Keath And Ceridwen (dot com): A Fresh Start, Fall 2006
Time to learn how these fulltimers do "wintering"
So we've been staying put for a little while and it seemed like as good a time as any to get this here web site in some manner of order. Granted, Keath is spending most of the fall travelling for work, and Ceridwen plans to hole up in Mass with Laura so as to avoid the alternatives: sit alone with Zoomba in the middle of the desert or spend all our travel money flying around with Keath and sitting alone in business hotels. But there's sure to be something exciting to post during these travels as well.
We'll fill in the back story later. Keep an eye out on the home page for historical updates. Hopefully, 2007 will be a bit more orderly. And by orderly, we mean that we'll post something. Since it seems there are people out there reading it. Who knew?
Reunited and it feels so . . .
December 21, 2006
You know, it must be pretty darn cold in Minnesota for so many of those hearty people to snow bird here. There's a freeze watch in effect over night here in the greater Phoenix area, for heaven's sake! But it gets up to 66 during the day, so that's pretty nice. The sun rising pink over all those jagged mountains is breathtaking, so the desert still has its perks. Perhaps next year we'll winter in Mexico, though.
My last two weeks can be summarized in terms of travel thusly (I really just wanted to write the word thusly): Left my parents house in NH to go to NJ to spend the weekend at Keath's parents, then a short hop over to Philly. From there, I flew to Atlanta to see my brother's family and watch the kiddos tear some Christmas presents open. Shopping for toys is really fun when you don't have to live with the noises and messes, I must say. From there, I went back to Philly. To get to Philly I had to argue with the gate agent at the airport that I had in fact gotten on my original flight from Philly to Atlanta. Apparently, they'd canceled my reservation since they had no record of me being on my first flight. Isn't that a comforting notion?
Last Saturday we finally returned to Phoenix, picked up the boys and headed for our RV Park. Our hook up routine, which we had had streamlined down to a scant ten minutes, took a half an hour because we had no idea what we were doing. All that hard won knowledge had fled our brains while we were living in houses without wheels.
On Sunday we joined a gym, so now we can stay all nice and fit through the holiday season. Woohoo! I'm sure Vegas will have something to say about that, what with the intended caloric splurging (sounds better than saying 'going on a bender', doesn't it?). We'll actually be staying put for a few months, though in February we're going to go to Hawaii for a few weeks. I can't wait.
That's the travel in a nutshell, but we are nothing if not mercurial in regards to picking up and moving, so we'll see.
December 21, 2006
Next week's post . . . Next month's post. Whatever. It wasn't exciting anyway.
Let's see . . . Phoenix to London nonstop. That's right. That was a hoot. I landed in London on the last day of Erotica 2006 [NSFW], which was unexpected to say the least. Oh, in addition to not being suitable for work, that link is also no longer Erotica 2006, but you can now buy tickets for Erotica 2007 if you so choose. I didn't. Anyway, it explained why the pub across the street was booked solid for this visit.
Aside from the Erotica convention there was not a lot going on in my general vicinity. I learned Tuesday night that Little Britain was doing a live performance near my hotel on Wednesday night. Stupid American holidays. Anyway, the flight back to the US was uneventful, with the exception of the British Airways gate attendent who was confused as to why I had so much luggage for a short trip to Manchester. We need to stop naming our cities after theirs. It's just choatic. The connecting flight from DC to Manchester (New Hampshire, for those of you who didn't follow along), was extra special exciting, with angry Texans who missed their flight yelling at the gate agent, doors that didn't latch properly, a pilot trying to tactfully say that we don't have any cabin pressure, and the excitement of turning around to get another plane in the middle of the night. Some time around 1 AM I landed in Manchester, where my darling wife was waiting along with a couple of dozen other passengers' loved ones. We made it to her parents' house somewhere around 2:30 AM. Awesome.
Ceridwen's brother and his family were up to visit for Thanksgiving, and her Aunt and Grandmother joined us as well. We had a grand ol' time in the newly remodelled sunroom, and there were many leftovers left over. Because that's what leftovers do.
The following week it was back to Philly for me, for a week of chaotic preparation for my company's Annual Conference, which was the following week (Dec 3 if you're keeping up) in San Diego. My grandmother, who lives with my parents, was heading out to San Diego as well to spend a few months with my Aunt. At 91, she's not flying solo, so I escorted her across this fair nation of ours. Fortunately, this trip was without drama. We got to San Diego and met up with my Aunt who was the envy of a half dozen or so people who caught a glimpse of the collapsable wheelchair she had brought with her. (Avo reports that it's quite comfortable as well!) They dropped me off at my hotel -- okay, they dropped me off at the hotel I thought our conference was at, then I walked to the correct hotel after an embarrassing exchange with the lobby clerks -- so that I could get checked in and Avo could get settled in back at the house, but then came around later on so we could all go out to dinner together. Which was a lot of driving on their part, but nice.
After San Diego it was back to New Jersey for brief couple of days with my family before heading back to Philly for one last week of training. And at the end of that week (December 15), my darling wife returned to me so that we could return to Phoenix together, where Vantom and Zoomba were patiently waiting for us in the storage facility, no worse for the wear, but with a good bit of dust on them. So we hitched them up and move them across town. Home sweet home.
Absense makes the heart grow lonlier.
November 16, 2006
Surprising myself, I have actually followed through on my resolution to query the heck out of people for the next month. I've come up with a shiny new query letter and it's getting some favorable responses. So favorable, in fact, that I spent the majority of Monday afternoon at the local Staples getting things printed and copied. I'm not sure how all the time got eaten up, but I left the house at noon and didn't get back until 3:30. But the sample chapters are in the mail, and that's what's important. Okay, by now they should really be in the agent's hot little mitts, but you know what I mean.
While at Staples, I met a guy who's in a local band that plays all your classic rock favorites while wearing wigs and Kiss
-esque makeup. I'm hoping we can go see them, since guys in makeup is a great antidote to the gray, gloomy weather we've been having here, even if they do insist on playing Stairway to Heaven
.
November 17, 2006
This is a story of several battles of Keath. It is meant to be an amusing collection of anecdotes about my week and the trials and tribulations which confronted me, but in reality it's probably just a series of examples of why I shouldn't be allowed to interact with peoples other than my wife.
Collapse the damn rambling post...
Sunday: Keath versus the Philadelphia International Airport: Typically, when Philly cab companies are called up by my good friends at the Hilton or Homewood Suites on City Ave, they arrive 15-20 minutes late. And manage to find traffic to delay the ride to the airport, which causes them to take circumnavigatous routes. So, for my 7:30 flight, I figured that a 5:15 cab would arrive by 5:30, get to PHL by 6:00, getting me through security by 6:30, and at the gate with enough time to grab some breakfast before a 7:00 boarding. (You don't want to count on the Philly Factor for early morning flights during the temperate months.) Like clockwork. I'm a genius. At 5:00 AM on Sunday, the front desk called to let me know my cab was there. I wasn't quite ready, but got down there shortly thereafter ready to roll. Once I woke up my cabbie. Awesome. So we left the hotel before 5:15, taking off at just the right pace to splash my tea smack dab in that spot of the pants where you don't want scalding hot water - or stains. This is going to be a great morning. Of course, we got to the airport in 5 minutes, and I slipped through security in another 5, putting me at my gate by 5:30, the time I expected to leave the hotel. AWesome. Only my flight wasn't listed at my gate. Another flight was. And not the flight before mine. This one was scheduled to leave 90 minutes after mine. Hmmm. In fact, according to the departure monitors in terminal C, my flight to Phoenix was scheduled to leave from gate A-something-or-other, way over in the international terminal. Good thing I'm early. Off to terminal A, where my flight is not listed at all. So I go back to terminal C to double check and maybe find the US Airways service desk. Yup: terminal A it claims, and nobody at the service desk yet to talk to. Back over in Terminal A I spot a flight to Phoenix that is only one flight number off from mine, but leaving 10 minutes later. Could I be booked on a non-existant flight? A TSA agent spots my frustrated and confused look and asks if I need assistance. I'm not quite sure what she can do for me, except maybe provide a full body cavity search to make the morning all that much more sunshiney. I ask her if she knows where there might be US Airways service agents at this hour, and she points me at that mysterious terminal in to which I've never ventured before: PHL Terminal B. In this exotic locale, an agent advises me that I am leaving from Terminal A, indicating that the flight numeber and Terminal C monitor are correct, and adding that the flight actually continues on to San Diego, which is why it's not listed under Phoenix in Terminal A. How helpful. So I finally arrive at my gate in the International terminal, where I board a flight to San Diego so I can get to Phoenix. Right around the time I was originally expecting to. I inspect the stain on my pants and silently thank the cabbie that put it there.
The J.W. Marriott Desert Ridge is actually a pretty nice hotel. It's an obscenely ridiculous place to have a conference, but I'm not complaining. The food is delicious. Most of the staff is incredibly friendly and good at what they do. The bedding is incredibly comfortable. The rooms are immaculate and spacious. The view, if you ignore the golf course, is beautiful. If I had to complain, it'd be the weekend housekeeping and front desk staff. During the week, everything was wonderful, but on the day I arrived . . .
Sunday: Keath versus the housekeeping staff: My only complaint about the aforementioned Philly Homewood is that they bring you three clean towels every day, even if you don't use any of your previous towels. During a week long stay, I've ammassed over a dozen towels. This Marriott weekend staff decided that the towels I used after my shower should be removed. And not replaced. So Monday morning, I had no bath mat, no hand towels, and one less bath towel than the day before. Not a problem, since the room is stocked for a family of four, but if this pattern continues, I could be the soggy man by Wednesday. Fortunately, the Monday staff felt it appropriate to replenish. And to give me a fluffy thing to stand on while brushing my teeth. Bling. Both weekend and weekday staff, however, insisted on turning on all my lights and tuning the radio to the smooth jazz station for turndown service every night. They didn't actually turn the bedding down. They just changed my radio station and turned on all my lights. What the hell?
Monday: Keath versus the expense report: Monday and Tuesday were training sessions which I was attending with Paul, a colleague of mine who brought his fiancé along. For some reason they wanted to have dinner with me. The night before I had been to the Ristorante Tuscany in the hotel, where they have these $1.99 small plates of Italian Tapas type things. They were delicious and quite filling. Somehow, despite getting a full round of these dishes for free due to my silly Marriott Elite status, we managed to rack up quite a significant bill between the three of us that wasn't quite suitable as a business expense. Especially since only two of us were expensable. Is that a word? Who knows. Anyway, I blame the drink specials.
Monday - Thursday: Keath versus Corporate America: I'm not really a very professional minded person, but apparently I dress up nice or something. I played business professional for the week, made a lot of contacts, learned a lot of stuff, did a lot of work in the morning before the conference breakfast, and all around engaged in activities that made me feel old and aren't very interesting to read (or write) about.
Tuesday: Keath versus Physical Fitness: While in London, I ate a lot of bread and drank a lot of cider. Mostly because the only vegetarian stuff I could find were a few pieces of tomato on a big processed roll. Then in Philly I just generally ate too much because it's Philly and there's delicious food everywhere and the hotel was serving a lot of meat so I went to Manayunk almost every day. So I figured that the fancy shmancy restort with the full gym was as good a place as any to get my act back in gear. Sunday went well. I ran a few miles, lifted some weights, and whatnot. Monday, even better: a full half hour of running and starting on bench presses in addition to the wussy weights. A little more Tuesday. And then around midday Tuesday my body realized that I was making it do real exercise: something it hadn't done in almost two years. Poor body. It didn't really do anything to deserve this. Well, there was the nightly pints of lager. But other than that, my body was totally a victim of circumstance.
Thursday: Keath versus the Jalapeño Contest: On Sunday, there was one other guy in my shuttle who was going to the same conference: Dean, who is a Director of Marketing or something along those lines. He was the MC for all the general sessions at the conference and responsible for most of the humor infused in to this year's conference - both things he was very nervous about. (It apparently has a history of not-so-funness) Though he denies it, I blame him for the events of Thursday night. To get dinner on Thursday, we had to get on a bus to an unknown location for our "off-site event." This off-site event was a Mexican Fiesta at Corona Ranch, a banquet facility that provides - well, that provides Mexican Fiestas for corporate events such as a bunch of computer geeks at a software conference. There were mariachis, piñatas, Coronas, margaritas, a combination Tex/Mex rodeo, and, yes, a Jalapeño Eating Contest. My colleagues had already left the conference. My only customer had to head back to her office. I was alone, with the exception of the friendly folks from Birmingham, AL who adopted me on the bus. So what's a guy to do? He wanders aimlessly until a girl at one of the carnival-esque booths offers up a basket jalapeños and asks if I want to eat one. The conversation went something like this: Girl: "Jalapeño?" Keath: "What?" Girl: "Would you like to eat a jalapeño?" Keath: "What's the game? Isn't this a game? Or is this food?" Random guy, sweating profusely from the eyes and every pore that showed: "It's a jalapeño eating contest. Eat one. I did." Keath: "How many did you eat?" Sweaty guy: "Just one. But I'm the champ. I'm not allowed to leave until someone beats me." Keath: "Uh, okay. I'll eat one. What's the prize?" Girl: "I don't know. They give it out at the rodeo. If you eat two or more, you give me your name and I let them know who wins." Sweaty guy: "C'mon. Eat two so I can go get another beer." Keath: "Uh, okay." [Keath eats a raw jalapeño.] Sweaty guy: "There's a rodeo?" Keath: "Driddn't chu shmaaahl it ahn sha wha in?" Girl: "Yes. The rodeo starts soon. [To me] Would you like another jalapeño to hold your title?" Sweaty guy: "No thanks. I'm good." Keath: "Dude. You're sweating from the eye." [Keath eats another jalapeño. Girl hands Keath a bottle of water. Keath consumes a majority of the water.] Girl: "You are the champion now! What is your name?" Keath: "Mmmrrrmmph. Fruuumpph. Ca' I grph wooo a bbrddnesh craaa?" Girl: "Sure." Sweaty guy: "You don't need to stay here, dude. I just made that up. You can come back and eat more all night to hold your title." [Keath hands girl a business card. What else am I going to do with them?] Keath: "You suck. [To girl:] Where's the bathroom? I need to blow my nose. A lot." Nothing exciting happened for a while. I found the restroom, soiled many napkins, and found that there was no bread. I settled for some tortilla wraps with cream cheese in, which someone later pointed out to me contained chile peppers. I didn't notice. Over the next half hour or so I ate two more jalapeños after another guy ate three. Just as they called us in to the rodeo someone ate four, but he didn't give the girl his name. Our Enterprise Sales Manager now knows me as the guy who won the Jalapeño Contest. I'm so proud. And for some reason, later that night, I felt it necessary to e-mail my boss that I won. Jeez.
Footnote: If you read up on the Corona Ranch web site, you'd note that they offer to bring your CEO in on horseback. That's so pedestrian. When you put Dean in charge, he forms a parade: him in front on a donkey, then his boss on a horse, followed by the CEO on a bull. When was the last time you saw a CEO on a bull?
Friday: Keath versus the Boarding Pass Printer: Due to the margaritas (and jalapeños) the night before, I didn't really get up in time to visit the gym before breakfast this morning. That's just as well, as I ended up doing some stepaerobics instead. This evening, I sat in my room trying to catch up on work for a few hours before dinner. I stuck around until I was able to check in for my flight, print the boarding pass to PDF, and save it to my USB memory stick. I headed down to dinner with the intent to print on the way back up. I get up to my room, realize that I haven't printed anything, and head back down. The boarding pass computer is all locked up with this terrible UniGuest system that some hotels use. (The Hilton in Philly uses it too, but only because people kept trashing their systems and requiring them to reinstall everything.) This particular system was locked down to the point where you could only visit a certain preset number of airline web sites (including Midway, which ceased flying under its own name on September 12, 2001, and closed down completely on October 30, 2003). Point is, the system is locked down to the point that I can't access the file system, let alone launch an application. Stupid UniGuest. Will the front desk print the one page for me like any other hotel staff would? Of course not. This is the weekend staff. So back up to my room I go to get my British Airways login info. And back down. Only to learn that the kiosk lets you log in but blocks the "check in for your flight" button, presumably because it launches a javascript function instead of just forwarding you to another britishairways.com URL. Talk about ghetto programming. I wonder if any of them work. So back up to my room to grab the laptop to plug in to the printer. Do I have a driver? Nope. Can I get one? Not without a network. Does this Brother laserjet work with a Generic driver? Don't be silly. Does the hotel have free wifi? Ha! Back up for my cell modem. Back down to sit on the floor while I search for and download the drivers to print my boarding pass. In all my trips up and down the stairs to my room, I apparently, at some point must have kicked the kiosk in frustration. As I'm downloading my driver, hotel security swarms me and asks if they can help. Mike, from Loss Prevention, squats down to check on my intentions. The thing is, they're not concerned that I'm sitting there plugged in to the printer, bypassing the stupid kiosk. They're concerned that I kicked the plastic base and might be a violent vagrant who took a shuttle out to a golf resort in the middle of the desert to cause problems. Convinced that I am not there to cause Marriott dozens of dollars in equipment costs, Mike and his backups go off to write up their report or whatever it is they need to do as I finally get a boarding pass out of the printer, only an hour (and four trips up and down the stairs) after initially realizing that I needed a boarding pass. Being the wholesome citizen that I am, I hook everything back up and print a test page from the kiosk just to make sure that if any airlines' sites work, it won't be my fault that someone else can't print. Back up in my room, the complementary rusty nail I got with dinner welcomes me back, albiet a bit diluted from it's initial form. Thank you, Austin. If it wasn't for Austin, my bartender this fine evening, I'd probably be in a Phoenix jail right now for setting my room on fire in frustration.
Yeah. Laugh it up. Next week's post won't have nearly as many things to make fun of me over. I promise.
Reunited and it feels so . . .
November 9, 2006
At 7:30 last Saturday evening, I was overcome with loneliness. It was really loneliness for just one person, though, since I was with three other people at the time. Unfortunately, none of them was Keath, who had just arrived back from England and was staying in NJ with his parents. Knowing he was so close was gnawing at my gut, so I got in the Suburban, bought an almost ridiculously large cup of Dunkin' Donuts (something I truly miss when we're out west) and got on the NY Thruway to surprise him where he slept. Luckily, we got new phones and mine now has a headset, so I was able to talk to folks and the time just flew by. Ha.
I arrived at Keath's parents house around midnight and called him to tell him I was going to sleep and he should come unlock the door for me. He was confused for a bit, since he had been sound asleep, but soon we had a wonderful reunion just inside the Winter family doorway. Incidentally, as I write about this emotional reunion, my internet radio is playing the grand, sweeping overture from 
Romeo and Juliet, so it all just seems a touch more majestic in my mind.
But enough of Tchaikovsky. The next day we drove to Philly, where Keath is working this week. We had a lovely dinner somewhere in Manayunk and just enjoyed being together for the first time in weeks.
Monday night, we went to see Johnette Napolitano, of Concrete Blonde fame. It was a solo acoustic show and it was absolutely fantastic. She's funny and irreverent and soulful and all those other things people say about solo performers. It was a great show and we were very glad we remembered to go.
The rest of the week, we pretty much laid low. I worked on NaNo, Keath worked at work and we hung out together in the hotel the rest of the time, occasionally going to Manayunk for food. Oh, and I tried to buy jeans at Lord & Taylor, but it was a disaster. Of course, anytime I try to buy jeans it's something of a disaster, but this was a pricey one.
November 9, 2006
Round about November 1, I realized that I was in London oh so close to Guy Fawkes Day. Remember, remember, the fifth of November. Then travel to the US on the fourth. D'oh! I only recently learned to check for UK Bank Holidays before scheduling training in the UK. Now I need to remember to check on those cool local holidays that might provide reasonable weekend entertainment before scheduling the specific flight schedule. Jeez.
Anyway, it was still good to get back to the US with time to spend with my parents in NJ before heading to PA. It was even better to be awoken at a quarter of midnight to a wife on my parents' front porch. Who could ask for a better surprise? She's my favorite. I think I'll keep her.
Work is never fun, but with a travel & training schedule as busy as this week (well, these six weeks) it's even less fun. But it pays for our vagrant lifestyle, so rock on. And I get to see my wife each night, which is far better than calling her. And there's less fattening pub food involved.
Johnette Napolitano was indeed awesome. Seeing her the night before Election Day was an extra special treat. With all the frank (expletive laden) political commentary and friendly but firm mockery of drunken, hyper-appreciative front row fans, we totally didn't see Andy Prieboy's Tommorrow Wendy coming. It's somehow even more moving when it takes you by surprise.
So, yeah, not looking forward to parting ways with my love again, but Phoenix calls. And then London again. And then . . . I'm losing track. Back to work.
The continuing parallel adventures of us
So, uh, if we keep posting new stuff within the "October 15..." section, that gets to be a pain to read, eh?
God we need a redesign.
November 3, 2006
Hillbilly pirates. Yeeeeeeeehaaaawww! Last Saturday we attended the first annual Grand Slambovian Hillbilly Pirate Ball. We obviously went in costume and we looked absolutely awesome. We thought so and everyone else must have as well, because we won the costume contest. Okay, we tied, but we were the only winners dressed like hillbilly pirates. The other winners were dressed like signs.
I think our rabid love for dressing up for Halloween is one of the things that keep Keath and I together. Online dating services should use Halloween as one of their compatibility factors, because getting a dress up person and a non-dress up person together would be a bad move. It's something people feel very strongly about. We both love to dress up, love going to thrift stores trying to find pieces of outfits and then definitely love putting it all together on the night in question. I am a bit more into the make-up aspect than Keath, but that's to be expected.
The ball was absolutely fabulous and fun. We danced and sang along and pogo-ed like fools at the end (after the big ol' pirate boots came off.) The band seemed to be having a blast too, whooping it up on some pirate songs and sea shanties they had learned earlier that day. They did a great job with it, since they have an absolutely killer touring schedule and no label or anything to back them up. They do everything on their own and it's always a good time.
In other news... there really isn't any. I'm staying put, which has its pros and cons. Seeing my friend every day is a pro, since she's a lot of fun and entirely different from me. Half the fun we have is getting the other person's perspective on everything and anything. Gym membership is a huge pro. I get to take classes and work out whenever I want and subject myself to the whims of the slightly sadistic personal trainer who teaches the sculpting class.
On the con side is the obvious of not being with Keath and not getting to pick up and move. I miss moving, I miss seeing new things and new people and I miss Keath like crazy. I feel somewhat adrift without him near me. But next week I'm going down to Philly to be with him for part of the week, which will be nice. Somehow, traveling in a 15 year old Suburban that makes questionable noises isn't as much fun as traveling in our van, so random road trips hold little appeal. Another con? The trees. I've become allergic to my home region after living among the rocks for so long, so I miss the desert, too. Not that we're staying there for a terribly long time once we return to regular life, but my runny nose misses the hypo-allergenic aspect of Arizona.
That's about it from my end. Life isn't terribly exciting, except for in my head, where I'm working on my NaNo novel. My website has more on that, though not the plot or anything, since that's still coming together. It's long, it's complicated, it's ridiculously ambitious, it's fun!
For some reason, I want to end my update in this way: Peace out. (Is there supposed to be a comma somewhere? Am I incredibly un-hip for worrying about the punctuation of this phrase?)
November 3, 2006
Hillbilly Pirates indeed. There really isn't much more to say about Gandalf Murphy and the Slambovian Circus of Dreams except that they had a professional photographer at the Ball that has four galleries worth of photos available for your viewing (and purchasing) pleasure. (And we should probably clarify that we tied for the couple's prize; there was a separate prize for individuals, and that guy was in full-on hillbilly pirate mode as well.)
Oh, and in addition to the sea shanties they did an awesome tribute to Syd Barrett that's available via MP3 or from a little flash plugin in the corner of their web site.
The next day was a bit melancholy; we went to the unveiling for Annette (Keath's step-grandmother), which is always tough, but it's also nice to get to see family, regardless of circumstances.
That night, however, I had to head up to Newark for an overnight flight to London, to train my UK colleagues in an upcoming release. The flight was pleasantly uneventful, although a bit turbulent which impaired my ability to really get a full night's sleep before work. Ugh. Virgin Atlantic Airlines, by the way, is an awesome airline, especially compared to our recent transatlantic flight on British Airways. All comfort factors and courteous staffing issues aside, the simple fact that they have on-demand movies, tv, music, and other audio content which works properly puts them way above the rest. I need to find an excuse to fly them more often. Too bad they don't fly in to Philly.
London was, as usual, quite nice, despite the lack of Ceridwen. I didn't really have time to do much besides work and walk back and forth between my office and hotel. Staying at the Hilton Olympia instead of the worst hotel in London was definately a good choice.
I did learn that the pub across from the Hilton has a handful of hotel rooms available above it, but they are all booked for my next visit. I'll need to check out a room while I'm there though; sounds like a nice place to stay, and a bit less sterile and corporate than Hilton.
October 15 until further notice: All over the place. Apart.
October 16, 2006: Keath Turns 30
Yesterday we flew from Phoenix to Newark and spent the night with Keath's family in New Jersey. After work on Monday, there were balloons and ice cream cake before we had to head in to Philly. Balloons and ice cream cake work wonders against the agony of the number 30. As does one's parents insisting that you can't be old, because that would mean they're old. Parents are good like that. (Thanks, parents! You fresh young whippersnappers!)
We spent a couple of days working from Philly before returning to Jersey on Thursday. We met up with Keath's friend from high school, Brian, who also turned 30 on Monday. Brian and his wife Heather are themselves parents. Parents of an adorable little girl named Alena who is able to sleep through our gallavanting. Good girl.
On Friday, however, it was time to part ways. This day snuck up on us much sooner than expected, and Friday night was no picnic for either of us. A brief word of explanation: Keath has to travel a lot this fall (as the occassional post will hopefully reveal) and the costs of Ceridwen following him around got very silly very quickly. Plus there's the whole lack of creative inspiration from the beige walls of business hotels. And the fact that Keath rarely gets out of work anywhere close to "on time" when he's travelling. So she's shacking up with her former college roommate up in Pittsfield, Mass, and will hopefully have a significantly better time of things than she would otherwise. We already miss each other greatly, and it is terrible. But most people don't get to see each other during the work day, every day, and go everywhere with one another a majority of the time. So we shan't complain. We shall raise our chins and say to the world: uh, something clever! Yes. We shall.
And we shall try to figure out a clever way to both post our goings on. Or at the very least our locations.
Ceridwen: Oct 26, 2006
Well, my old college roommate and I seem to have picked up right where we left off. Ten years ago, at 18, we shared a ten by ten cinderblock room with one window and bunk beds. Now we're sharing her much nicer and larger apartment. It’s just as easy and just as fun, despite the fact that we're arguably better adjusted now than we were then. Heaven help the person who is less well adjusted at 28 than 18.
Despite my running from New England in the winter, I seem to be drawn back here for the fall, and every time, I'm surprised by how freaking cold it gets here, even in October. Just another reason to run before the winter brings out the big guns. As if to make up for it, the cold brings with it a fabulous smell. It's probably the smell of rotting leaves mixing with the noxious fumes coming from everyone's chimney, but I love it nonetheless.
Keath: Oct 26, 2006
I'd say that living with my parents isn't as much fun as living with my college roommate, but in my case that's not so true. I never really had a college roommate. My freshman year roommate moved out by the first week of October. We got along okay, but just didn't work as roommates I guess. My sophomore year roommate was always spending his nights with other exchange students (he's Japanese) and usually came home long after I'd gone to bed, so we never really saw each other except in passing. My parents, on the other hand, raised me, and are quite fun in their own right.
I've definately had enough New Jersey for the time being though.
Since Verizon decided that I shouldn't be allowed to connect to my office's VPN through my parents' DSL line, I've been commuting to work with my father. Which is a big, bold reminder of why I didn't move to Philadelphia. (This is not traffic whining! It's commuting whining! That's different.) Anyway, not a lot of excitement or deep philosophical reflections on life. Just a lot of trying to get packed up for next week: London.
But first, I get to see my wife one last time: we're going to The Grand Slambovian Hillbilly Pirate Ball on Saturday. If you live within a reasonable distance of Northampton, you should go too. Gandalf Murphy and The Slambovian Circus of Dreams is a great band that you will enjoy, no matter what your tastes. Plus, you get to dress up like a hillbilly pirate.
October 8-14, 2006: Goodyear, Arizona
Saturday, October 7, 2006
Happy Birthday, dad. Today we left the ocean and headed for the desert. Which took us through LA with a trailer. Oh, yeah, that was fun. The traffic on 101 was hideous. Even on a Saturday those on-ramp meter lights were running and we were in a standstill for quite awhile. There is a certain satisfaction in saying "Yeah, we headed south from Puget Sound, then hooked a left when we hit LA." But we're not quite sure LA is worth it. In fact, we're not quite sure why anyone would want to live there. Some day we'll figure it out.
Once we left the greater LA metropolitan area (which is about 100 miles across) we were dumped rather unceremoniously into the deep desert. Which was something of a relief. We had decided to camp at Joshua Tree National Park for our overnight, rather than trying to find a Wal-Mart or truck stop. It was a beautiful evening, so we took a hike out from our campground and just enjoyed wandering the desert. We had roasted wienies for dinner and then just hung out around the fire. It was a full moon, so the place was lit up like daytime even at midnight. Ceridwen got up around then just to enjoy the stillness outside, since earlier the desert quietness had been interrupted by the guy in the next campsite who liked steak so much he talked about it for three hours. Loudly.
Sunday, October 8, 2006
The Folsom Prison Blues? Today we passed a state prison in which we're sure all the inmates wished they were in Folsom. We had been driving through the California desert along I-10 for a really long time with no exits, when a cheerful green sign announced that a state prison and a rest area were off the next exit. This was, of course, followed by the bright yellow admonition to not stop for hitchhikers. Which always raises the question: is someone who is smart enough to get out of the actual prison complex really dumb enough to hitchhike? We digress.
We got out at the rest stop and nearly buckled under the heat. The sun was relentless, the landscape nothing but sage brush and rocks for miles. We could see the prison a few miles down the road, glimmering in the sun. A big concrete box, absolutely nothing for miles around. Ugh. We're rather curious about their recidivism rate.
October 9-14: Desert Sprawl, baby!
There's an old cartoon by Don Martin of MAD Magazine fame that goes something along these lines: a real estate developer is taking a group of potential home buyers through the proposed development. They see the proposed school, the proposed clubhouse and proposed golf course. The last frame is the group stumbling on the proposed tennis court where people are playing with signs that say "proposed raquet" and "proposed ball". The guide is speechless.
This cartoon is where we are. The Phoenix Valley of Arizona. Ceridwen went to the Goodyear Community Park to go running. Parts of this park are done, parts are still proposed. In fact, as she jogged, she kept going from the "proposed walking path" to the "actual walking path." Some parts were dirt, some were poured concrete. The trail ran through proposed developments and along a road that seemed to be nothing more than construction access. And she wasn't the only one there. Apparently, residents want to take advantage of their suburban lifestyle as soon as possible, even if there are backhoes in the playground.
Even more surreally, there's an easy way to tell which areas of "the valley" remain unincorporated - it's where the palm trees end. Where there are people, subdivisions and box stores, there are palm trees planted in the median. They abruptly end when you reach the "rural" areas of desert. It's like we're in an alternate universe. We're still too bitter about the traffic to even write about it. Suffice it to say, we actually wish we were in Jersey.
The week has certainly not been our most eventful, fun or recreational. We've been busily searching for a place to store the boys while we're gone. On Tuesday we went out to find the one place that still had room, only to get stuck in the hideous traffic that defines Phoenix until well after the storage place closed. Wednesday, we went back, still got stuck in traffic, but at least we made it there before they closed. You can actually drive from Manhatten to Philly in less time than it takes to cross Phoenix. (See? And people mock New Jersey traffic!)
We did manage to rent a spot and meet a woman who, as of now, wins the "Weirdest Person We've Met on Our Travels" award. Wow. She was a doozy. From delusionally thinking she had a Marilyn Monroe-type body (MM was TINY, curvy, but tiny) to sharing her somewhat suspect child rearing techniques with us, this woman had our eyes wide and our mouths working to keep from gaping. Bits and pieces of her will be showing up in Ceridwen's work from now until the day she dies or gives up writing, whichever comes first.
The rest of the week will be spent packing and trying to get the trailer cleaned for storage. Fun times. See, it's not all glitz and glamour, people. There's a dirty side to our cyberpunk bohemia.
Next week, we'll be in New Jersey and Philadelphia. We promise not to rant about the traffic or crazy people.
We'll be back in Phoenix Sprawl at the end of the year. We'll post up some perty desert photos then. For now, picture sand, sun, rocks, and cacti. Toss a bleach white cattle skull in there for good measure.
October 1-7, 2006: Grover Beach, California
Take a drive baby up the coast, yeah highway 101... Or, down the coast, or fairly inland of the coast, yeah. But definately Highway 101. At least until our clever plot to circumnavigate San Francisco, where the aforementioned Highway 101 unceremoniously turns in to Division Street. Apparently, we could have done this the easy way and hopped on 580 through the East Bay, but we weren't so hot on the idea of Zoomba and the many bridges and whatnot. Plus, where's the fun in that? We had miles of Napa and Sonoma valley to drive through on winding roads. And besides, if we took the interstate through Oakland, we'd have missed out on the fun night we call . . .
Loaded in Lodi
It's really not that exciting a story. But you can have a good chuckle at our expense. Suffice it to say that the truck stop in Lodi was decidedly vague about whether or not they'd kick us out if we tried to spend the night in their lot, so we instead chose the local KOA. (In california, there's really not much point in staying at a State Park just for the night, as they cost nearly as much as private parks and this particular one was quite a ways down a dirt road.) This campground was also a Marina, and had a yacht store, an outdoor movie theater (showing Pirates of the Carribean this fine evening), a small restaraunt, and, yes, a bar. It was date night, after all, so we had ourselves a tasty ravioli dinner (noticably devoid of the spinach advertised on their menu) and a couple of glasses of wine.
After dinner, we retired to the bar and proceeded to have more glasses of wine, and assorted and sundry other intoxicating liquors. Which was all fine and good, until a friendly local started chatting us up and bought a round (or two? three? Can't really say...) of Sex with an Alligator. Apparently, there was also a point when the bartender said something along the lines of "Here you go. This is a What the hell is this? Is it any good?" In short, we did not get the good night's sleep that we probably should have aimed for before driving the remaining 250ish miles to Grover Beach.
Morning came, we learned that the bathroom locks were indeed as difficult to operate as they seemed the night before, we managed to get hitched up and away in a reasonable amount of time, and we started to realize we had lost things. Ceridwen left her glasses in Crescent City. Keath left his hat in the bar. The Crescent City campground had found Ceridwen's glasses, but for some reason we needed to call back on Tuesday for them to ship them to us. The bar had absolutely no sign of Keath's hat. We're hoping that either the bartender or the friendly local looks smashing in it. As we pulled on to the highway, we realized that we also left our level on the ground at the campsite. After the glasses and the hat, we decided to take the loss and just get the hell out of town. Lodi is such a bad influence on us. We should go back some time.
Classic California
This is the statement made by the flags decorating the Pismo Beach pier. Since this area is what you think of when you think of California, it's a pretty accurate statement. Granted, in our idealized vision of California, the breeze isn't so cold it drives your hands into your pockets, the water isn't a strange murky red and the surfers are not wearing wetsuits. Since it's October, though, this only makes sense. The only place in the US that really has this sort of imaginary eternal summer is Hawaii.
On Wednesday we hung out on the beach, soaking up the sun and enjoying the relatively calm day. Most of the week had been extremely windy, with gusts kicking the dunes up into our eyes. We made a sand face, which you can see here: 
Wednesday night we walked down to the pier to watch the sunset. While the sunset itself was a bit gray due to clouds on the horizon, we had fun watching the pelicans dive bomb into the water to catch their dinner. Every time one would get his fish, some sort of little black scavenger bird would accost the pelican, trying to get a piece of the action. The pelicans pretty much ignored the little pests. Once the sun had set, we wandered around the downtown and got a cannoli for dessert. Tasty.
After canolis we encountered something we have not seen since college: Theater of Magic! We quickly learned that our pinball skills are more than rusty. So, we wondered briefly what Don Quixote was doing set in tile on the alleyway between two bars, then called it a night.
Friday night, when Keath was finally done with work (It was a very long week, starting with Keath being terribly sick on Monday, which, as we all know, only increases the workload, just to spite the body's need to sleep for 18 hours.) we checked out some of what lies in The Other Direction. In The Other Direction (south), there is a vehicular access beach, which you might think is filled with dune buggies and the like. But no, people just drive their street vehicles (and RVs) out on the beach to make it easier to whip out their kiteboarding gear (or watch the kiteboarders). We drove in the the actual town of Grover Beach, learned that it was not all that exciting, and headed back up to Pismo for the sunset. Instead of canolis this time, we checked out some caramel apples and chocolate covered strawberries. Pismo is nice. It's like a well maintained version of the Jersey shore. Classic California indeed.
From here it's to the desert, where it's apparently still in the 90s. Keath is excited, and even Ceridwen is looking forward to it. It's a cliche, but it really is different when it's a dry heat.
September 24-30, 2006: Crescent City, California
Our first day on the road between Anacortes and Crescent City was decidedly slow-started. We forgot to set the alarm, lolled about for a bit and then finally got on the road around 9:30. Sad. But we made it past Salem, OR around 5 and checked into a campground for the night. After some truly horrendous basketball playing, we went to bed early in the hopes of getting up early. We succeeded and were back on the highway before 5am. Since everyone knows the stuff you do before dawn doesn't count, it felt like we'd never even done the second half of our two day drive and were eating lunch on the beach by noon.
Making up hand signals
Are we more popular than we know or is something wrong with our van? Lately, many people have been waving happily at us as they pass us on the highway. We usually respond with a flustered, confused wave of our own. Then we wonder if our website has some sort of cult following or if they're trying to flag us down because our sewer hose is dragging behind us.
So we know the difference, we've decided to try to institute a hand gesture for our 'fans' to use when they wave. Here it is: try it yourself. Cross your middle finger over the index, then hold your pinkie and ring fingers together. Keep your thumb out to make an L. Keath claims this stands for 'I love Vantom' while Ceridwen worries we're going to think people are throwing up gang signs at us.
There's even photos!!
The big plus here is ocean and lots of it. We're camped among redwoods and generally frolicking along the beach. Here's some frolicking:
You may note that Ceridwen is more skilled at beach frolicking than Keath is. He's working on this. Here are some redwoods: 
For some amusing shots of us hugging, nestling in, and mimicing the knotwork of some redwoods, just click the respective adjective. (Use your browser's back button to get back here.)
Ceridwen picked a bunch of blackberries in the campground and made blackberry cobbler. It was good and messy, just like cobbler should be. Here's some purple faces: 
We've also made a habit of heading to the beach with dinner and playing Scrabble (America's favorite word game!) while watching the sunset. In exploring different beaches in the area, we quickly learned the valuable lesson that you should always bring a compass with you if you plan on watching the sunset. Or better yet, check a map before heading out. Here's where you don't want to try to watch the sunset:
. . . And a very very good place to watch the sunset:
We'll spare your bandwidth the redundant and somewhat fuzzy pacific sunset photos. If you want some, let us know and we'll e-mail you a plethora.
The second half of the week saw significantly more fog and thus, fairly less dramatic sunsets. We still went out and romped about in the Redwoods a bit. Thursday we headed out to check out some of the scenic outlooks along the side of Crescent City. The Ceridwen violated some sage safety advice from the Army Corps of Engineers and then we strolled around the grounds until we felt at home. Or at least felt chilly enough to move on to the next lookout. There was a nice lighthouse at Battery Point. Supposedly, there is another one just a bit north of that, but if it was there, then the fog was really thick. There were also hoodrats reading Dungeons & Dragons books on the overlook. Not playing D&D - just reading the books for a fun way to pass the afternoon. Or something. Clearly, we need to move further south, where there is less fog, more sun, and hopefully more entertainment for hoodrat youths.
September 17-23, 2006: Anacortes, Washington
They say you should always start your story off in the middle of the action. So, here we go.
The day we almost died:
We were happily cruising our way across Interstate 90 from Spokane to Seattle. Vantom humming along, rolling across the flat highway, preparing himself for the pass through the Cascades. Zoomba was rolling along behind, all tires properly inflated by the good folks at the Deer Park Les Schwab. Keath and Ceridwen were happily belted in, chatting about something or other. And then, as we came around a bend somewhere between Ellensburg and Cle Elum, Keath spotted a bunch of tan heads poking up out of the ginglies on the side of the road. They were swaying back and forth, looking at the thick forest to their right, then to the three lanes of high speed steel boxes between them and the median. Keath hesitates, just in case, you know, they did something crazy. At about three car lengths, they decided that the median was definately where they wanted to be. As we slammed on the brakes, Ceridwen noted that they are certainly not deer. Elk or moose, if not some giant species of deer which is not of this Earth. Fortunately, there was nobody in the lane on either side of us, and we were able to steer Vantom in front of Zoomba as Mr. Z tried to take control of the situation. And that is why you should always make sure your trailer brakes are properly adjusted. As we got close enough that if we were in any National Park with Rangers worth their badge we would have been told to stop crowding the wildlife, the fourth or fifth unidentified member of the Cervidae family decided that maybe this wasn't so hot an idea. The party broke off, leaving their friends stranded on their way to the median and us a large enough gap to drive through just in the nick o' time. Whether they ever caught up with the first few, or if the first few found an opportunity to double back, or if there was some terrible massacre as the cars a quarter mile behind us caught up, we don't know.
We do know that the smell of burning rubber was enough to shake us from our shock, and we pulled into the aforementioned town of Cle Elum to let the tires, brakes, and heartbeats cool down. It's a nice town, there's a lot of construction, and not a lot of places to park a van with trailer in tow. But we found a wide enough street and confirmed that no brakes burned out - all odors must have been tire on pavement. Which is a good thing.
So up and over the Cascades it was, with plans to take a little short cut around Seattle from North Bend to Redmond. It didn't happen, but the traffic jam we hit was north of where we would have come out anyway. Amusingly, the traffic jam was caused by a highway widening project managed by a client of Keath's. They had thoughtful signs reminding people that these delays were so they could widen the highway, making life better in the long run. And they have a big shiny building you can see while sitting in traffic. Which is nice. We suppose.
Where were we going?
How'd that work? You all drawn in to the story now? Good. We got to Anacortes, had every park employee in sight offer to help us back in to our site, hooked up, and checked out our newly acquired tourist literature...
The rest of our stay in Anacortes was much less eventful. We went to check out the Jazz Festival, which was suspiciously 'smooth jazz' centric. We lazed about our campsite, checked out Deception Pass, Cap Sante Park and Orcas Island. All in all, it was a nice stay in the PacWest, despite the characteristic drizzliness.
