to be schmooshed and fail.

Kris says I didn't fail. I was injured due to an unfortunate accident on the field. Okay. Sure. I didn't succeed that season. I had four broken ribs when I played at Regionals that year.

Okay, fine, I didn't fail. Looking back, it felt like failure to me. As the team has done better each year since then, I've done worse. I know the problem is mental. Things like Andy intimidates the hell out of me, like I worry more about what other people are doing instead of how I'm doing, like it's so easy to make up an excuse on why I failed instead of working hard not to fail.

It's hard sometimes doing what's right, and I know this was the right decision: to walk away from a guaranteed roster spot. I'd have that roster spot not because I was the best fit for the team, but because I was grandfathered in. I dont' want that. Neither do I want to lose the contact I have with the friends I have on the team.

I think this is a really good compromise between the two: I can continue to play with my friends, have my weekends back since I won't be travelling to tournaments, all while finally starting to grow again as a player. So what if I throw away the disc trying a throw I haven't mastered yet? People will just roll their eyes, mutter something like, "practice players, sheesh," under their collective breaths, and I'll get the chance to try the plays, throws, moves that I thought I'd lost the courage to attempt.

Yeah, this will be a good season.

Even if it's a little uncomfortable in the beginning.

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