From the airport, I catch an AirBART bus that takes me to BART, which takes me under the bay and into SF. From 4th and Market, I make my way on foot to Moscone. (I was 9 and living in San Jose when Mayor Moscone and Harvey Milk were murdered by that Twinkie-eating bastard. I can still call to mind Feinstein announcing the news on TV -- mainly because she includes it in her campaign ads anytime she runs for office.)
Anyway, with the late flight and all of the shenanigans involved in getting from Oakland to the convention center, it was practically lunch time. I zipped up and down the halls, grabbed a dry sammich for lunch, zipped some more, and then did all the travel stuff in reverse. The show was kind of a bust, but I think I have enough info to write a passable article for the company journal.
While I was waiting at LAX for Becca to pick me up (Thanks, sweety-face!) there was an interesting event. A police van with flashing lights and sirens swirls up to the curb about thirty feet away and stops. Instantly, a pair of doors that you or I have never walked through explode open and two burly cops manhandle someone with his wrists handcuffed behind him into the van. Ten seconds after it stopped, the van is back in motion, off to take someone to a well-deserved little vacation somewhere. The accomodations may not be much, but you have plenty of time to relax.
And now for the links:
If Ash played video games, this would be his controller.
Once you get over the shock of Willie Nelson doing a reggae album, it's probably not such a big deal that Wal-Mart is insisting on demarijuana'ed album art.
Build a better keyboard, and the world will beat a path to your door.
And if you're feeling cheery and optimistic today, this awful story should fix that immediately. Pull-quote: "I just didn't want my baby to get tooken away from me."