Jetlag

Wake up at 4 am like there's an alarm clock behind my eyes. Words and images sift through my mind like soup through a strainer.

Each city I went to is a woman:

Berlin: the plump brunette with opals for eyes who alternates between warm friendship and blank despair. She would kiss you and then immediately miss you before you even left. You'd write short, sweet letters to her with silly jokes and subtle compliments.

Prague: the resentful girl with sky sapphire eyes and voluptuous frame who lifts her chin at you in disgust. But it's all a front - take the time and you realize she's just cranky from a past heartbreak. This woman's got trouble written all over her.

Vienna: a red-headed sculptor with soft fingertips which breathe motion into dead clay. She'll flirt and wink, then lose her focus and dismiss you. But it's too late - you're already smitten. And she knows it.

Budapest: a young girl who looks at the ground and blinks like a hummingbird. A pretty girl before she knows she's pretty. It would take weeks to kiss her, but squeeze her hand and she blushes like a fall sunset. Her small mouth forms an uncertain half-smile. She squeezes back.

Have I really described these cities, or are these women real? Imagination is its own curse and master.

I have returned...

and am slightly jetlagged. Tired, coughing, and happy. My head is bursting with memories and laughter from touring Berlin, Prague, Vienna, and Budapest over 12 days. Enough museums and churches for a while. Probably drank more beer than water. Plenty of pork, sausage, and delights like topenstrudel and cream cakes. More to come...

At the airport

Waiting to go to London. The miracles of airport wi-fi.
I had some butter pecan yogurt. It was delicious but light.
Listening to British accents on pretty girls around the terminal. It's like verbal perfume.
Flight delayed about 45 minutes. Blissfully fine.
I think I left my electric shaver at home. But I brought my blade. So I will be clean shaven the next several days.
I must begin practicing English slang: bloke, loo, bloody...actually I'll probably just end up sounding like an Asianized Ethan Hawke without the facial hair. Awkward.
I brought my gym gear with the hopes of staying in shape. Perhaps I'll be able to catch a basketball game near the hotel.

A fine day for short sentences.

What a week, and it's only Tuesday...

Went to the Cold War Kids/Muse concert yesterday, drinks with the team, and a delicious meal at Buddakan. Then woke up early for a flight to San Jose for a piracy concert. Learned about legal strategies against infringers and counterfeiters. Almost went to the SF Giants game to see Barry Bonds hit his 756th HR, but ended up at a delicious dinner meeting some industry folks and watching some amazing Brazilian drumming and dance. Realizing I'm off to Europe next week.

This is surreal. I need to drink some hot cocoa or eat some spinach to get some perspective.

Wow, this was almost like a regular blog entry.

Another Zombie story

I'm reading Cell by Stephen King, which is a new take on the zombie genre by supposing a "pulse" transmitted via cell phone converts the vast majority of Americans into zombies. Death, destruction, and a small band of main characters fight to survive.

I love this shit. The entire world going to hell and only you and three strangers left on earth (with one being a Jessica Biel look-a-like). All static assumptions of modern life blown away like a zombie head shot at point-blank range. I think I like stories where small bands of strangers work together (Lost, Zombie movies, the office) because I romanticize such experiences as opportunities to learn, fight, and triumph. No delays, no bureaucracy, no lines or prices - just pure action and decision.

Maybe I'll go on a safari or join a reality TV show. I might end up as lion chow but it would be awesome.

No more debbie downer entries

Really, anything you write on a blog which isn't funny or clever just ends up being depressing or pretentious. I'll have to keep those entries in my diary, which is covered with yellow roses and gold stars.

Actually I do keep a journal for short fiction, quick descriptions of city life, and erotic literature involving midgets dressed up like pirates. I find writing to be a release of the storm in my head, which often bounces thoughts and ideas like a pinball machine.

I have this idea of writing a consulting story, where either someone goes missing (a mystery involving a shady client) or a hostage situation (which in turn highlights how business leadership doesn't translate into real leadership). But it's actually very hard to sit down and write out what happens. I have great respect for all writers who devote the time to their craft, even if they lack the talent, because more often than not, diligence and persistence mean something. Okay, I'm getting preachy so I'll stop.

To my readers, I thank ye.