The rest of 2006

Has it really been over two months since I've posted here? I guess time flies when the year is winding down and, among other things, you're...

buying a house,
working from Nashville
and Louisville,
visiting LA for Thanksgiving
(and watching yet another demoralizing Irish loss),
stopping by Indianapolis
and Cincinnati,
and doing the whole Christmas thing.

Remember me?

I'm in Lumberton, NC on business and just got back to the hotel from dinner -- at the exact same group of restaurants we stopped at with the Bandits on the trip to Augusta. That coincidence itself isn't worth mentioning, except that it brings to mind certain other events of that weekend. I figured now is as good a time as any to post the following story, which was written after the weekend of June 1.

Thursday afternoon started out with a drinking emergency. The Clubhouse, where we usually do our pre-kickball drinking, would not be available, so I needed a place to get hammered before our game at 7:30. Adding to my sense of urgency was the fact that I wasn’t going in to work the next day; all I had to do was get to Brandermill in the morning and catch the Bandits’ bus to Augusta. So I really didn’t want to waste any time that could otherwise be spent pouring alcohol down my throat. I e-mailed my kickball teammate Ford, who is renowned for his willingness and ability to throw a few back, and he graciously invited everyone to his house for the pregame. Before our previous 7:30 game, almost the whole team showed up at the clubhouse and we all had a really good time, so I was hoping a bunch of people would stop by Ford’s that night. Turns out it was just me and him, which didn’t bother me at all since the bar was fully stocked. He also had a couple of glass jars of some discolored liquid with pieces of fruit floating in it that he had made last weekend. I didn’t even want to know what was in it; I could only assume that it contained significant quantities of grain alcohol and was at least 125 proof. After a couple of glasses of that – and eating the fruit, which by then had become engorged after absorbing the alcohol – I switched to rum and cokes until it was time to go to the field. Though I didn’t drink anything during the game, I sure was feeling the effects as my hand-eye coordination deteriorated the last couple of innings.

After the game, nobody on the team wanted to go to Mulligan’s. This disappointed me not so much because I really wanted to hang out with them, but because of the overall attitude that they were too busy for kickball activities, which all but statutorily mandate that you go to the bar after the game. I was still going to go to Mulligan’s anyway, but Ford suggested Buddy’s instead and I was fine with that too. I stopped home quickly to change, and, not knowing when I would return home, packed my bag for the football trip. By the time I made it to Buddy’s I had not had a drink for over two hours but was still pretty hammered. I sat at the bar, ordered a beer, and that’s the last thing I could swear to remember happening. Bits and pieces of the evening stick out, like the beer I spilled all over the bar, and seeing some kind of hockey on the TV. Somehow in my stupor, it occurred to me to close my tab, but when I asked the bartender for my check, he told me it was already taken care of. Puzzled, I asked again, and he reiterated that my tab was taken care of. That was enough to convince me, and I put it out of my mind. The only other thing I remember about Buddy’s was talking to some girl, and quite possibly hugging on her and making an ass out of myself. The next thing I know, it’s 8:15 am and I am being woken up by my phone. I checked my alarm clock and saw that I’d set it for 7, but either not turned it on or (more likely) slept right through it. I panicked a little, because the bus was leaving at 9:00. I got dressed, threw an entire bottle of Advil in my bag and, when drinking some orange juice in a futile effort to hydrate myself, noticed that the shirt I had worn the night before was on the kitchen counter. This is all in between throwing up a couple of times and saying to myself over and over, just get to Brandermill and you can sleep on the bus all day. I was driving on 288 thinking to myself, I’m going to cut it pretty close to 9:00, but I probably still won’t be the guy that holds everyone up because no previous trip had started within a half hour of the time they said we were leaving. So at 9:02 by my car’s clock, I was turning into the Brandermill driveway from Hull Street, and Travis called to ask where the hell I was because the bus was ready. I was just stunned. “You gotta be fucking kidding me” was the exact thought that went through my head. I threw the equipment underneath the bus, threw my bag in the empty seat in front of mine, mumbled an apology to the coach who was sitting across from me, and threw myself in my seat and was dead to the world before the bus turned on Hull Street.

I didn’t wake up until we stopped for lunch in Fayetteville, and was still mostly feeling like shit but decided to at least get off the bus and drink some water. But as soon as I entered the restaurant, my stomach started growling at me fiercely. I thought, OK, let’s try some food, and the next thing I know I’ve put away two pieces of fried chicken, hush puppies, and a huge serving of potato salad. Feeling much, much better, it occurred to me to check my wallet and see if I had actually retrieved my credit card last night. There it was, and in the right place no less. The post-drinkathon inventory continued as I checked my outgoing calls to see if I’d drunk dialed anyone the night before. There were no outbound calls, and also to my relief, no incoming calls. I did check my contacts, and there was a new entry that wasn’t there Thursday afternoon – someone named Margo. I laughed to myself, thoroughly entertained at the thought that in my state last night I was still charming enough to get someone to give me her phone number. How freakin’ drunk was she, I wondered.

The rest of the weekend was relatively uneventful – I didn’t relapse at all and was feeling normal by Friday night. We got back early Sunday morning, I slept much of the day, and first thing Monday I was on the road to Charlotte for work. I spent the night there, and as my last meeting with the Davidson honchos Tuesday morning was wrapping up, we exchanged business cards – and I found that I didn’t have any with me. This was slightly strange to me, since I make it a point to always carry at least a couple of cards in my wallet, but I just figured I forgot to put any more in there since I gave my last one away some time ago. That had happened before. I got back to my office Tuesday afternoon and checked my messages, and saw this in my work e-mail:

From: Margo [lastname]
To: [my work e-mail]
Sent: Friday, June 02, 2006 9:10 AM
Subject: Buddy's...

Tim,

Hey! Remember me?? Sorry for the performance at Buddy's last night... I'm usually not that girl. Anyway... email me later (if you want) because I had SUCH a good time hanging out with you!

Ah, so that’s where my last business card went! There’s no other way she could possibly have gotten my work e-mail. And apparently, I was not only so charming that she gave me her number, but my game was so good that she had to e-mail me at 9:10 the next morning to tell me how much fun she had! Granted, that may indicate that she’s a little bit crazy, but even if that’s the case, sign me up. I got this crazy train started and I’m staying on to see where it ends!

Time keeps on ticking, ticking

After making the rounds of a few Fan bars last night, I was walking from Easy Street to my car near Buddy's. I passed a couple of places I haven't been to in quite some time and got to reminiscing. I remember a time when I hung out in Commercial Taphouse at least once a week, and I remember some of the people I hung out there with. It seems to me that almost every time I was there, I met a new friend of a friend, some of whom became semi-regulars, some of whom were simply passing through town on the journey of their life. Everyone had a story, and it's the stories I remember more than what they looked like or even their names. Of my group of friends at the time, some are still good friends of mine, others have moved or started families or otherwise just faded away. I still remember the good times and on occasions like last night wonder what some of them are up to these days.

I wonder if they remember me.

Bull's eye

I had another follow-up exam with my PRK doctor yesterday. If it seems like I haven't talked much about it lately, that's right and that's by design. As you might imagine, when recovering from eye surgery, no news is good news. I had no problems since my last checkup so this was (hopefully) going to be just another routine visit. The good news started immediately: I was measured at 20/20 in both eyes, and just a shade under 20/20 when using both eyes. (That's my story, anyway; the 20/20 line came into slightly clearer focus after I took the little paddle off of the other eye.) Then doc took a good look at my corneas, and mentioned how he is still absolutely amazed at what laser surgery can do and how natural the eye looks even after being zapped. I also heard the word "perfect" escape his lips as he examined my baby blues.

Later I had a corneal topography for the first time since before surgery. This is a method of illustrating exacly how bad your vision is across every minute coordinate of the field of vision. The eye pictured to the left is probably about 20/80 - 20/100 with some astigmatism. I saw my results before surgery, and both eyes were almost completely red and orange -- ie, very poor vision. Now that my corneas have healed and stabilized, another topography would finally be meaningful, and it's a thing of beauty. For both eyes, it's all blue with small tinges of blue-green around the edges. I think the doctor's office is counting me as one of their success stories, and I'm certainly ecstatic about how things have turned out.

False alarm

I had my "let's make sure we drilled the right tooth" appointment with my dentist today, and I am glad to report that he did get the right tooth, despite the notes made during the original checkup. My biggest question (after the obvious) was, why did I have to be here? I sat in the chair, even had the paper bib on, but all he did was look at the x-ray and decree that #29 was fine. Brush, floss, rinse, and we'll see you in six months.

Oops!

I got the first filling of my life yesterday. It was fairly uneventful, my mouth only hurt for a little while after the anesthetic wore off, and you can't even tell where the filling is. If you think that sounds too good to be true, you're right. I got a voicemail from my dentist later in the evening. Any time a medical professional calls you himself, and says "About your filling this afternoon...give me a call on my cell phone," it's not because he just wants to thank you for being a good patient. Sure enough, when I talked to him he told me that he may have filled the wrong tooth. The confusion came after he looked at the x-ray of tooth #20, worked on tooth #20, but later saw that the notes from the initial exam only discussed tooth #29. Isn't that something that he should notice before he starts drilling? Could he have consulted with the hygienist that made the notes? Now I'm going to have this hanging over my head all weekend before I can get back in there Monday "just to make sure" that he filled the right tooth.

The countdown

25 days until kickoff! I thought I would never last when it was about 60 days til kickoff, and now that practice has started it's a sure sign that the season is in sight, yet the waiting becomes that much harder given the news, observations, and speculations every day that are just enough of a tease that the days seem to go by slower. Notre Dame isn't making things easier since they've started to post videos of practices and interviews with players and coaches. That's a surefire productivity killer at work, and will only quench my desire to see a real football game for so long.

10 days until Snakes on a Plane opens! You can't stop the hype surrounding this flick. Of course, we already know how the S.O.A.P. story will end: with the Hollywood snobs calling it one of the worst movies of all time, while the cult following it gets will keep the movie alive through web sites, chat rooms, DVD sales, and probably even Rocky Horror-like audience participation lines. Sure, bad movies come and go all the time, as do those that find a niche audience. But the unique thing about this movie is how it came to be one that will straddle both categories. Once the concept of the movie became public knowledge, people began speculating as to the details of the plot and whether Samuel L. Jackson's character would be similar to the bad asses he's played in other movies, i.e., the kind of guy who would say, "There are too many motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane!" The entire discussion became a catch phrase and a punchline, yet still intrigued many potential fans of the movie. Interest of all kinds was sustained and significant enough that the producers reopened shooting to add more scenes that contained exactly what fans on the internet were asking for! Snakes on a Plane is almost certainly the first big budget studio film to deliver that kind of content to such a large test audience. One thing's for sure -- it will have the highest opening weekend among internet nerds of any movie not based on a comic book.

9 days until I get my first filling, ever. My last visit to the dentist was a routine cleaning until they took x-rays using their fancy new digital equipment and showed me the "films" on the computer screen. The imaging is so good they can zoom in on any area of your mouth, and digitally analyze problem spots that the naked eye can't even detect. That's what revealed an erosion of my enamel on the side of one tooth, probably, the hygienist said, because of drinking too much pop -- ironic, because I gave the stuff up in February. They won't even have to drill or put me under; it's more of a preventive measure. I've never had the slightest problem with my teeth -- no cavities, no fillings, no braces, no retainers, no wisdom teeth removed, nothing. I'm just pissed that after a lifetime of faithful brushing, my streak has come to an end.

3 days until the opening of Pulse. I have no real interest in this movie other than I was surveyed about it at the theater this spring. I watched the trailer and gave them truly honest feedback about how well I knew the actors, what parts of the story appealed to me, etc. I only wonder how my feedback was taken, because the guy taking the survey started fudging my answers starting with the simplest first question. He asked where I was from, I said Richmond, and he said, "Well, we'll put Washington, DC, because otherwise we can't use your answers." Later he asked how many times I went to the theater each year, and when I gave a number he didn't like, he nearly doubled it, again so I would fit the profile of the moviegoer they wanted to research. I'm happy to give you feedback on your stupid movie, but if I'm not really someone you're trying to market it to, don't waste my time and even though the survey is anonymous, don't make me out to be someone I'm not. Fucking Hollywood.

1 day until my birthday. I'm getting old.

It was so hot outside

It was a hot, humid night, and I was as sticky as melted caramel -- perfect conditions to spend the fourth of July with the Dave Matthews Band! I cruised down to Virginia Beach last night to check out the concert, and first I just have to point out that I am on some kind of sick streak in timing these things. Traffic was light, and I pulled into the parking lot shortly after 8:00. I bought a ticket from a group of women that just wanted to get rid of their extra (at my going rate of $30), went into the amphitheater and made a beeline for the bathroom. When I got out, the masses were rushing to the seats and the crowd was quite loud, and I found a spot on the lawn as the band was taking the stage and kicking into the opening notes of Everyday without a single wasted second.

The show was great through the first handful of songs, which included What Would You Say and Say Goodbye. There was the by now typical mid-show lull, when they played some newer stuff and songs that I just don't get into. It was easier to take this time because it was sandwiched by great jams on Crush and Jimi Thing. They only played one really new song, as in unreleased as of yet, Break Free, and I am really digging that tune! The main set ended with Louisiana Bayou, a good song that gets the full jam treatment live, but I was holding out for Tripping Billies, a song I haven't heard live for a few years now. After a solid Pig to open the encore, they predictably ended with Stay, but on this night they ruined that song for any future performances ever. As the song was ending, with the thousands of repetitions of "Don't it, make you wanna, stay," fireworks started going off right over the lawn! Not that they were necessarily timing it, but it was still cool to hear "Don't it," BOOM "make you wanna," BOOM "stay" as the song wound down. When it was over, Dave said "Thank you very much, good night. Enjoy the fireworks," and they continued for about ten minutes! The video screens showed American flags and Jimi Hendrix' version of The Star-Spangled Banner played over the PA. A very cool thing for the band to do for their fans.

Overall it was a good show and the band was clearly in a groove all night. Not among the best DMB shows I've seen but probably in the top third. It was a good time as always on the lawn and the energy was high throughout. Judging from the setlist, the jams, and the vibe of the evening I'd say the DMB concert experience is better now than it has been the last couple of years and I am quite interested in checking out the shows in Charlottesville in a couple of months.

Open wheel action

Highlights of a Saturday at Richmond International Raceway:

• The fact that the track is the opposite of every football stadium I’ve been to. Tailgating is allowed just like anywhere, but the folks at RIR encourage you to take the tailgater with you wherever you go – through the parking lots, at the sponsors’ exhibits, and into the seats too! It was like a big block party, with everyone carrying their beers everywhere. And with no deadline to stop drinking, I could pace myself and have a nice continuous buzz throughout the day.
  
• Access to the infield and pit road. With our press passes, we could go anywhere in the infield before the race. At one point we were following a crew pushing one of the cars from the garage to the trailer, just because we had the opportunity to be two feet away from an actual Indy car. We walked up and down pit road about 45 minutes before the race and checked out all the crews setting up their pits and getting the cars ready. And of course, our tailgater was easy to set up since we only had to worry about a cooler of beer – the media room provided us with all the food and water we wanted all day long.
  
• Indy racing can’t hold a candle to Nascar in Richmond. About 45,000 people came to the 107,000-capacity track for this race. Not only did the quantity of people make it easier to move around, but the quality of spectator was quite inoffensive – the redneck element was gone but not missed from this race.
  
• A ¾ mile track is superior to a 2.5 mile track for the spectators. We sat about 30 rows up in turn 1 for the race and could see every inch of the track, with especially good views of pit road and the start/finish line. We could see every pass, every maneuver, and all the wrecks (such as they were – just a couple of tire blowouts, no multiple-car pileups). I may even have to amend my previous remark about racing being better on TV.
  
• There’s no united front. One of the best things about going to a football game is everyone’s rooting for either one team or the other. It makes for a great atmosphere before the game, during the game, and (if you win) after the game. Since the race fans – of those that even root for a particular driver -- are divided amongst the 19 drivers, there is much less of a rah-rah atmosphere in the stands. Everyone cheers at the beginning, then again at the end, but even when a driver wipes out or gets passed, there’s really no huge reaction from the crowd. Though I’m sure there’s a little more excitement during a Nascar race, I’d still say that no car race can even come close to matching the experience of a big college football game.
  
• Racing is what you make it. I was minimally familiar with the Indy car series and about half of its drivers before Saturday. (I am equally familiar with them now, after attending the race.) I made it a point to take in as much as possible and just have a good time. And you know what? I did. Sure, the infield pass made it a lot cooler, but just being at the track, tailgating with friends, and seeing the race was a really fun experience that I enjoyed a lot. I’ve done RIR on training wheels – now bring on Nascar this fall!

Danica and me

Even though I grew up in Indiana, home to the greatest spectacle in racing, I never had much of an interest in attending a car race. It always seemed like a sport that translates better to TV, especially if you have a bad seat at the track. Plus you get to see replays of all the crashes. Nonetheless, with the Indy cars racing in Richmond tomorrow, I got press passes for the weekend. Yesterday Chris and I made an appearance at Media Day, which really was a day. There was testing and press conferences in the early morning and later in the evening, but when we were there at noontime there were a couple of cars taking a couple of practice laps, and that was about it. We walked by the garages, where the crews were working on the cars, but we couldn't get too close to them and it wasn't much to see anyway. So we decided to get out of there and were walking past the trailers to our car when walking around the corner came one Danica Patrick. She was all alone, no entourage or security detail, dressed casually in a white t-shirt and shorts. We said hi to her, chatted for a minute, and mentioned that during the downtime of Thursday afternoon she was just hanging out, but come Saturday we'd never be able to find her. "That's the way it is," she said, as she got on her bike and rode off across the infield. Of course, we didn't have a pen or a camera to in any way document the occasion, but it was still a cool moment, especially because even in the short time Danica was in my presence, it was evident that she wanted me.

Make it last all night

I spent Tuesday in Norfolk setting up new broadcast software in our station there. I went down there Monday afternoon so I could get started first thing in the morning, so before I left I checked the internet for anything interesting going on in Norfolk on a Monday night. Expecting none, I would have been happy to find a good place to have dinner and maybe watch the game, so I was very excited when I learned that Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers would be playing that very night in Portsmouth! I thought, well, my evening’s planned, and headed down 64.

The Harbor Center website said that the show was still not sold out that afternoon, so I liked my chances of getting a cheap ticket in a buyer’s market. I became even more confident during dinner at Paddy O’Brian’s when I overheard some guy ask the bartender if she’d heard of anyone asking about tickets, because he just wanted to get rid of his extra at face value. I smiled to myself, now fully intending to pay a fraction of face value outside the pavilion. The bar was packed when I got there, but right around 8:00 it was as if someone had set off an alarm, the place cleared out so fast. Still playing it cool, I leisurely finished my dinner and waited for showtime to get even closer, all the while admiring my own sense of timing.

Sure enough, by the time I walked to the pavilion the place was pretty full but there were plenty of people still on their way in. Not many of them had extra tickets, and one lady said she had an extra while practically running to the gates, and when I asked here where it was, she yelled over her shoulder “Lawn” as she went through the turnstile. Must not have been too eager to get a few bucks for it. Eventually a guy heard me asking for tickets and came up to me with an extra. Just as he was starting to say something, this really hot girl who couldn’t have been more than 20 came up and asked me if I was looking for an extra ticket. At first I thought she was his shill and was going to get into a fake bidding war with me, but I still humored her and answered, yes I am. Then she started telling me a story about the time she went to a show without a ticket and needed one desperately, and found someone who gave her a ticket for free. All this happened with my potential seller standing right there, so I turned her into my shill, and set her up with questions like “So you really wanted to go to this show pretty badly, huh?” and “Wasn’t it great to find such a kind soul to give you his extra ticket?” After that performance, this poor guy knew it was all over. I didn’t want to just take his ticket for nothing – the chick was hot enough to get away with that but I’m surely not – but we did settle on $30 for a pavilion seat in the Gold Circle. My excellent timing continued as I found my seat just a couple of minutes before the girlfriends and groupies were escorted to the wings of the stage, a sure sign that the band will be out any minute.

Tom Petty has always been on my list of groups I want to see before I (or, more likely, they) die. He certainly didn’t disappoint, playing about a dozen hits with just a couple of new songs and covers mixed in. Most numbers turned into huge singalongs, and on Learning to Fly the audience got a solo during the closing chorus. He pulled out a couple of oldies, and hearing Melinda for the first time, I really enjoyed the keyboard/piano solos. Halfway through the show, Tom introduced the “sister of the band,” Stevie Nicks! I am not really a big fan of hers, but she and Tom Petty did some duets back in the early ‘80s and the crowd gave her a huge ovation. She sang lead on I Need to Know, and while she performed capably, it was immediately evident why in a certain South Park episode everyone confused a goat for her. After a couple of songs she was relegated to side stage to sing backup and was minimally distracting.

The Heartbreakers have had many big hits over the years and there were equally many highlights during the show. You Don’t Know How it Feels, Mary Jane’s Last Dance, You Wreck Me, the big jams on Don’t Come Around Here No More and Runnin’ Down a Dream, and the showstopping American Girl were all excellent. Tom was able to keep the crowd, which predictably skewed older but had plenty of younger fans too, into the whole show, including the new stuff. The Gold Circle seemed to be slightly upper crust, but I’m sure Mary Jane had quite a few dances out on the lawn. The band’s energy was consistent throughout, and while Tom Petty was exactly his laid back and fairly humble self most of the night, during the encore he did get everyone fired up and asked for “the biggest noise this place has ever heard!” He got it, because we knew tonight might never be again.

What do Barry Bonds and I have in common?

We're not on steroids...anymore.

This morning I took my last two eyedrops of "the clear", the corticosteroid drop that I had been tapering down from the last nine weeks. I am now done with all prescriptions from my PRK, and am only taking the over the counter artificial tears for lubrication. Just as I was promised, my vision has slowly but steadily improved over the past couple of months, to the point where now I can read smaller type in dimmer light than I could before. All must be going well internally too -- at my last checkup a couple weeks ago, the doc was in the room for all of 42 seconds, during which he looked at both my eyes and simply said, "Perfect!" The three month anniversary of my surgery is this Saturday, and the doctor says I can still expect improvement for about three more months! The best vision I've ever known still bumped against the limits to correcting my vision inherent to contact lenses, and I'm seeing as well now as I ever did with contacts. So if there is still room for improvement and I really will see better than I ever have in my life, bring it on!

My day in court

A few weeks ago, I got a parking ticket. Allegedly, I blocked a ramp leading to a crosswalk across the street from my office. In the first place, this infuriated me to no end, because I see cars parked illegally on the streets around the office literally every single day, yet the traffic cops are never anywhere to be found. So when I parked in the vicinity of a ramp and actually got ticketed, I was quite pissed. Secondly, I was outraged at the gall the city had to fine me $100 for this "offense". Usually traffic and speeding violations are punishable by a fine that is just enough to make you want to pay it and be done rather than show up in court. If my ticket had been for $20 or even $40, there's a good chance I would have paid it. But for $100, I contested it, especially when I read section 102-243, the law I was accused of breaking:

(a) Every person receiving written notice of a parking violation, issued by a duly authorized law enforcement officer or agent of the city, may waive the right to appear and to be formally tried for the offense charged in the notice, upon payment of the fine set forth in subsection (b) of this section and specified in the notice. Payment shall be by check, draft or money order, and payment shall be made either:

(1) By presenting the notice and payment in person to the cashier, parking violations section of the department of finance, within 15 days after the date on which the notice of a parking violation was issued; or
(2) By placing the notice and payment in the reply envelope to be provided with the notice, and mailing it to the cashier, parking violations section of the department of finance.
If the notice and payment are mailed, the reply envelope must be postmarked within 15 days after the date on which the notice of a parking violation was issued.

(b) The following fines shall be imposed for parking violations when a person voluntarily waives the right to appear and be formally tried for the offense charged:

The code goes on from there to list the various offenses and their related fines. My first problem was with section (a), which simply gives citizens the right to forego their appearance in court. Seems to me that it's impossible to break that law! Even more outrageous was what I saw in sub-paragraph (b)(2)(a)(7): "Fine of $40 for parking in any location...to include the following places: In front of a ramp leading to the crosswalk at an intersection or located at any other point along a curb, constructed for use of handicapped persons."

So my two-pronged legal strategy this afternoon was first, being charged with violating the wrong code, and failing that, getting my fine reduced by sixty bucks. I was probably the most prepared defendant in Richmond traffic court history. I had copies of all relevant portions of the code, my original ticket and all associated filings, and pictures of the ramp in question which proved that it met the standards of 102-243 (b)(2)(a)(7). Right away, I knew the judge was going to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. The first case was a woman charged with parking longer than the allowed two hours, and from what I heard of her defense, she was in the 7-11 at a certain time before she met Shaniqua on the sidewalk and they drove away in her car. The judge dismissed her case and the ball was rolling. He wasn't so lenient on the guy who parked in front of a fire hydrant (and, like a dumbass, admitted to doing so to the judge), but the girl who parked "on the wrong side of Main Street" and the woman who got towed for parking on the wrong side of the street during street cleaning (while she was "out of the country" -- like nobody's ever tried that excuse before) got off in about thirty seconds.

Seeing all this made me confident that, at worst, I'd have to pay the $40. I first told the judge that section 102-243 was incorrectly applied, to which he responded, "The section that's on the ticket isn't always the section you violated." Before I could point out everything absurd with that statement, he continued, "Did you block the ramp?" I replied, "It was close; I thought I pulled up in front of it enough to clear it." His Honor said, "I'm going to dismiss this, don't do it again." Before I knew it, I was done. No need to split hairs further, no need to debate sub-section (2)(a)(7) versus (4)(b), no need to introduce my pictures as Exhibit A. Justice favors the prepared, and I knew that I had done, as a guy waiting his turn in the courtroom said to me as I left, a "Good job!"

Ain't it wonderful to be alive when the rock 'n roll plays

It's the sign of a great performer when you pretty much know what the performance will involve, your expectations are met with few surprises, yet the show is still tremendously entertaining and a great time. Such was the case Friday when I decided to head up to DC and go to the Billy Joel concert. After a manageable drive and Metro ride to the MCI Verizon Center "civic acoustic nightmare," I found a great ticket (section 228, right at the front edge of the stage) from a scalper for cheap. As I was making my way through the concourse I saw the lights go down and I got to my seat right as he was hitting the opening notes to Prelude/Angry Young Man.

I didn't see Billy Joel live for the first time until five years after his last studio album, and I've seen him a handful of times since. So I knew he'd play most of his big hits and fill out the setlist with other recognizable songs. I was pleasantly surprised, then, when he did Everybody Loves You Now, The Ballad of Billy the Kid, The Entertainer, Downeaster Alexa, Keeping the Faith, and Zanzibar, none of which I'd heard live before. He did, of course, play the hits, and gave his usual stage banter ("Thanks for buying the shitty seats...I really need the money; it's all about car insurance" and "This song is from an album that came out in 1976 called Turnstiles..." He even made the same bald jokes about himself that I've heard three times already), but also talked at length about the inspiration for some of the songs. "I made a lot of stuff up for that song [Ballad of Billy the Kid]. Some people think it's about me -- Billy, hey Billy, it's about himself. No, it's actually about Billy the Kid even though I made most of it up. He's not buried under a boothill grave, I don't know where he's buried. He wasn't hung, he was shot. Well, we don't know if he was hung. East and west of the Rio Grande, the Rio Grande runs east and west." Later, he talked about moving to California and trying to make it in the music business. "A lot of people think that this song [The Entertainer] is me bitching about my job. Believe me, I love my job. It's the best job I've ever had. It's just my take on the music industry."

As you would expect from a band that has been more or less intact for the past ten plus years, every number was pretty tight. Billy was in great voice all night; he even hit the high notes in An Innocent Man. He pretty much went directly from song to song but needed a breather before the usual closing run of We Didn't Start the Fire, Big Shot, It's Still Rock 'n Roll to Me, and You May Be Right: he brought out a roadie to sing Highway to Hell. It was a competent cover but one I certainly could have done without; all Billy did was play a little guitar and wave to the crowd. My only other complaints came during the encore. The intro to Only the Good Die Young was not the riff an octave up that makes girls everywhere scream. Instead he played it around middle C and was singing the first verse before anyone knew what was coming. And I don't have perfect pitch or anything, but I swear that Piano Man was a key or two lower than normal.

Overall it was a great show and I didn't want to miss a single song. Not even the tried and true concert staples like Pressure, Allentown, or River of Dreams disappointed or were even worth missing for a beer run. Personal favorites included My Life (with the Stars and Stripes Forever intro), I Go to Extremes, Movin' Out, and Scenes From an Italian Restaurant. I also saw something I'd never seen at a concert before: a sign language interpreter! She was standing on the floor, signing for the first few rows of the section right below me. If I knew sign language I could have followed along. She knew her limitations though -- during We Didn't Start the Fire, she just held up cue cards for the people to read! Another funny moment came late in the show. The stage had an elevated runway with a couple of keyboards around the back so Billy could play to the people seated behind the stage. During a song he was playing from front and center, the bass player started walking back and forth along the runway trying to get the crowd into his jam. I doubt more than six people even cared. I even thought to myself, buddy, they didn't come here to see you. They're watching the man play the piano.

Watching the man play the piano...a pretty damn good way to spend a Friday night.

Opening Day

No, this post is not three days late. I was as excited as anyone on Monday, baseball's Opening Day, which I still believe should be a national holiday. And true to form, the Cubs lit up the scoreboard for a big win. However, "form" also holds that they will go on to lose at least 90 games, many in excruciating fashion. Indeed, the very second game of the season bore that out. Today, though, is Opening Day for the R-Braves and kickball! So in about 15 minutes I'm heading to the Diamond, then this evening will go from the Just the Tip Clubhouse to Byrd Middle School to start the fifth WAKA season in Richmond. Good times!

Don't let it get away

What a freakin' beautiful day today, for more than the obvious reasons. Sometimes the little things go your way and it adds up to keep you in a good mood all day long. (I'm mainly talking about work here, where if enough little things go wrong all the time, there are probably bigger problems inherent in the systems or processes you use -- but that's for another post.) Today the radio station got an order to run a commercial that would be delivered to us through a third party agency, whose track record is terrible. We've gotten orders from this agency before and instead of the spots being available on their website three days before they're supposed to go on the air (like they promise), we usually don't get them until the middle of the first day of the contract. That's not even an exaggeration. But today the spot we needed was already there and I could download it and be done with it! Ditto for another spot that came in via a service that you basically have to keep hitting 'refresh' and hope that it shows up. There were a handful of other small tasks to finish today, for which I left instructions for the interns when I left for lunch. I was very pleasantly surprised when everything was done -- correctly -- without them having to ask me thirty questions about the same thing they've done the past seven weeks, when I got back from my two hour lunch in the park. No, I could not resist having lunch outside this afternoon. And even though I was in the park, it was a working lunch because one of the transmitters is right across the street from the park and I checked in there to make sure everything was straight. Not to mention that I had the current issue of Radio World for my lunchtime reading material.

Funny how this was going to be a post about how there are no fast Hardees drive-throughs anywhere, but then I came to realize that all the other little things that went right outweighed that minor inconvenience. Plus I would wager that when you're looking forward to eating lunch in the park for the first time all year, everything seems too slow on your way there.

OK, now I'm done with contacts!

Recovering from PRK is a very gradual process, but in the sense that there are any discernible milestones, I achieved one yesterday. On the evening of January 2, I thought I was removing my contacts for the last time ever, but that technically happened at my 5-day follow up appointment. I had the bandage contact lenses removed, and as far as I'm concerned, it was perfect timing. The lenses were starting to irritate me a little bit and even felt at times like they were getting a little dry and threatening to fall out. Turns out that probably wouldn't have happened, because they were attached to my eyes with a little adhesive! It was a little weird to feel the sensation of removing a band-aid on my eye! Even though I knew the contacts weren't plano, I didn't realize they had as much prescription in them as they did. As soon as they came out I was down to about 20/60. Now my clarity fluctuates a little but most of the time is around there. They took me off one of the eyedrops I had been on and switched another to a more viscous, lubricating drop that is almost like a gel when it comes out. I don't have to wear the eye shields to bed anymore (yay!) but since my eyelids are now rubbing directly against my corneas, I do have to (stop reading here if you get squeamish about your eyes) put in some eye ointment before bed. That is actually just a matter of dropping the ointment into the pocket of the lower eyelid and rolling the eyeball around, which is much easier than putting the ointment on my fingertip and applying it directly to the eye like I thought I would have to!

So even though I'm seeing a little worse than I had been, the doc says everything looks good and that I'm healing well and at the appropriate rate. I've had absolutely no pain for the past 24 hours, which leads me further to believe that the contacts were just at the point where they were starting to do more harm than good. I'm still a little light-sensitive, as I proved to myself this morning when I looked out the window and the direct sunlight, plus that which was reflected off the snow, instantly caused me to squint and look away. With sunglasses I'm fine though, and I'll wake up tomorrow exactly one week post surgery!

Never have a few quadrillionths of a meter made such a difference

I sat up from laser eye surgery and was able to see clearly without glasses at 9:09 am on Thursday, March 16, 2006. I know because, for the first time in 20 years, I could see the clock!

I got to the doctor's office at 8:00 Thursday morning and was immediately prepped for the surgery. They gave me a Valium and told me all about the eyedrops I would have to take and the eye shields I would have to wear while sleeping. Then I waited for what seemed like 20 minutes while they finished up with the person ahead of me. (This was easily the longest single phase of the entire process.) They brought me into the laser room and put in a few eyedrops and prepared my right eye. This simply entailed taping my eyelashes down and inserting an eyelid spreader. By this time I was lying flat on my back with a small curtain covering my face except for the right eye. First they removed the epithelium (the topmost, superficial layer of corneal cells) with what looked like an electric toothbrush. Then they lined up my head just right and told me to concentrate on the flashing red light. When everything was ready, they fired the laser, and I could hear the clicking, snapping sound of the machine and see a purple ring of light around the red light, which could have been the laser itself. The actual lasering took only about 20 seconds, and the results were instantaneous. I could see the blinking red light come into focus as the laser did its job. Then they applied some ointment to my eyeball with a small sponge and washed it away with water. I couldn't look around at this time but I could see the details of the laser apparatus above me. All that remained was for the doctor to apply the bandage contact lens over the ablation. Then they did my left eye, and I sat up after laying down for probably a total of eight minutes. That was when they asked me if I could tell the time. I knew it was a trick question because there is never a clock in any medical room, except when they want you to realize that your vision is sharp!

There were just a couple of final details to take care of. They gave me a pill for the pain and applied eye shields and sunglasses, and sent me on my way! I could walk to the car on my own just fine, and even though I saw everything sharp and clear immediately after the surgery, even at this point I couldn't read license plates on other cars and there was a multiple image effect when looking at stoplights. As soon as I got home the pills kicked in and I fell right asleep. I woke up around 1:00 and could see probably around 20/60 -- large objects were in clear enough focus, but I couldn't read details or see sharp outlines. I could, though, watch the NCAA tournament and make out the score at the bottom of the screen, but the scores of other games across the top of the screen were out of the question. The rest of Thursday I was in surprisingly little pain, especially compared to what I had been expecting.

Friday I woke up seeing about the same and had a follow-up appointment first thing. All looked well to the doctor, and even though the letters were slightly blurry, I could read some middle level lines on the vision chart. Even though whatever line I read at didn't count as my actual vision -- since I was still looking through the bandage contact and the abrasion itself -- I was at least on the chart! Before I couldn't even read the big E without glasses. The pain was noticeable, but easily ignored, and remained about the same the rest of the day, but my vision diminished slightly in the afternoon. My eyes were getting tired around 6 pm, so I laid down for a nap and the next thing I knew it was morning!

When I woke up Saturday I thought things were a little less clear but I couldn't be sure, but as the day went on I definitely knew it was a little worse. This was actually something I was prepared for, since my research stated and my doctor agreed that the second day post-PRK brings the most fluctuations. I was most sensitive to light on Saturday, as I couldn't even open the blinds to let some non-direct sunlight in. During the later parts of the day, I experienced more scratchiness and foreign object sensations in both eyes. But other than that I was completely aware and actually getting a little restless from being inside the past three days!

Sunday brought some significant improvement. I could see close to 20/40 when I woke up with little to no pain. I think I even saw better than that as I was awake for a few hours! In the late afternoon a little pain set in, and by evening it felt like it used to when my contacts got off-center or dry or were getting ready to fall out. Eyedrops temporarily relieved that sensation, and for the first time I could read before going to bed!

This morning was about the same as yesterday. I could see pretty sharp, definitely not quite 20/20 but better than 20/40. I've had no pain to speak of all day, though I have noticed that I can't see as well in darker rooms. That is certainly to be expected, though, as the healing process continues. I have not taken any of my pain pills since the operation. Maybe all those years of wearing gas permeable contacts toughened me up a little! For now, it's just a matter of continuing to take my eyedrops and taping on the eye shields before bed. I go in tomorrow to get the contacts removed and even though there might be some slight regression then (due to the small prescription that is in the contacts), I should be pretty stable around at least 20/40. The healing process will take weeks and months, and even though the improvement won't be noticeable day to day, it could be six months before I'm at my final result from this surgery. I will continue to post my progress, but early returns are showing nothing short of success. At this point, I would recommend PRK to anyone and I'd get it again in a heartbeat.

Windexing the window to the soul

I have never had surgery. The only medical procedure I've had that would even come close was when my broken arm was set in a cast, and that happened when I was two years old.

I have never had stitches. The closest I've come is when I accidentally put a staple in my finger.

I have never had a voluntary medical procedure. Not counting the dentist, I only have ever been to a doctor's office or hospital when something was seriously wrong, or I needed a physical for school.

I have never been anesthetized. OK, maybe locally when I got a shot or something, but I have never been put under. The only "drug" that has ever knocked me out was alcohol, and that is always entirely self-medicated.

So, though I will not be getting surgery in the traditional sense of needing stitches or being put to sleep, tomorrow still marks a very important occasion and a number of firsts for me. It is the day of my PRK surgery, wherein a certain thickness of my cornea will be vaporized by an excimer laser. The results of the surgery -- being able to see clearly without glasses or contacts for the first time since I was seven -- are almost too much to comprehend, so I've been focusing (ha!) on the procedure itself. I know the technology, I know what will happen and why, I know what I will hear and smell, and I know what my role will be (just lay there and stare directly at the red light). I know the steps to recovery, I know the various phases and their timeframes, and I know what I will have to do to help things along. I also know what could go wrong, I know the complications that could ensue, and I know their respective causes and effects. Most importantly, I know the reputation and results my doctor has achieved, and I know firsthand what others have experienced. That's why I'm only a little nervous at this point. I'm sure I will get a little more nervous when they actually roll me under the laser machine, but as the Great Auk says, knowledge is power. The technology and medicine behind laser eye surgery is fascinating even if it doesn't directly impact you, and the more I learned about it, the more I knew I could accept the risks because the reward was something I wanted to experience. So please be thinking of me tomorrow morning. My life is going to change significantly, and I can't wait.

Life really does imitate Simpsons quotes

This was the work of no-good punk kids

When I got to work this morning, the first e-mail that was waiting for me was a notice from our engineer that one of our transmitter sites had been vandalized. Apparently some young hoodlums tried to jimmy the locks on a tower enclosure and the transmitter building itself, with no apparent success at entry. One still must wonder what drives someone to do that, though. The towers are not exactly easy to access (by design), nor are they located on a major thoroughfare. So it would seem to me that somebody has some kind of vendetta against the station itslef, or at least one of the DJs, and tried to hit us where it hurts. I give them a little credit for finding out where the transmitter is, but low marks for execution. Surely it is evident to anyone that expensive, potentially dangerous radio equipment would be protected by more than a simple hasp or a piece of string.

Nothing good has ever come out of New York City

It's a game that Notre Dame fans are used to watching...the early Wednesday afternoon game in the Big East tournament. And given that we rarely win in the tourney, plus the way we've lost so many games this year, as I watch the final 8.1 seconds I have no reason to believe that either of those trends will end...Nope, a four point loss. We're officially on the countdown to kickoff, which stands at 178 days.

Hey! That's just my aspirin

So it's not the best day, which is compounded by the fact that I woke up at 4:00 this morning, when my whole body ached, and I had the chills and a headache. I slept intermittently until 8, then thought that a shower would make me feel better. It didn't. At this point, I was still too stubborn to admit that I might have a fever. So, writing everything off to sleeping in a bad position or eating some bad shrimp last night for dinner, I headed in to work. Things didn't get much better during the morning, so I found the official Radio Richmond first aid kit in hopes it would contain some aspirin. Instead I found...NON-Aspirin. That is exactly what it said on the package. I wonder if you put it in contact with an equal number of tablets of actual aspirin, the whole thing would explode into energy. I guess it was a good thing after all that I didn't take anything at home, because my stomach is not the best place for an uncontrolled atomic reaction.

But what was even more like a drug was the drugs

All these medicinal adventures were made slightly ironic because I was planning on going to the pharmacy anyway tonight. Since I literally don't remember the last prescription I had filled, I spent half the morning on the phone with my health insurance company, trying to find out exactly what my prescription benefits are. Turns out they classify the pills I need to get before my eye surgery as a step-therapy drug, meaning I have to try the generic equivalent first before they will pay for the name brand that was prescribed. So I talked to the doctor's office, and had them call Aetna to certify that I needed the name brand and that the generic wouldn't cut it...only to hear from them later that they encourage patients to get the generic equivalent! Nothing like taking two and a half hours to end up right where you started.