Chicago, Illinois

Intonation 2006

There's nothing like a festival.

A beautiful way to start the summer.

A neighborhood park transformed into an exotic playground.

I think the highlight for me was an appropriately named band called "High on Fire".

Either that or watching my colleague get up on stage and dance with Ghostface Killer.

That doesn't happen everyday.

Dallas, Texas

Dear friends.

Attacked by cat-person.

Please send antidote.

Chicago, USA.

An unexpected afternoon at the hospital.

My beautiful sister gets sick ... gives me a call to come down and give some support.

They made us wait forever for a physician to arrive. I decided to take matters into my own hands.

Fine, I'm not a doctor. And I don't neccesarily have a "medical" degree.... But I did take my fair share of science classes back in high school.

How hard could it be?

Apparently harder than I thought.

It's absolutely amazing how many things start beeping in a hospital when the patient starts to "react" to the treatment.

Beeeeeep! Beeeeeeeep!

Wow. That sounds seems bad.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!

Neat. Those two scary life-support looking machines seem to ring in harmony when I squeeze this IV bag. Ooooooooooh....

Chicago, USA.

A week of juxtipositions.

No need to choose my own adventure.

As long as there's some adventure...

Summer begins.

Dallas, USA.

The eyes of Texas are upon you.

It's 100 degrees here in the metroplex.

I melt into the leather seats of the rented Ford Taurus. The whiny Hertz "Neverlost" navigation system slowly messing with me. "Turn left now" "Turn left now" "Turn left now". I turn right just to see how the system will compensate. It starts making a whirring noise and shuts down. Oh god. I am so lost. So so lost.

The Loss Damage Waiver releases me from all obligations of ever needing to return the car in one piece. I never understood why they do this... if I return the car in one piece, thirty minutes late, then they bill me $50 for an extra day.... but if I bring in a piece of the car's twisted fender, a burnt hubcap or a crazy story about how the vehicle was stripped by bandits, then it's all gratis.

Dallas has been taken over with NBA finals madness. It's great. The energy fills the town like a rental car on fire in the night. A rental car on fire...

Midflight.

I must be over Arkansas.

At this altitude it’s hard to tell. It all looks rather similar.

The pilot says Arkansas though, so that’s what I’ll believe. I never quite understood why pilots feel the need to communicate during a flight. They always seem to drift in and out of pilot-speak. I do not know what Tango-Niner-Delta means. I don’t think anyone does. Nonetheless, the man sitting behind the computer that flies the plane feels the need to impress me with his lingo.

I’ve tried this. I’ve tried making up words that I gently insert into everyday conversation. It’s interesting to watch the results. I gave a presentation a few days ago with the word “equisalient” in it. Most of the people in the room thought that it was a real word. If you say anything with enough conviction, people believe you. If you say anything slow enough, people think it’s important.

“Always…..put…..salt…..in…..your…..eyes….”

The airplane lurches to the left. Nothing changes.

This must still be Arkansas. Perhaps there are separate intercom systems and the pilot tells us in coach that we’re over Arkansas while he praises those in first class for their foresight to choose a window seat on this exciting flight over the American Riviera?

We could be flying into Stalingrad. I couldn’t care less. It’s all the same.

I particularly enjoy the “thank you” message at the end of the flight. I wish cab rides had the same informative blather.

“Welcome to the West Side. It is now safe to turn on any electronic devices such as pagers or silencers. The dealer you’re looking for is the gentleman wearing the green track suit on the corner in front of the burnt-out car. We want to thank you for choosing to ride with Yellow Cab today and hope that you enjoy the rest of your evening here or wherever your final destination may be.”

It’s 06/06/06 today. Many of the suburban rats I know think that this means something.

I gently remind them they are as Pagan as I am Hindu.

Chicago, USA.

Marketing is so interesting.

The musical performer Robin Thicke was unable to crack the code and build an audience for himself when he was marketed as a alterna-pop wunderkid.

His songs were great, but he was so awkward looking when you watched him in person.

So the people at his record label tried their hardest to change his image through creative marketing, from squeeky clean white boy to funk soul brother.

One thing was presenting him as a hip-hop crooner.

Last night watched in horror as squeeky-clean Mr. Thicke was presented to an invitation only audience with legitimate street cred. A hip hop DJ warmed up the urban crowd. They even handed out free drinks and tried to pump up Robin's supposed connection to Pharrell Williams.

Poor Mr. Thicke. I thought the crowd was going to rise up and stab him to death. I think without the free drinks, they might have. He comes on stage and whimpers through two identical sounding piano ballads. Then he performs a kareoke version of his own latest single.

He was completely oblivious.

Of course, as long as they keep him under wraps and never show him in public with the exception of extremely limited appearances, the album will sell like hotcakes.

Does anyone buy hotcakes anymore?