Well, well, well…I know that it has been a while, but I finally have some time to write a travelogue for you. First, let me explain what my travelogues are. Basically, from time to time, I wax poetic about some of the experiences I have while traveling. Ideally, they are all true, but that would be implying that some of the experinces are false, when I have just previously stated that they are true. So I invite you to make your opinion. Maybe, I’m just a big, fat dork with an overactive imagination. Anyway, enough about me. Second, let me explain why I did not write travelogues between India and now.

Four Words: Minnesota and New Jersey

What the hell goes in either place?

I had the pleasure of going to Minneapolis, Minnesota, where the whole city is built on George Jetson-like skyways. And the national pastime is “watching for lost people in the skyways so that we can help them out,” according to Jeb, who was Marge’s brother and husband. Among other things to pass the time, Jeb watches grass grow, gets a daily supply of milk from something he believes to be a cow, and often gets trapped in the tailgates of pick-up trucks for hours at a time.

New Jersey, however, was quite a different story. Ahh Jersey (or as Guido the bellboy would say it “Joy-see”), what a place it was. It remains the only city on the planet where I had to bargain for my own stolen wallet. And where a bucket of bullets comes with every happy meal. Will someone please explain why New Jersey exists? My theory is that New Jersey is one big set of highways. There are at leaast 4….or 18 million. But I stopped counting because Guido the bellboy stole my calculator as well.

So, anyway, the moral of the story above is that you never have a need to visit New Jersey or Minnesota unless the prospect of being a transcontinental sex slave sounds like a better career than you have now.

**Commerical Advertisement***

We interrupt this travelogue for an important survey question:

If you were on the subway, and a cyclops got on the train, would you stare. Submit your answer to [email protected].

You will be entered into a lucky draw for a post card, signed by me. Losers get the finger. Good luck!

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**Espana…Otherwise Known As Spain**

“Getting There Is Half The Fun” or “Leaving On A (Crusty) Jet Plane”

Well, let’s begin these the way that we always begin these things. Let’s start with American Airlines, preferred carrier of those who would write travelogues. It all starts as soon as I see the plane, which is an old 767-300. The plane number here is not important, just that it was old. As it pulled away from the gate, the pilot seemed to be struggling to hold the plane together. Engineers worked dutifully on the plane with American Airlines standard tools: duct tape, a stapler, and a ball of yarn. You’d think these items wouldn’t work, but there something special about American Airlines. They are something special flying in the air. Just like Amtrak. And I think it has everything to do with the fact that they now smuggle angledust in the coffee filters instead of coke. So anyway, I managed to be able to fly business class, which one would expect would be cool. One would also expect that fat people at the movies wouldn’t order a large popcorn, a large soda, a bag full of candy, and expect a small diet coke to balance it out, but you’d be wrong there as well. Let’s just say that the experience was unpleasant, but like the pain of sobriety, I lived through it.

“What You Talking About Willis” or “‘O’ Boy”

Once we land, everyone starts talking this crazy talk. It turns out to be Spanish. They were all like “blah blah blah” and I was all like “yes-o, my-o name-o is-o Rodney-o.” Unamused by the fact that I thought that simply adding the letter “o” to everything was “good ’nuff” Spanish, I was nearly detained by customs. But after some apologies and a bribe, I was on my way to the hotel.

“Would You Like A Room To Go With That Pillow” or “Tuesdays With Rodney”

It get to the hotel, ready (I thought) to check in, as I had made “reservations.” Now, let me explain the concept of reservations. A reservation is the strangest thing. Depending on who books your reservations, sometimes they are an agreement between you and an establish for a service. Other times, a reservation is a concept which means that they told you in Spanish that they have no rooms, but you didn’t understand them. Although I was in the former, it seems that someone lost count of the number of rooms in the hotel. So, as you can imagine, I had an interesting conversation…hmmm…where will this lead…I’ll put in the benefit of translation for you….aren’t I sweet.

__Conversation I Thought I was Having__

Me:

Hello, I have a reservation.

Snotty Front Desk Man:

What is your name?

Me:

Rodney Cornelius

SFDM:

Please wait in the lobby while we get your room ready.

Me:

OK.

SFDM:

Would you like to take a coffee while you wait?

Me:

Neat-o (yeah, like I’d use neat-o, which is not swell at all)

__Conversation As It Likely Happened__

Me:

Hello, I have a reservation.

SFDM:

Hace tan mitad del mundo, usted estúpido, jackass mudos. Cuál es su punta?

(So does half the world, you stupid, dumb jackass. What is your point?)

Me:

Soy ouevos mexicanos con chile.

(I am a mexican omlette with peppers)

SFDM:

Si los cyclops consiguen en un tren, miraría fijamente él. Usted debe terminar la encuesta en [email protected]

(If a cyclops gets on a train, I would stare at him. You should complete the survey at [email protected])

Me:

Muy Bien

(Very Good)

SFDM:

Le espero dado

(I hope you die.)

Me:

Neat-o

(Neat-o)

**Commerical Advertisement***

Coming Soon:

If you went to Bentley, you know them. And now, Richard and Brian want to get to know you. Talk with them live at [email protected]

******End Advertisement******

“Rodney, Tuan, and Ahmed’s Excellent Adventure” or “Fast Car”

Well, the first day we were here, we thought that we would rent cars. After all, I have driven in Boston for over 7 years, so I have been road-tested and approved. Well, since I drive, those who have driven with me know that I actually refuse to navigate, instead relying on the knowledge and sense of direction to get us where we need to go (note I still think I drive up to New York). So the first day, following other people’s directions, I get lost. The second day, I get lost trying to get to work. As it turns out, this crazy talk also has a written language associated with it. Every sign, while helpful to those who can speak crazy talk, seemed to say something to the effect of “donkeys can be traded for shoes at next left.” It probably said something different, but again, it was crazy talk. Eventually, one the first day, it only took me and my associates 2 hours to get from the airport to the hotel (normally a 30 minute ride) and 4 hours to get to work the second day (normally a 45 minute ride). Needless to say, we traded in the cars for taxis.

Anyway, as I continue to have more adventures, I shall continue to write more. Of course, if you would not like to receive these pearls of wisdom, well…I don’t know what to tell ya.

Until next time.

–RC–

This travelogue was bought to you by American Airlines: “We Fly High”

and

The Kingdom of Spain Travel Office: “Come-o To-o Spain-o”

Hi!…my name is…

What?…my name is…

Who?…my name is…

Slim Shady.

OK, so it’s really Rodney. And this is my report for my September vacation (umm, I mean assignment), doing the exciting work that is I/T Internal Audit.

“The Plane Ride”

The adventure started the moment I got on the airplane. So obviously, I was on an Americans Airlines flight. I got to the airport, it was fine; I got an exit row, it was fine; I found out the people sitting around me; that was not so fine. It seems that American Airlines flights now come with people in need of Elder Care and free screaming babies. And in the proudest of American Airlines tradition, the flight was 20 minutes late departing. So it was an interesting flight to say the least. Although I was as helpful as possible to the old man, I drew the line when he looked at me, smiled, and said “I have to go to the bathroom.” WIth that, I pressed the flight attendant button as if it were going to deliver the Messiah.

“My Fair Crazy Lady”

My second adventure involved a crazy lady in the restaurant. It seemed like she had an abusive husband, as she had more cuts and scrapes than Tina Turner. She was obviously drunk, and was talking to me in French. I tried to ignore her, saying in English “I don’t speak French.” The wait staff quickly got her away from me. Two minutes later, she blurts out “I can speak English!” At that moment, either she passed out in her onion soup or she spilled it (I think a higher power was on my side), but she ruined her dress and had to leave.

“It Is Better to Let People Think You Are Stupid than to Speak and Remove All Doubt”

We purchased, or so we thought, round-trip metro tickets each day to get back and forth to work. Now, this seems like it should be simple, but you are probably thinking of an American subway system. Paris has the most complicated system known to man. There is a Paris-centric Metro network, a suburban Paris RER train system and a rural SNCF train system. Now they all link together and you like have to use a mixture of all three to get to where you are going when you are a tourist. Anyway, after finding out our tickets wouldn’t let us out of the station, the train station Controllers stopped us. Turns out we had the wrong tickets. Now, being a master of talking my way out of things, I began speaking the worst English of all, Bostonian. She immediately realised that she’d have to speak English, so she was about to just let me through as opposed to fine me. But then, one of the people I was travelling with began to speak French. She smiled and opened her book of penality tickets. Now this book is color coded. Green tickets are only a 50 franc fine, Yellow tickets are $170 francs and Red are $500 francs. This is important because she immediately went to the yellow ticket. I reached deep inside and found the power to speak a brand of English that we thought was reserved for residents of rural Maine. She went back down to 50 francs. Then, the other people says to the lady “I think you are wrong.” Red, red, red. Finally, she realized that we were generally stupid and gave us the yellow ticket in part because we were stupid and part because we broke the rules. The moral of this story if you are ever confronted by the Controllers in the Paris Metro, you stand a good chance of getting away scott-free if you speak as if you are from Maine.

“Offering the Best Selection of Only One Item”

If you do ever come to Paris, you have to eat a place called L’Entrecote. It serves steak. That’s it. But it is good steak. The place opens at 7pm every night. By 7:30pm, the place is full and you’ll wait about an hour to be seated. At 8:30pm, you wait almost 2 hours. At 10pm, if you are not one of the first 30-40 people in line, you find somewhere else to eat. But the steak is just that good. It has been this packed for over 30 years. But the restaurant is very good and I highly recommend it. Just don’t ask for anything else. And vegetarians are automatically given a list of other restaurants they night enjoy.

“There Is A Gap for Fat People on the Champs-Elysees”

I went to the gap section at a mall to get a new shirt. And I saw a pair of pants that I liked. So I asked if they had them in my size. I tried on several pair, but decided that most of the pants were designed for a nation where people don’t weigh over 90 pounds throughout the course of their lifetime. So, the man looks at me and says the equivalent of “for our fatter patrons, you should go to the Champs-Elysees store.

Really, nothing overly exciting happened. It was actually a really good trip. My next stop is Stuttgart, Germany, and I will be taking an active part of Octoberfest.

Until next time.

–RC–

A colleague of mine, Richard Edmond, was kind enough to give me his travelouge, which was his thoughts, feelings and experiences traveling around the group on vacations and on assignments with Internal Audit & Business Controls. After reading his experiences, what struck me was his wish that he had been more diligent in keeping a travelogue with pictures and other exciting items. Reviewing his travelouge made me realize that I should take the time to create a travelogue of my own. One that I can share with others. So it will be somewhat intimate, but never really private, because I want to share them with others eventually. They’ll often be jaded and sarcastic, and rarely politically correct, but always something.

Prior to when I started with internal audit will be kinda fuzzy and really only some of the highlights of my experiences. Even during audit, some of these are really copies of e-mails that I have sent others, some will really focus on only the highlights that I remember about a particular experience. In general, I won’t talk in too much details about locations that I visited in the United States, if at all. But some places were surprisingly interesting and fun.

Right now, this is will be mostly text, with pictures either located in another part of the website or coming “soon” (whatever that means).

So with that, I hope that I can stick to adding to this frequently so that I build a journal that I can share with all who wish to read. Finally, if you notice a spelling error or a grammatical faux pas, don’t let me know, I’m apt not to fix it. I’ll just have to be presented like the illiterate jerk that I probably am.

Howdy y’all, eh?

***Intro and the Current Situation***

Well sports fans, it’s time for that sporadic report about my adventures as a member of the IBM nation. Over the past 4 weeks, I have spent 3 of them in Toronto and even as I type this, I am on a flight back from Texas, which will be a story in and of itself later. Oh great, the captain has just warned that we are in for a very rough and choppy ride. So bad in fact, that he has ordered the flight attendants to suspend food service, passengers to return their seats to the upright position, and to pray for dear life. He also said that he be damned if “those damned commies would blow him out the sky,” but I don’t think we were meant to hear that part because then he said “er, I mean, flight attendants, I’d like a piece of pie.” OK, so the last 2 parts are untrue, but they added something to the story. Since I’ve already started on the airplane story, I should finish.

***The Plane Ride from Texas to Boston***

Well, I have a bad feeling that my flight would be delayed or cancelled because for those who fly through Dallas/Fort Worth Airport, you know that all airlines pride themselves on substandard service, late departures, sitting on the runway to get a tan, and then finally, taking off. My flight was no different. This time, they changed the gate twice for fun because the Omni Hotel must have told them that I didn’t go to the gym this week. So, after 2 gate changes, I got to the counter to find out that my flight has been cancelled and I was sent to another counter where they booked me on an “earlier” flight (which left about 35 minutes shy of my original time after the delays). Having resolved that issue, we all board the plane ready to take off. Only we don’t. We were held up 15 minutes because it seems the plane First Officer, Max Straight, was at the nudie bar proving that he lived up to his last name. So, when the First Officer finally comes aboard (dirty minds…all of you)., we zip out to the runway, where were are informed that we will wait here for 30 minutes because the captain didn’t want to wait at the terminal, but he made some sort of Air Traffic Control excuse. During this time, half the plane is dead from dehydration. Except business class. Those of us who were smart asked for water, but we were told that beverage service was not possible. Except in business class. So some of us went to the business class flight attendant and got water. And gave the main cabin flight attendant the finger. Victory for the coach class passengers! Anyway, we manage to get off the ground, which was a miracle since the pilot almost took a left turn into the air traffic control tower. Many of laughed until we realized that American Airline coffee pots contain heroin. All this time, I am sitting next to a man whose fat is oozing into the seat next to mine (no one was sitting in the middle seat). His fat ate my CDs. So the skies have turned black now. I think I am going to repent for every sin I’ve ever done because I think I see the four horsemen of the apocolypse under the wings of the plane. Oh goodness. If we lived, then you’ll know because you got this e-mail.

***Toronto***

Anyway, forward with my report. Toronto, the city where the sunshine is oddly restricted to the airport, just so there is a false sense that Toronto might be a place worth visiting if you were drinking the American Airlines coffee, got a free ticket, or going there was a condition of employment. Like Montreal, Toronto’s major export is cold, everyone ends their sentences with “eh,” and the average height of someone in Toronto would make them just tall enough to lick my armpits. Emmanual Lewis would be the Jolly Green Gaint in Montreal. In a way, they are much like the French, except without the smell (or Mike H. who sometimes smells like roasted pork strips and cabbage). My stay in Toronto put me in the Embassy suites, right outside of Toronto. At first mention, the Embassy Suites sounds cool, but this one was “special.” I had the premonition this hotel was a major spot for business people to hook up in that Brian Bozzuto sort of way. Perhaps it was the guy in the elevator who was aggressively grabbing his “wife’s” ass, but it was probably the fact that my sheets were “white” sheet had yellow spots…over 90% of the sheet. Anyway, for anyone staying at the Embassy Suites, the couch is very comfortable after a bottle of wine. If you can make it to the couch after a bottle of wine. Unlike the real French, Canadians are very friendly. Restaurant staff often dressed like they were into S&M, but I attributed that the local culture. Overall, eh, a very good place.

***Dallas, Texas***

Now let’s take y’all to Texas, the complete opposite of Toronto, in terms of temperature. Of my 4 days in Texas, 3 of them were over 100 degrees. The other day was 99 degrees. And then there were bugs. Huge bugs. Bug so big that they looked like they wanted say something to you. They are big enough that I am not surprised that the illustrious cocaine-snorting governor did not declare them citizens. Oh gee, that cocaine habit might be why George Bush likes flying American Airlines so much. Any, let’s image a conversation with the large, nearly-talking bugs that I had when one visited me shortly after having room service delivered:

(I turn towards the bug)

Bug: Hey? What the hell are you looking at?

Me: What the f&&k?

Bug: Are you gonna finish those fries?

Me: What the f@#k?

Bug: What’s that smell?

Me: I’m shitting in my pants at the moment. I’ve never talked to a bug before.

Bug: Humanity’s time is coming to an end. Mwu ha ha ha. Can I sleep on your bed if you are taking the couch?

Me: Um, no. Please leave.

Bug: Whatever. I’ve gotta run. Talk to you later. Thanks for the fries.

When I was not talking to the bugs, I was in a class full of people from the south. As you can imagine, this was the slow redneck class. It was at this time that I realized that we all have a little Toronto in us, since before every statement, someone would say “huh?”. We were talking about Systems Network Architecture in class, but in my mind, the whole 4 days was a huge play with the plot being acting out those “you might a redneck if…” jokes. Other interesting things about Texas:

I could not find “Texas Gravy” in Texas. It was in Winsconsin and Singapore. They must have exported it all.

You can speed by a cop on the freeway @ 100 mph if you smile and wave as you do it. Someone forgot to tell them that 65 mph does not equal 100 mph.

Everything comes with biscuits and butter. Even butter comes with more butter.

***Hertz “Neverlost” System***

My rental car came with the Hertz Neverlost system, which is a global positioning system. However, the Neverlost system is more of a conceptual creature. The real meaning of the Neverlost system is that the Car is never lost because it is just a car. It doesn’t have a brian. And you will never be lost as long you know where you are going. If you don’t, you’ll be lost. After leaving the airport to get the hotel, my first stop using the Neverlost system was a lake. It seemed like the lake on fire, but it turned out to be the weekly clansman meeting. So I left. The next stop using my Neverlost system was a mall. Now I am beginning to think that the Neverlost system is really just a bunch of dorks at the Hertz counter sending people around the state. But at least I am driving around in a black Ford Taurus GL with a CD player, so I was not complaining. In fact, I was dancing with the “Hand Puppet That Cares” until I almost hit something (sound familiar Jon and Silk). On the third try, I get to the hotel, so al is well. The hotel check-in process goes great. The room is immaculate. And the bellman won’t leave until I tip him at least 3 dollars. But all goes well. They even give you little post-card sized announcements everyday that have the weather, special events, news briefs, and give you the opportunity to select what radio station you want to be on the radio when you first enter your room at night. To be fair to the “Neverlost” system, it did get me to most places on the second try for the duration of the trip and back to the airport on the first try when it was time to go home.

***Closing***

Overall, I enjoyed the this adventure as well. My next destination is Essonnes, France, which is right outside of Paris. So Toronto was great because it go me used to seeing French and Dallas, Texas was great because it acclimated me to a strange land. I know this was long, but I won’t write again until September.

With that, bid you adeiu.

A bientot.

–RC–

P.S. True to his word, this ride is very bumpy. We are flying lower now to avoid turbulence. Look what I can see…someone’s mailbox. It the Jones’. And they are having dinner. Anyone for pot roast?

Well well well,

Another adventure coming to a close and there is still so much to report on, but we’ll keep this brief. Singapore overall is a very interesting and fun city to visit! I certainly could live in a place with almost NO crime rate (a whopping 0.05%), clean and well maintained streets, and retail and hotel staff so eager to staff that they will sometimes tend to you in pairs and can be fired on the spot for not providing a ‘positive spending experience.’ But alas, I come home to Boston.

We spent the past Sunday in Indonesia, which was a lot of fun. I bought many interesting and cool items, as well as a few hand-made paintings (collecting local art from the places I visit is my new hobby). We were in a place named Bantam Island (Indonesia), which was cool. On the boat ride back from the Island, we found that people were rude. They were eager to get seats, so they filled up the boat faster than a Clydesdale can fill a dixie cup. But we managed to get seats after I used to towering hight advantage to scare people into offering us their seats. In Indonesia, no one is rally taller than 5’3″, and the person I was walking with was blond, so it was interesting to see people actually stop eating and turn their heads to see the “tall man and the blond.” Store owners gave me discounts for being tall (honest). It was fun…like the second coming of Christ. Someone saw me and offered to kill themselves in my honor, but I would have gotten messy, so I settled for a Coca-Cola.

Another interesting story is that someone from my group bought a Celine Dione album, but they found out it was a fake. So I listened to it. Sure enough, it sounded like James Brown singing “My Heart Will Go On.” So we chucked the CD. The same thing with the Elton John CD she bought, which sounded like Richard Simmons. That was funny, but considering she paid US $3.50, she couldn’t complain.

Back in Singapore, things were going along just wonderful, but their concept of tall is someone who is 5’2″, so I couldn’t fit into most things easily. So in Singapore, I discovered that humans can be very flexible out a sense of necessity. Work was a blast (the CFO of Lotus Corporation made us promise that we would never come to his facility in suit or any kind of formal dress). Perhaps one of the coolest things in Singapore are RISIS Orchids, which are orchids that are picked, frozen, and then strengthen with a clear coating before being dipped in 24k gold. They are quite cool. They also did that to real rabbits, but you can give someone a kinda real gold plated rabbit. They would get mad, and I am sure that gift would smell after a year or two.

Anyway, I am 45 mintues away from getting drunk in the airport business class lounge, so I have to scramble. I’ll see some of you (at least) when I return to the states on Friday. My next destination is Chicago for a 3 day mini vacation (people at IBM call them this strange term…’classes’) and then I am off to an audit in Toronto (which is better than Endicott by any stretch of the imagination…ha ha Rich).

See you all around!

–RC–

P.S. If you want to be on my “post-card” list, send me your address and I’ll be sure to send you a post card from the cool places I go, whenever those cool places arise. And if you were looking for something from a particular country that I visit and you want me to pick it up for you (we can work out paying me back later), also let me know that and I’ll do my best.

Well, well well,

It seems like it is time for another posting. Besides, surely we all must tire of Rich’s gloating about posh international destinations as an intern while poor Shannon suffers in the U.S. Allow me to present our team’s latest adventure in Singapore…

The story actually takes place in Malaysia. In particular, we visited the Malaysian town of Jahore Bahru (JB). Translated, that means “city with an ‘open air’ sewer system” or “smelly town of death.” I am still trying to wash the smell of that Malaysian town off of me. Think of it as Singapore’s poor cousin. Once you clear immigration, a 30 minute process that should only take 10 minutes, you then get on a bus towards the JB. You wait on this bus for over 30 minutes due to traffic. Or you can spend 10 minutes walking the same distance, but they won’t tell you that. After you then clear the Malaysian checkpoint, a 15 minute process that should take 30 minutes (it is explained later), you then are in the city of Jahore Bahru. The only safe place to eat is McDonalds, where we had breakfast to go.

Jahore Bahru is filled with muslim stores in which you cannot buy anything unless you are muslim. I tried to buy a really nice painting at a market stall. When I asked the lady what the writing said, she asked “are you a Muslim?” “Yes” I replied, in between bites of the sausage, egg and bacon McMuffin sandwich. For some strange reason, she did not believe me and said that she could not sell items to non-Muslims. Discouraged, I finished my sandwich and then continued to look around.

Other city tourist attractions include viewing the weekly hunted and stuffed animals of the city’s sultan, playing ‘malaria roulette’ with the mosquitoes that have a taste for American blood, and trying to avoid the ‘smell pockets’ that take one by surprise and saps your appetite and will to live. A sure sign that we should have gone to Indonesia instead was that it rained as we were entering Jahore Bahru and stopped when we left.

To get a sense of the smell, imagine what 100 dead bodies from the last pro-democracy uprising a few years ago would smell like. Then throw in dead animal remains (the only ducks floating down the ‘river’ were already cooked). For ‘ambience,’ add the smell that comes from a TKE room after Spring Day. Bake gingerly @ 90 degrees and then serve to who all dare visit and/or live there.

And while Singapore has adequate border controls, one had to wonder about Malaysia. We had cleared immigration to leave Malaysia when we realized that we forgot to buy tickets for the bus back to Malaysia (tickets cost about $1 U.S.). We would have to walk back into the city (a very short walk…literally across the street) to get tickets for the bus (which are interestingly, not available at the bus/immigration checkpoint). The problem was that we had already handed the Malaysian immigration officers our immigation/customs forms. Despite this, we then walked down the street that the transnational busses use. Half way down we found a security guard. We explained to him that we forgot to get tickets and that we’d need to leave the checkpoint, but that we had already gave immigration our forms. However, the sounds of our nervous voices were secondary to him enjoying his cigarette. Before we could finish explaining the problem, he said “OK, sure” and turned away to enjoy his cigarette. We think we would have gotten the same reply had we said that we planned a mass killing spree. Anyway, after we got our tickets, we walked down the same ‘secure’ street behind the immigration checkpoint. Sure enough, our ever-aware officer was smoking another cigarette (this becomes important later). With a wave and a nod we ‘cleared’ immigration for a second time and got onto the bus and left the country. On the bus, we heard someone complaining that border control confiscated their cigarettes.

So we learned that Malaysia has a beautiful and interesting culture. Just not in Jahore Bahru. Unfortunately, we won’t have time to visit the cool parts of Malaysia, but we expect that some island-hopping in Indonesia next week will make up for the experience. What else have we learned? That the only thing that makes this experience different than the Mexico experience is that Malaysians in poor cities have more teeth. Still it was an adventure and enabled me to write an e-mail update, so the experience could not have been all that bad. 😉

Ciao!

–RC–

Good morning, afternoon and evening sports fans:

Today’s story deals with travel and the wonderful experiences that can occur. But first things first. Today I learned that my ThinkPad can dail almost any location on the planet, except from an a Delta Airlines Crown Club Room. I am not sure why, since I seemed to be following all of the directions clearly, but it was one of those crazy things that one chalks up to ‘oh well.’

My adventure begins with the U.S. Shuttle driver who is not quite sure how to get to Logan Airport. We essentially drive in circles around Waltham for about 20 minutes before he finally realizes where the MassPike is. Armed with this information, he then avoids the MassPike and takes the scenic route, as if to show the MassPike who is boss. Anyway, after finally arriving at Logan Airport (and leaving the U.S. Shuttle smuck-o with a tip to buy a better map of Boston), I go the Business Check-In line at the Delta Counter. It’s me, my bags…and the carpet that my laptop bag latched onto to about 2 yards ago. Little kids are laughing, as are adults. The Air France people actually staffing the flight are laughing at me too. It is only when I wave my business class ticket in the air that they flock like the same way Rich flocks to Kerplackistani oil stocks. That is when I realized the true power of business class. And I made a snotty internal remark of my own. Well, someone in Air France must be able to hear my thoughts, because the Air France staff would get their revenge.

If you ever get a business class ticket, relish the opportunity to go into their executive lounge. They say that they have a dress code, but you can be dressed as badly as Brian and still get in because they even allow Structure X-Pants. The drinks are free and flowing thanks to overwhelmingly strong opposition to turning business lounges into cash bars or getting rid of alcohol entirely (thus keeping ticket prices high enough so that people like you and I couldn’t normally afford them). Anyway, I was loving the lounge until I was ripped away like a newborn baby from a mama’s breast.

Once on the plane, they served us some sort of salad as an opening course. It was a ritzy salad with mayonnaise on the side. I told myself “don’t eat that stuff, Rodney, you’ll do untold damage to your innerds.” Then, in a Homer-like retort, I also thought “hmmm, sweet mayonnaise.” Then, the mother of all temptation struts along in her Air France uniform and says “Monsieur Cornelius, eat the mayonnaise. Join us. Join us.” When in Rome…so I ate some of it. She then laughed crazily and said “ha, boy, your innerds will pay for giving in to the desires of mayonnaise. And didn’t you leave your Immodium AD in the bag you checked in?” She then disappeared and almost immediately I felt ill. At that point, I asked the crew mechanic to stuff my business class seat in the lavatory because it was going to be a long flight.

Upon landing at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, I went directly to a pharmacy, where they laugh when you present them with bodily function problems. One eventually helped me, but I had to wait until they removed the original pharmacist who passed out from laughing so hard. Now, when I say pharmacist, I mean that in more a figurative sense then a literal sense, because one only needs approval from Sally Struthers to be licensed in France. Skipping the mindless drivel, the ordeal took 30 minutes and I ended up with something like Immodium AD…it was called Immodium AD. When I got the counter to pay, I realized that I was so into my French Airport Bathroom Fest ’99 that I forgot to get money. So I said “excuse kind madame, could you see your way to giving me this medication today and I will gladly repay you on Tuesday?” Since she has never seen Popeye, she scoffed at me and I had to use my MasterCard. I still don’t feel better, but at least I am not acculmulating frequent guest points in French airport restrooms anymore.

So now I sit in the Air France Business Lounge, waiting to live, waiting to die, waiting for that evil Air France flight attendant so that I can place her in the guilletine for suggesting the mayonnaise. On this connecting flight to Singapore, I told them to only give me bread, since I cannot trust anything else. Or maybe someone out there has an immune system that I can borrow for the trip. I’ve been in the lounge for about 4 hours now. I even fell asleep here with my wallet on the table. Good golly, executive lounges are like living in Saudi Arabia. Pretty cool.

Anyway, that food concern may not really be a problem. We have been informed that due to strike by the catering service personnel, we will not be having any catered meals. Not even in business class. Or first class. We had boxed meals bought in and that was an experience. It was being in summer camp. And since I like sea food so much (this is sarcasm here), of course they only had sea food boxed lunches. Yipee! So I had nothing to do but sleep. But for my troubles, I swiped a bottle of wine from the galley before I got off of the plane in Singapore.

So now I am in Singapore. The hotel is awesome. The food I have eaten is very good and my digestive track is slowly recovering. The hotel even provides free early-evening cocktails, so that is even better. But i guess that is a story for another time.

Sianora

–RC–

Mexico City, the city of love. Oh wait, that’s Paris.

Mexico City, the city of dirt. No, that’s Egypt.

Mexico City, the city of no dentists. True, but London surpasses Mexico City 7 days a week and twice on Sunday.

Mexico City, our poor neighbors to the south. That works.

As I write this from 29,000 feet in the air (but you’ll get this e-mail after I have landed), I have the occasion to reflect on my travels to Mexico City. What is interesting is that we seem to be getting closer to the ground before our time, indicating to me that the Captain and First Officer enjoyed one too many pre-flight cocktails. You know we are in trouble when the Captain says ‘and to your right you’ll see we are flying over the airport in Little Rock, Ark…poor Brett…hey, did they forget to remove his carcass from the runway when our plane crashed a couple of weeks ago?’ My seat is right in front of the curtain, so I get that special look (with a Smirk) from the Flight Attendant that says ‘so close, Rodney, but yet so far, far away.’

I guess I should say what I’ve learned on my vacation…uh, work assignment. Think of it as a Top 10 List:

10. You will always get to your destination faster on a burrow then on Mexico City’s crowded road. Renting a borrow cost $200 pesos. Taking the damn animal off the owner’s hand is $40 pesos.

9. Personal hygine, like traffic lights, is discretionary.

8. Just like people think they see Elvis, people in Mexico swear they’ve seen Juan Valdez and his coffee burrow.

7. ACELAB Ted is scary and should be avoided at all times. If you have a gun available, shoot him with it. If not, ask the police guard with the m-16 outside of the ‘Candy Store’ (it is really a money laundering operation) to borrow his. One look at Ted and he’ll do it for you.

6. Don’t drink the water. Don’t eat the food. Just live off of phlegm. Like everything else, it probably tastes like chicken.

5. When people say hello to you, reply with ‘turkey sandwich.’ Keep doing for several days…you’ll see why later.

4. Say hello to the person in #5. They should reply with turkey sandwich. Give them a thumbs up, go into your office/room and laugh. Tell others to say hello as well.

3. Most English-speaking tour guides recommend a healthy dose of pencillin before going out to the clubs.

2. Rich Bozzuto is a clown. I guess I’ve always known that, but the fact that his clownness crosses international boundaries was previously an unknown fact.

1. Most Mexican people have very light skin. However, you’ll never know because of #9. It’s really just dirt and exhaust from the cars that give them that roasted turkey color.

TIME PASSES

Now I am writing from the U.S. Shuttle. My CD player is not working and I need to listen to my Pure Moods CD before I throttle the driver. He took a wrong turn an now he is not sure where we are going. This would be amusing if it were not 11:30pm and had he not spent a full hour looking for other passengers to try and fit into the van. At one point, everyone in the van threatened to take Boston Coach if he tried to pick up one more passenger. We think he got the point and decided to get himself lost so that we’d pay for our mutiny. One brave soul asked to be let off on a corner in Revere so that he could catch a cab. In Revere? We’ll never see him again.

Anyway, that’s my story and I am sticking to it. See you around.

–RC–

Well Rich started this….

I damn well know that you are not all that interested in my adventures in Mexico because many of you have been (you may not remember it, but you were actually there…that was not just a drunken 4-day daydream). But, I have some time to kill, ACELAB Ted has his fingers up his nose, and Audit Team Leader Sue is blabbering something to the effect of ‘I wish the IBM Cafe here in Mexico made Bloody Marys.” So here you go…

Although in Mexico, I am not fortunate enough to go chasing Geisha Girls around with $1 bills (Mexico would translate them as ‘Fish Girls’ anyway and that is entirely unappealing), I have other wonderous sites to look at. For I am in Mexico City, where every cab smells different. Ah yes Mexico, where their national flag and the fact that no one here vists the dentists binds them together in unity. Glorious Mexico, where I can go shopping for souvenirs at an ancient Aztec city, and be offered a $40 peso discount if I give the vendor my hiking boots. But hey, he’ll throw in the malnourished cat for free so I should have contemplated it. Mexico, where the police abandon the war on drugs and the restaurants intensify the war on the stomach. Mexico City, where I am sure if the inhaitants of the city knew what Immodium AD was, would give that company enough money to run all of Mexico. Come splash in “pea soup” green water, come to the city where everything comes with cheese, come to the country where you can bargain at Macys. Ah Mexico City!

In all seriousness, the place is quite cool. There is lots to do and it is generally a lot of fun. What Mexico lacks in cleanliness it makes up for in nightlife. When my toughest decision of the week is tequila with almond or clear tequila, I ain’t got no complaints. I miss home at times, but not Jon’s bastard cat from hell (the only, and I use this term loosely, ‘domesticated,’ cat I know that prefers the taste of human flesh to Meow Mix). Right now, Jon is renting out my $700+/month room at reasonables rates, so jump on it now before he decides to make it the cat’s litterbox. The most interesting challenge each day is trying to speak enough Spanish to get food. Somehow, with every restaurant I go to I end up with: a) A spanish waitress who is the size and has the facial hair equivalent of Barry White; and b) some meat involving chocolate spicy sauce because everything I say (expletives, the word ‘furby,’ and the phrase ‘get those kids out of your headlock…oh you just forgot to shave your armpits…please don’t hurt me’) translates into “ah, he must want the chicken with Mole (spicy chocolate) sauce.” But seriously, all joking aside, they put us up in a very nice hotel, there’s a 55 year old member of the team that wants to do shooters at a bar sometime this week, and I am learning a lot. So it is all very cool.

So now that I have had my taste of Spanish culture, I look forward to my taste of Asian culture. My next assignment brings me to Singapore, land of unnecessary rules like no chewing bubble gum, no spray painting cars, no hanging out with the women who want to “love me long time,” ad nausiem, yadda yadda yadda.

One piece of advice before I go…stay an intern for as long as possible. I work about 55-60 hours a week, while I only get paid for 40 of them. Rich, Shannon and ACELAB Ted might laugh now, but they’ll miss those extra hours once they start full-time. I must resort to purchasing IBM stock to make up the gap. C’est la vie.

Anyway, here’s hoping that Shannon will continue the trend by reporting from Asswater Junction, USA. And I don’t mean Maine because that’s affectionately titled ‘Cousin Country.’

Livin’ La Vida Loca,

-RC–