The Department of Useless and Ill-Informed Opinions

Greetings from Zurich

Ok, I'm a fucking tool. But at least I know it, right?

But I have an excuse, because I'm on an insanely long layover, and there's no way I can sit and keep drinking (either coffee or beer). I'm already severely over-caffeinated, and it's 11:20am local time. Which of course makes it 5:20am in my brain, and I didn't sleep a wink on the flight from JFK.

So, I got into Zurich around 7:15am today, and with my flight to Munich scheduled for 11:55am, I decided to ask about getting the hell out of here. I went to the information desk, and the lady said that as long as I had my passport and boarding pass, I could leave. And leave I did.

Passport Control barely even looked at my passport, and they didn't even stamp it. I ended up knowing someone on my flight, who was flying to Zurich for work, so she and I shared a cab into the city. She went to crash at her hotel, and I went to roam. It was 8am, I was in a city (let alone a country) that I'd never been in before, and I'm walking around.

And it was nice. Really. I like some time to roam by myself in foreign cities. I spent hours doing it in Lisbon earlier this summer. It's a great way to get to know the non-museum and non-monument aspects of a city.

I was also hoping to score some breakfast, and some coffee. Everything I passed was closed. And the other walkers were sparse. I found a Starbucks, but I eschewed. I get enough of that shit at home.

So, after a half hour of wandering aimlessly I turned a corner and saw two things: a train station, and a cafe that was open. I figured this was fate telling me to get a quick cup and head back to the airport. It's not like I had 5 hours to wander, and I didn't really feel like spending $50 on a cab back to the airport.

Turns out the station was Zurich's Hauptbahnhof, the central station. Once I figured that out, my decision was made. Done and done. And I mean done.

Since all I spent in Zurich proper was an hour or so, I've got nothing at all to report. And no pics. Though I did get a shot of my company's new global ad campaign at the airport on my way back in through Passport Control (where they again gave my passport just a cursory glance; I guess my days of looking shady are behind me).

Anyway, what the hell am I doing blogging at what's now 11:25am when I have a flight in a half hour? Well, after a five hour layover, my flight is delayed. With a non-specified new time. They told us to go to the gate at the correct time, and an announcement will be made. Super-duper.

So yeah, I'm sitting in the Zurich airport blogging.

I'm going to head to the gate, and see what's up. Could take me a few minutes to clear security. Though if the passport screening process is any indication, I suspect I may just be able to roam straight through to my gate without so much as an X-ray. Mmm... Radioactive beams.

With any luck, this is where this ends. But believe me, if I get stuck here for any length of time, this baby's going to have an update tacked right on the bottom of this post. More thrilling airport tales!

Packing List

As I'm about to head off on vacation, I'm going to help everyone out and give you all some packing tips, in the form of sharing the list I've written for myself to make sure I don't forget anything:

Underwear... Check.
Socks... Check.
Shirts... Check.
Jeans... Check.
Shoes... Check.
Toothbrush & toothpaste... Check.
Deodorant... Check.
Q-Tips... Check.
Large pair of scissors... Check.
Cricket bat... Check.
Samurai sword... Check.
And of course, most heinous of all, skin moisturizer... Check.

But seriously...

I won't be around for the next week or so. I'm going to be on vacation, at Oktoberfest in Munich. Because I don't drink nearly enough in the US.

Want an idea of what it's like? Well, you're in luck. Check out my pictures from Oktoberfest 2004, which shockingly include some non-beer-related shots.

Inactual Size will continue to update while I'm gone, as I've staggered out a few pieces for next week on that nifty delayed post thing that I only very recently learned about. The Department will be back when I am, plus or minus a few days for recovery.

Prost!

What's The Headline?

I work with a guy who, whenever we have a major problem with a client, always asks the same question: "What's the headline?"

What he's asking, in case you haven't figured it out for yourself yet, is what are our everyday contacts reporting back to their management internally. Sure, we provide them with a solid and lengthy explanation, but their bosses want the most concise answer possible. So a 500 word e-mail or a 30 minute conference call that goes through all of the various nuances of why we don't suck gets boiled down into one or two sentences. "The vendor fucked up." And then we look bad in the eyes of the client's management when we shouldn't. It's all about perception. That shortened explanation? That's the headline.

NBC had similar headline issues earlier this summer, when they announced that both Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip and 30 Rock would both be on the fall schedule.

The story wasn't about how two diverse yet slightly similar shows might both succeed, it was how viewers might possibly confuse them with each other and not tune in to one (or perhaps even both). Now, anyone who actually pays attention to any small detail is immediately going to notice the differences. In the simplest way, one is an hour-long drama and the other a half-hour comedy. But, every news outlet in the country talked about how the public would be confused, and how could NBC make such a stupid move.

Of course I get that our less-intelligent neighbors might confuse the two, because they both take place around the backstage machinations of an SNL-esque show. But, were either of these shows being marketed to our less-intelligent neighbors? Were the people who keep shows like Wife Swap on the air suddenly going to develop the desire to become Aaron Sorkin and Tina Fey fans? No, of course not. But, stories said they would, and they went on to say that when our Fear Factor loving friends tried to tune in they wouldn't comprehend what was going on, simply because of the most basic of similarities. Not by any means because the concepts on the actual programs were way beyond concepts that these people can comprehend.

So, did NBC fight the headline, and point out how different these programs were? Yes, for a time. And then they gave up and succumbed. Of course, they'd never fuck with Studio 60 in a major way (nor should they), and so they messed with 30 Rock. The show hasn't aired yet, but (apparently in August) two major things have been changed:

1. The show's dynamic has changed from backstage antics to an examination of the complex relationships between the Tina Fey, Alec Baldwin, and Tracy Morgan characters, making the SNL-clone almost incidental. I'm willing to bet that the fake Studio 60 is going to prove to be incidental to the real Studio 60 as well, but whatever. They're downplaying 30 Rock's fake sketch show, called 'The Girlie Show'.

2. Rachel Dratch, who I can attest from multiple takings-in of Asssscat at the UCB Theatre in NY, is funny as shit. And in the original pilot she was playing Jenna DeCarlo, the star of 'The Girlie Show'. Now, the pilot has been reshot/retooled and she'll occasionally appear on the show, sometimes as recurring characters (a cat wrangler in the pilot being one of those) and sometimes in one-off roles (I'm guessing under heavy makeup and prosthetics), and Jenna DeCarlo is now going to be played by Jane Krakowski.  The blonde chick from Ally McBeal. This change has been implemented so surreptitiously that on NBC's little 3 minute preview trailer for the show that's still on my cable's TV Guide On Demand channel, Rachel is in fact listed first among the other named cast members of Fey, Baldwin, and Morgan, and they show a scene where she introduces herself as "Jenna" and then a PA addresses her as "Ms. DeCarlo."

Now, look, I still think 30 Rock looks great and I'm still going to watch it. Alec Baldwin seems to be playing the egomaniac role he loves so much to the hilt, and the fake news camera scene of Tracy Morgan running on an LA highway in tighty-whiteys with a plastic light saber screaming "I am a Jedi!" might be one of the funniest things I've ever seen.

What disturbs me, but of course doesn't shock me, is that NBC was so willing to completely de-ball 30 Rock for the sake of trying to change the headline. I'm sure it'll still be funny, but I suspect that if the original version of this series that we were supposed to see would have been infinitely funnier.

The truly funny part though is that, because they're downplaying these casting/concept/plot changes which were actually made back in August, the headline hasn't changed one bit.

What's Wrong With Where I Live?

Every now and then I meet new people. And sometimes, I'll meet someone I consider this person to be like-minded. Perhaps it's politically or socially, but more often than not it comes down to the other person's tastes in music, books, or movies. It's a connection based almost purely on how cool we think each other might just be.

When you're in on some artistic secret, a band nobody else really knows yet but you wish a few more people did (but not too many people), and then you meet someone who's also in on it you're happy. It gives the two of you common ground, a jumping off point into hopeful continued commonalities, maybe even into discovering something new. This is how it works.

So I'll be at a party or somesuch and I'll be talking to a person who I deem of equal coolness, and who deems me of the same, and the conversation will eventually turn, as it always does with New Yorkers, to where we each live. It generally goes something like this:

Me: "So where do you live?"

Them: "Williamsburg. How about you?" (Incidentally, insert any number of supposed hipster neighborhoods in here, and it works the same.)

Me: "Upper East Side."

Bam. Conversation's over, just like that.

Suddenly I go from a kindred spirit, someone who likes and hates most of the same things, to some guy who clearly is just trying to co-opt their indie mentality in order to seem cool. A poser, if you will.

And so I ask you, what the hell is wrong with where I live?

I'm the first guy to admit that the Upper East Side isn't exactly a hotbed for the indie scene. My neighbors don't posess all that much street cred. But just because I live amongst the over-privileged older and very-recently-ex-fraternitied/sororitied younger, does that suddenly make me one of them? One of the JT-listening, Us-reading automatons who I'll freely admit infest this place?

Look, I know what this area is. And in truth, I don't even know what my overarching point here is meant to be. Maybe I'm just pleading with the hipster masses to not write me off straight-away. Maybe I'm trying to help myself and those huddled few like me who live up here, assumed as a member of the uptownocracy (I just made that word up, and I kind of like it) based purely by our heinous zip codes. Or perhaps I just feel like bitching. I think I'll go with a little from all three.

Am I accusing the downtown hipsters of being judgmental? Well, yeah, I guess I am. I think it's a prime quality of being a hipster. You're always on the hunt to identify the few who are like you, and to scoff at those masses who aren't. And so when my supposed made-up exterior of guy-in-the-know is revealed to be just another damned UES'er in their eyes, the handshake turns into a scowl. But, I'm just as judgmental. My friends can tell you that apart from muttering "fucking tourists," my next most common group to curse about are "those fucking downtown hipsters." I like to think I do it because I'm vengeful towards their contempuousness, but I wonder sometimes if I don't do it because I'm simply jealous that they live in a 'cooler' neighborhood than me. It kills me to think that, but they've managed to make me completely subconscious about my own home.

I write this, I realize, because I have a massive inferiority complex about my apartment. I'm so concerned that I'm going to be crumpled up and thrown away like a fast food wrapper (not like a McDonald's wrapper though, because hipsters don't do McDonald's) that I find myself constantly on the defensive, and becoming immediately deprecating when talking about my home. "What? Oh, yeah, Upper East, I-know-it's-fucking-lame, but, you know." How sick is that?

I need to get over my bullshit about where I live. Or, I guess I could always move, which would be the more expensive and greater physical effort of a choice, but incredibly simpler from a psychological point of view. I suspect I'll go with neither option. I'll likely stay up here, being convenient to work and enjoying my relatively reasonable rent, and continue to belittle this neighborhood that in truth has been quite good to me. It feels unfair, and it feels like I'm betraying my pizza place, my local pub, my dry cleaner, and so on. But this is just one more example of what this city can do to you. It's not judt about who you are and what you do, but it's also about where you live. I may have a double walking the streets of this city somewhere, a guy who has completely identical tastes to me in everything, but because he lives in the Lower East Side he's levels and levels above me on the social scales that I (hate to admit) that I sort of want to belong to, the ones where I know I'd fit in.

Quick Hits

Some short thoughts:

• It's a damn good thing that I prefer cocktail onions in my martinis. Special thanks to the city of Chicago for providing me with the first link when I Googled for a story here.
• Here's what I want to know on this one: What the hell was the final straw? The man's been arrested countless times (only countless because I'm too lazy to find the actual number), gone through drug and alcohol addiction, and so on. At which point did Whitney poke her head up and decide enough was enough? What else could he have done?
• I hate reality TV. I mean, hate it. And along with hating it, this is just too funny. When I first heard about this show, I thought to myself, "Supernova? I love these guys! Are they associated with this crap-box of a show?" Turns out, no. On the upside, I've been listening to 'Ages 3 & Up' again for the first time in years.
• Eddie Izzard on 24? Not that I was going to miss the return of the invincible Jack Bauer before, but Izzard? Can I setup the record on my DVR now?
• And finally, was there maybe a chance that this could have happened before George Bush took his spill? If I had to guess, Segway's board of directors are Democrats.

Today

I don't have much to say today. Lots of bloggers (in fact most every site I've been to today) has somehow referenced what today is. And I'm glad they have, it's important that people talk things like this through.

For myself, I don't have anything to say on the subject that I necessarily feel like sharing with the world. It's not so private or personal or heart-wrenching as the stories or insight you might get elsewhere, it's just that I plain don't want to talk about it. On the other side, I didn't want to let today go by without any sort of comment at all. It's an odd day to say much of anything as far as I'm concerned.

So this is it. I'm not saying nothing, nor an I saying anything.

What I will say is this: If you had a good day today, I hope they keep on. If today was a bad day, I hope things start working out in the right direction.

All I have to say is...

"We've got the teamwork,
To make the dream work."

Stuff I'm Into

Something new here... A quick list of things I'm liking at the moment, movies or TV I've seen recently, books I've read, music I've heard, etc.

Movies:

• V for Vendetta: "Vendetta, vendetta!" But seriously, folks. I really enjoyed this movie. It looked incredible, and a little story about undermining a corrupt and overbearing government is, well, let's go with timely.
• Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story: Part One in our Steve Coogan double feature. The man might just be a genius, and this is a great way of telling the tale a seemingly untellable book. It made me want to read it, and for me to want to read an 18th century British novel that's saying something.
• 24 Hour Party People: Part Two... Going 3 years earlier, it's semi-true version of the story of a real person and a music scene. Funny and snappy, 2 hours flew by like it was nothing.

Books:

• The Biggest Game in Town: A 23 year old book about the World Series of Poker, from back when it was getting huge (by their standards then), but still actually small potatoes (by ours).

TV:

• Battlestar Galactica: The Resistance: Not to geek out or anything here, but in preparation of the upcoming 3rd season they're running twice-weekly shorts that will bridge the storyline gap between the 2nd and 3rd. The first is out, and I haven't even watched it yet, but if it's half as good as the series itself, it'll be twice as good as most of the other shit on TV. At least until Studio 60 premieres.

It Is 7am, and Everyone Is Speaking... Cantonese

I had an early call with Asia the other day. 7am. In truth not so bad, since last week the call with the same crew was at 5am. That one was just torture.

But 7am nonetheless. I'm not usually up then, since I live way closer to my office than any sane person should. So, the alarm was set for 6:45. I figured a half hour call, then I'd shower and be out, maybe get to the office a little early. Seemed a solid plan.

Due on the call were 3 or 4 people from my Hong Kong office, a few from the client local to Asia, and maybe one from the client located here in New York.

The bridge is activated, 5 minutes late, and it becomes readily apparent that nobody from the client, in any time zone, is going to join this call. I decide it's a good opportunity to ride the call in stealth and see what I can glean. I saw no reason to give the local folks reason to think the US is watching over them.

Once role call is done one of the local people says the following: "Since nobody from the client is on the call, let's just go through the agenda ourselves quickly. In Cantonese."

Fuck.

I don't speak Cantonese. I'm a stupid American, a product of our public school systems. We're all lucky I can handle English, let alone knowing any second languages.

So, as I saw it, I was faced with three options:
1. Pipe up and say I'm there. I view this option as rude, since I chose to mask my attendance initially and didn't want anyone thinking my announcing my presence was only due to their decision to hold the meeting in their native tongue.
2. Hang up. The beeps emitted by the hangup would make it obvious that someone else had been there. This would be both rude and cowardly.
3. Lower the volume on my phone, roll over and go back to sleep. Jackpot.

As soon as I heard the drop beeps when the call ended, maybe 20 minutes later, I followed suit, with nobody the wiser.

I hit the office a little later (and a little late), and told a few people the story. They thought it was a riot, and I was a moron.

On the next Asia call, I'll make sure I announce myself.

Power Outage

I was in Newport, RI last week, from Sunday through Wednesday, for a company conference.

As anyone who's ever been to a conference can attest to, it's a booze-fest. The only saving grace was that the bars in Newport close at 1am, and the hotel bar an hour prior to that. So when 12:45am came around and whatever bars we were in turned the house lights up and yelled out for last call, we were done with the drinking.

On Tuesday night, the last hurrah if you will, we found a bar which let us stick around a little while longer. By 1:30, a few of us wandered outside (a mistake during a lock-in) looking for a splinter group who had gone next door to the more chic place a bit earlier. They were in the process of being sent home, seeing as how it was past 1.

I run into a friend, and we're walking at a spot in between the two bars and right near out hotel, when we hear a bang. Every light around us goes out. The streetlamps, both bars, every light in the hotel. It's cloudy, as its been raining like a bastard since we got there, and from beyond the hotel, to the north, we can see flashes within the low-hanging clouds. So, we're wondering what's happening. I mean, clearly a blackout, but we're drunk and confused. Maybe a minute later, we hear gas-powered generators kick in, and some of the hotel's lights come back.

Now, we all work for a network provider. And we're always somehow sort of thinking about work, which is hard to avoid when you're off with 60 people from your company. So, we look at each other and say, "Redundancy."

I know, we're fucking tools. Sue me.

We head back to the hotel, to find only hallway and emergency lighting on. We also find a load of our co-workers wandering around the first floor confused, thinking there's something big going on. Also, thinking that if the power's still out in the morning we can all feign lacks of alarm clocks and skip the 8am meetings.

As we're plotting and wondering and all that good drunken stuff, a hotel employee comes to us, with two purposes. First, to tell us to shut the hell up. Second, he's cracking glow sticks and dropping loads of them into the elevators (which are running off of the generators).

We ask him what's up, and he tells us it's normal.

"Normal? THere's like whole blocks out."

"Yeah, we're on an island. Power outages happen all the time."

And he walks away.