Richard Dansky's Blog, page 32
November 14, 2010
Things That Warm An Aging Nerd's Heart
Last night for dinner, we went to Chow. It's the newest restaurant in the Urban Food Group stable, and my brother-in-law's put in a ton of hard work getting ready for the opening. (Creedmoor and Strickland in Raleigh, in case you were wondering). Chow's a more casual affair than their other joints like Vivace and Coquette - TVs with sports on, pool tables in the back, pizza and burgers on the menu - you get the idea. And they also have one of those sit-down tables for two with a video game built into it, the sort that was omnipresent in the 80s. Except back then, the machine had one game on it - usually Space Invaders or Galaga or, if you were really lucky, DigDug. The one at Chow, on the other hand, is a multi-game beastie, loaded to the gills with the 80s greatest arcade hits. Burgertime. Time Pilot. Mr. Do. (Seriously. Mr. Do.) Trax. Mappy. Pengu. Everything, with the exception of Sinistar, that sucked quarters out of my pocket when I was a kid.
We weren't alone at Chow last night - my sister Becky was in town for a speaking gig and so the family gathered. Mom, Dad, Becky, sister Marla (whose husband is the aforementioned mighty Chef Ian) and her two kids. Jake's the older of the two. He's seven, and he was enthralled with the video game table. This being my area of professional expertise, it was Uncle Richard's responsibility - nay, pleasure - to play with him. More to the point, I got to introduce him to the highlights of my misspent youth. Time Pilot, he dug big-time, though he didn't quite master the art of not flying in a straight line when getting strafed by enemy squadroms. Qix, the first game I fell in love with, he cleared a level first time out. Mr. Do, after some trial and error, he worked out the physics of Giant Lethal Apple Combat. Burgertime...well, we won't talk about Burgertime. But his dad's a chef. There's time.
I think I pumped five bucks' worth of quarters into that thing. I consider it money, and time, more than well spent. Maybe this is the new-millennium equivalent of tossing a ball around in the backyard (though we do that, too). Whatever it was, it warmed the cockles of this aging nerd's heart.
And next time, I'm totally going to pwn him at Qix.
We weren't alone at Chow last night - my sister Becky was in town for a speaking gig and so the family gathered. Mom, Dad, Becky, sister Marla (whose husband is the aforementioned mighty Chef Ian) and her two kids. Jake's the older of the two. He's seven, and he was enthralled with the video game table. This being my area of professional expertise, it was Uncle Richard's responsibility - nay, pleasure - to play with him. More to the point, I got to introduce him to the highlights of my misspent youth. Time Pilot, he dug big-time, though he didn't quite master the art of not flying in a straight line when getting strafed by enemy squadroms. Qix, the first game I fell in love with, he cleared a level first time out. Mr. Do, after some trial and error, he worked out the physics of Giant Lethal Apple Combat. Burgertime...well, we won't talk about Burgertime. But his dad's a chef. There's time.
I think I pumped five bucks' worth of quarters into that thing. I consider it money, and time, more than well spent. Maybe this is the new-millennium equivalent of tossing a ball around in the backyard (though we do that, too). Whatever it was, it warmed the cockles of this aging nerd's heart.
And next time, I'm totally going to pwn him at Qix.
November 13, 2010
Deep Thought for a Shallow Topic
Dear UNC football fans who are seriously advancing the notion that the "tutorgate" scandal was actually a nefarious plan by an SEC school to derail the Tar Heels' season:
Seriously? I mean, seriously???? Words finally, actually fail me. I'm just sitting here trying to figure out how to type the equivalent of the sound you make when you're trying not to laugh and you end up hurting yourself by accidentally snorting your tongue up into your nasal passages.
Seriously.
Seriously? I mean, seriously???? Words finally, actually fail me. I'm just sitting here trying to figure out how to type the equivalent of the sound you make when you're trying not to laugh and you end up hurting yourself by accidentally snorting your tongue up into your nasal passages.
Seriously.
Travel Thoughts
Wednesday night, I flew home from Toronto. The last leg of the trip took me from Philly to RDU, and seated in the two rows behind me were three small children. (and by "small" I mean "had not yet developed language skills"). The flight itself was scheduled to leave Philly at around 11, and it ran late. Various delays on other USAir flights, including my own, kept us grounded until everyone had caught up and was on board. So there was sitting. And there was the late hour. And there was the general plane-ness of it all, all of which boiled down to that the kids might not have known we were delayed per se, but they did know that it was late and they were tired and someplace strange and noisy with lots of strangers, to predictable effect.
And, being the Important World-Weary Business Traveler that I am, I got deeply irritated by this...for about six seconds. Then I picked up a book, put in my earbuds, and started reading. Mainly, I just felt bad for the kids' parents, who were clearly exhausted (they'd been some of our last runners) and were doing their best, and were embarrassed that various of our other in-flight companions were stewing in their seats in high dudgeon over the noise.
On the other hand, there was Pearson. My connection to Philly out of Toronto was delayed - seriously delayed. As in "an hour past departure time, there was no plane and there was no USAir rep at the gate, and there were no other USAir flights going out of Pearson that evening." I was getting fairly used to the idea that I'd be spending the night in Toronto. The various folks around me were doing the usual array of "things to do if you don't know if you're getting out of the airport", which was to say some were calling home, some were messing around on their smartphones or laptops, some were reading, some were sleeping, and some were bitching. Three, in particular. Very Important Business Travelers. VERY Important. One of them had a meeting Thursday. A VERY important meeting. Her companion had his laptop open and was scanning USAir flights out of Toronto in the morning, while she kept on dismissing the ones that would get her there on time for the VERY important meeting in question with "I'm not getting up that early." And she and the other two just kept going around and around with travel horror stories that were all predicated on "the airline did this to me personally". The fact that there was no one at the gate? Clearly designed to make sure that the VERY important meeting was missed, and nothing else. The lack of a plane? Clearly done to inconvenience them, bad weather causing flight delays be damned. And so on and so forth, and as you sit there listening to that, it's very easy to get caught up in it. It's a form of entitled self-pity, and I found that I had the exact opposite reaction to it that I did to those kids. For about six seconds I was on board with it - it's fun to make snarky comments, fun to be one of the cool kids, fun to feel like the world's revolving around you and this is ALL ABOUT YOU.
Then I realized they were, in parlance, douchebags. Yes, missing a meeting is problematic. I've done it a couple of times myself (though, frankly, from the dollar amounts they were discussing riding on this meeting versus the accouterments of the folks in question, it frankly didn't sound like that big of a deal), but there are ways to deal. Videoconf. Reschedule. Call in. Whatever. But in the grand scheme of things, it ain't much compared to "kid is home sick and you need to get back" or "was on deployment and haven't seen family in months" or a lot of other things, and that's just in the "things that can happen at an airport named after a Rush song" division. If the worst that happens to you while traveling is that you get stuck for an extra night in a lovely city with modern amenities and a restaurant like Allen's in it, you're doing pretty well. Yeah, you want your airlines to be on the stick and at least let you know what the status of things might be, but there's a long way from that to deciding to every ground-level USAir employee is personally engaged in a vendetta against your business success because you are that much of a unique and delicate snowflake.
(A side note - it always amuses me that the people who whine the loudest about this stuff to the entire waiting area - and they are loud, because they want everyone to know just how Put Out They Are By All This - are always the ones who present themselves as "business road warriors" and "coffee is for closers!" types. It's everyone else - the kids, the folks with families, the students, the soldiers, the tourists, the business types without bluster or broken-off volume knobs - who figure out how to deal with things, and then proceed to do so.)
So. In retrospect, give me the screaming kids who are actually kids -and not big babies - every time.
And, being the Important World-Weary Business Traveler that I am, I got deeply irritated by this...for about six seconds. Then I picked up a book, put in my earbuds, and started reading. Mainly, I just felt bad for the kids' parents, who were clearly exhausted (they'd been some of our last runners) and were doing their best, and were embarrassed that various of our other in-flight companions were stewing in their seats in high dudgeon over the noise.
On the other hand, there was Pearson. My connection to Philly out of Toronto was delayed - seriously delayed. As in "an hour past departure time, there was no plane and there was no USAir rep at the gate, and there were no other USAir flights going out of Pearson that evening." I was getting fairly used to the idea that I'd be spending the night in Toronto. The various folks around me were doing the usual array of "things to do if you don't know if you're getting out of the airport", which was to say some were calling home, some were messing around on their smartphones or laptops, some were reading, some were sleeping, and some were bitching. Three, in particular. Very Important Business Travelers. VERY Important. One of them had a meeting Thursday. A VERY important meeting. Her companion had his laptop open and was scanning USAir flights out of Toronto in the morning, while she kept on dismissing the ones that would get her there on time for the VERY important meeting in question with "I'm not getting up that early." And she and the other two just kept going around and around with travel horror stories that were all predicated on "the airline did this to me personally". The fact that there was no one at the gate? Clearly designed to make sure that the VERY important meeting was missed, and nothing else. The lack of a plane? Clearly done to inconvenience them, bad weather causing flight delays be damned. And so on and so forth, and as you sit there listening to that, it's very easy to get caught up in it. It's a form of entitled self-pity, and I found that I had the exact opposite reaction to it that I did to those kids. For about six seconds I was on board with it - it's fun to make snarky comments, fun to be one of the cool kids, fun to feel like the world's revolving around you and this is ALL ABOUT YOU.
Then I realized they were, in parlance, douchebags. Yes, missing a meeting is problematic. I've done it a couple of times myself (though, frankly, from the dollar amounts they were discussing riding on this meeting versus the accouterments of the folks in question, it frankly didn't sound like that big of a deal), but there are ways to deal. Videoconf. Reschedule. Call in. Whatever. But in the grand scheme of things, it ain't much compared to "kid is home sick and you need to get back" or "was on deployment and haven't seen family in months" or a lot of other things, and that's just in the "things that can happen at an airport named after a Rush song" division. If the worst that happens to you while traveling is that you get stuck for an extra night in a lovely city with modern amenities and a restaurant like Allen's in it, you're doing pretty well. Yeah, you want your airlines to be on the stick and at least let you know what the status of things might be, but there's a long way from that to deciding to every ground-level USAir employee is personally engaged in a vendetta against your business success because you are that much of a unique and delicate snowflake.
(A side note - it always amuses me that the people who whine the loudest about this stuff to the entire waiting area - and they are loud, because they want everyone to know just how Put Out They Are By All This - are always the ones who present themselves as "business road warriors" and "coffee is for closers!" types. It's everyone else - the kids, the folks with families, the students, the soldiers, the tourists, the business types without bluster or broken-off volume knobs - who figure out how to deal with things, and then proceed to do so.)
So. In retrospect, give me the screaming kids who are actually kids -and not big babies - every time.
November 9, 2010
Herd of Writers? Of Course I Heard Of Writers
Just a quick reminder to folks that this Thursday night is Local Authors Night at the New Hope Commons B&N in Durham. There'll be a dozen or so of us being artfully literary and otherwise scribblytastic, including Kij Johnson, the mighty Mur Lafferty, and my personal favorite author, Melinda Thielbar (whose story in Bull Spec #3 you should read, 'cause it's one of the rare examples of someone actually pulling off a second person narrative without making me want to put my fist through my own skull).
So be there. 'Cause it'll be cool.
So be there. 'Cause it'll be cool.
November 7, 2010
The Proper Way To Make a Cheesesteak
After my mother and I had wrapped up my my grandmother's house, we stopped for a late lunch before hitting the road south. The restaurant in question was in the Princeton vicinity - not quite Philly, but close enough for jazz - so I decided that a cheesesteak was the best option.
Note - if you are anyplace that feels the need to describe a cheesesteak as A)a Philly Cheesesteak B)a cheese steak sandwich or C)a "Philly" cheese steak sandwich, you are not getting the genuine article. You have been warned.
The waiting came by. I ordered. And I asked - "Does this come with mayo on it?"
He looked at me like I had three heads and, worse, a Cowboys jersey on. "Are you kidding? Who the hell puts mayo on a cheesesteak?"
"I live in Carolina. They do it all the time."
He blinked. "That's just wrong."
And he shook his head, and went off to put the order in. When he came back later to refill our drinks, I told him about the place that puts mayo on sushi. He didn't believe me then, either.
Note - if you are anyplace that feels the need to describe a cheesesteak as A)a Philly Cheesesteak B)a cheese steak sandwich or C)a "Philly" cheese steak sandwich, you are not getting the genuine article. You have been warned.
The waiting came by. I ordered. And I asked - "Does this come with mayo on it?"
He looked at me like I had three heads and, worse, a Cowboys jersey on. "Are you kidding? Who the hell puts mayo on a cheesesteak?"
"I live in Carolina. They do it all the time."
He blinked. "That's just wrong."
And he shook his head, and went off to put the order in. When he came back later to refill our drinks, I told him about the place that puts mayo on sushi. He didn't believe me then, either.
November 1, 2010
I Feel So Five Easy Pieces*
Today marked the first time I have ever had a restaurant botch an order of toast. Plain, white toast. If I'd been Elwood Blues, there would have been trouble.
*Correction courtesy of Christopher McGlothlin. I blame the scotch, of which I haven't had any tonight, so I can't really blame it. Damn.
*Correction courtesy of Christopher McGlothlin. I blame the scotch, of which I haven't had any tonight, so I can't really blame it. Damn.
October 31, 2010
Postscript
7 AM.
THOOM THOOM THOOMITYTHOOMTHOOMTHOOM.
English translation: "AWAKEN, HUMAN, FOR WE HUNGER FOR THE FLESH OF TENDER VITTLES!"
Dogs have masters. Cats have staff.
THOOM THOOM THOOMITYTHOOMTHOOMTHOOM.
English translation: "AWAKEN, HUMAN, FOR WE HUNGER FOR THE FLESH OF TENDER VITTLES!"
Dogs have masters. Cats have staff.
The Noises Are Coming From Inside the House
We're getting the guest bathroom refurbished, in no small part because of the hole in the floor near the corner of the bathtub, and our handyman did an amazing job of dismantling the entire thing in roughly fourteen minutes. (OK, maybe I'm exaggerating. But only a little.)
He wrapped up and headed off to his next gig, leaving exposed floorboard in preparation for tomorrow and a couple of what can quaintly be described as "large holes" over the air ducts. He joked about not walking in there in the dark by accident, I laughed, and that was that. He took off, I went downstairs to edit something, and all was well.
Until, of course, I heard the first sound. Specifically, the sound of THOOM. Now, as there was no one else in the house, this was a little startling. At first, I thought it was the heater, but the heater wasn't on.
THOOM.
This had me curious. And, to be honest, a little surprised.
THOOM.
So I got up and wandered through the house, trying to find out where the noise was coming from, what was making it, and if i was going to have to call the local Chabad chapter for an exorcism.
THOOM THOOM THOOM.
As I walk upstairs, the noise gets louder. I peer into the bathroom.
And there are cats jumping up and down, into and out of the holes in the bathroom floor and onto the air duct. They land, and there's a THOOM. The cats freak out, jump out, and then promptly forget and jump right back in.
THOOM.
THOOM.
THOOM THOOM THOOM.
Meow.
He wrapped up and headed off to his next gig, leaving exposed floorboard in preparation for tomorrow and a couple of what can quaintly be described as "large holes" over the air ducts. He joked about not walking in there in the dark by accident, I laughed, and that was that. He took off, I went downstairs to edit something, and all was well.
Until, of course, I heard the first sound. Specifically, the sound of THOOM. Now, as there was no one else in the house, this was a little startling. At first, I thought it was the heater, but the heater wasn't on.
THOOM.
This had me curious. And, to be honest, a little surprised.
THOOM.
So I got up and wandered through the house, trying to find out where the noise was coming from, what was making it, and if i was going to have to call the local Chabad chapter for an exorcism.
THOOM THOOM THOOM.
As I walk upstairs, the noise gets louder. I peer into the bathroom.
And there are cats jumping up and down, into and out of the holes in the bathroom floor and onto the air duct. They land, and there's a THOOM. The cats freak out, jump out, and then promptly forget and jump right back in.
THOOM.
THOOM.
THOOM THOOM THOOM.
Meow.
October 27, 2010
Putting the Story in Storytellers Unplugged - "When Even The Vampires Don't Want You"
That's this month's entry, continuing the occasional October tradition of short fiction. Check it out here.
Writers' Rainbow
I've got an essay up over at Writers' Rainbow on the importance of setting up boundaries on your workspace, mainly so that work writing doesn't eat all other writing.
As you might have guessed, I've had mixed success with this one. But, I keep trying. And you can find the essay here.
As you might have guessed, I've had mixed success with this one. But, I keep trying. And you can find the essay here.
