<>I started back in Cali
when DCLK stock still rallied
while I explained what click commands were, Trojanovich laughed
as demanding clients my patience tapped
From 2Tier trafficking to service escalations
I got good at setting Saatchi's expectations
Modem West then Modem East
Intel and Delta, that Centrport beast!
From putting out client *fires*
To training yet ANOTHER agency new hire
From CSA to PM to CSM to TAM
From Project One to GTS, do clients know anymore who I am?
Then came Advanced Reports and Tracking Ad demos
ReportCentral and Motif training memos
Farewell to the days of creating user logins
Of Ogilvy calling me, instead of using their noggin'
Clients come and go, but one thing remained
My friendships with all of you, helped keep me sane
NKagan, ever my loyal advocate
Without whom this poem I could not evocate
Ed Chen and Allister, my 1-1 Technical Support
Paul, Jully, Rafael - my NY DCLK family of sorts
The 2 Matt's
One is good for his tools, the other his wise cracks
Jenny Everett, Rachel and Maribel
What can I say, you guys are swell
NY Sales, SF TPMs, CO Support and TAMs
You shaped who I became, yet supported who I am
Through your kindness, wit humor and smarts
Y'all taught me it's the people that count, not DCLK DART
Wednesday, November 19, 2003
Sunday, October 26, 2003
Monday, August 18, 2003
Living in the ghett-o called New York
OMIGOD. I came home Monday night and found that the bathroom ceiling had collapsed, LITERALLY. Mounds of damp (and probably asbestos-laced) plaster, cement, and rotten, mildew-y wood filled the toilet and tub, and to top it off (unfortunately not the usual alcoholic's way), two little mice crawled out from the toilet and the rubbage.
BARF. Thank god for the shower at my gym.
The super tore a hole in the living room ceiling as well, so the living room has been un-live-able because all the furniture was pushed into a huge mass in the middle of the room.
Apparently the 6-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon I left for the Super didn't do much good, as it still took them three days to repair and they left the walls unplastered so our apartment looks like the slums. At least they attempted to clean up the apartment before leaving every day, which is amazing given they left our apartment covered in plaster-shit the last time they tried to fix something.
The good news is I'm getting out of the ghetto and into a new building and apartment come September. YAY.
BARF. Thank god for the shower at my gym.
The super tore a hole in the living room ceiling as well, so the living room has been un-live-able because all the furniture was pushed into a huge mass in the middle of the room.
Apparently the 6-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon I left for the Super didn't do much good, as it still took them three days to repair and they left the walls unplastered so our apartment looks like the slums. At least they attempted to clean up the apartment before leaving every day, which is amazing given they left our apartment covered in plaster-shit the last time they tried to fix something.
The good news is I'm getting out of the ghetto and into a new building and apartment come September. YAY.
Thursday, August 14, 2003
Blackout
Getting Lit (5 pm-7:30 pm)
No power, no lights, no email, no work
All of a sudden, nothing to do…but get wasted.
Mass exodus down 9th Avenue, 23rd & 9th
We sit down for Round One
Coors Light, Bud Light, Corona, Sam Adams, Amstel Light
Double-fisting & smiles every round
Waitress Jamie, black bangs and electric blue eyes, keeps the beer flowing
”I’m sorry, was that a Bud or Coors Light?”
“Bud, but really, we’ll drink anything you give us.”
Round Two, Three, Four, Five
Waves of heat, car exhaust, stifling air, endless stream of pedestrians
Frustrated, sweaty pedestrian bums a smoke, ever so grateful, snaps our photo.
“Give me your business cards and I’ll send you a copy!” as she rejoins the crowds.
Only in New York
Ex-fraternity boy, bar manager “Tom” returns with shots all around
Then, “Sorry, we’re out of beer, we want to go home too, it IS a blackout!”
Getting Lit (7:30 pm-9:30 pm)
Perched, at the window sill, getting air, pedestrians on the move below
Peering, at incandescent glows in the windows
Looking, at a darkened lower Manhattan, a dark Jersey, a black Hudson River
“Just a little, tiny hit before we go.”
Hits from the one-hitter, more hits from the one-hitter, so much for just one hit
We connect, pause to regret, dismiss and connect again
Heat on top of heat, bodies adding to the still heat
Cold shower sprays into nose and eyes…caressing hair, cooling thighs
Kisses evolve, evolution into the inevitable
Shapes move, near open windows open onto darkness
Shapes move, to the sounds of nothing, except the occasional cab horn or pedestrian talking
West Side Highway (10 pm-11 am)
Out into the warm night, oddly unfamiliar streets
Treacherous crossing on the Hudson, headlights blind
Eerie flood lights, glaring and white, illuminate the crowds
They share a stony silence, muse at the moon, low and red
Night is still young
Block Party (11 pm-12 am)
On Leroy, between Bleeker and Carmine - parked SUV, dude & his bull dog, bumpin’ stereo, blarin’ beats
People dancing, drinking in the streets
Conveniently, corner bar proffer beer and bathroom for revelers
Party on the street, it’s a blackout!
Finding Friends (12 am-1 am)
Boy smokes with the boys, girl listens to girl chatter.
Boy keeps with the boys, girl lost in her own surrealist world
Unexpected and unlikely, yet strangely natural…these events of the blackout
Coming Home (1 am)
Round two, smoke and talk, to comfort the uncomfortable spaces, wipe away hesitations
Inching forward, teasing, caressing
Another cold shower, extraordinarily clean and delicious
Standing at the window, darkened windows are silent
Lying naked, staring at twinkling lights of Jersey (they have power!)
Looking down 8th Avenue, still dark
Feel the simple pleasures - airy room, draft of moist air, smooth skin
Sleep envelops contented souls
Eggs in a Cup
Awaken to a fresh dawn, sun pouring forth
Do we have power? Flip on bathroom light, nope
Silence still pervades, rich smells of bacon saturate, unconscious chatter during breakfast
Smile and part ways, reverie while walking home, in awe at life
All because of a blackout
No power, no lights, no email, no work
All of a sudden, nothing to do…but get wasted.
Mass exodus down 9th Avenue, 23rd & 9th
We sit down for Round One
Coors Light, Bud Light, Corona, Sam Adams, Amstel Light
Double-fisting & smiles every round
Waitress Jamie, black bangs and electric blue eyes, keeps the beer flowing
”I’m sorry, was that a Bud or Coors Light?”
“Bud, but really, we’ll drink anything you give us.”
Round Two, Three, Four, Five
Waves of heat, car exhaust, stifling air, endless stream of pedestrians
Frustrated, sweaty pedestrian bums a smoke, ever so grateful, snaps our photo.
“Give me your business cards and I’ll send you a copy!” as she rejoins the crowds.
Only in New York
Ex-fraternity boy, bar manager “Tom” returns with shots all around
Then, “Sorry, we’re out of beer, we want to go home too, it IS a blackout!”
Getting Lit (7:30 pm-9:30 pm)
Perched, at the window sill, getting air, pedestrians on the move below
Peering, at incandescent glows in the windows
Looking, at a darkened lower Manhattan, a dark Jersey, a black Hudson River
“Just a little, tiny hit before we go.”
Hits from the one-hitter, more hits from the one-hitter, so much for just one hit
We connect, pause to regret, dismiss and connect again
Heat on top of heat, bodies adding to the still heat
Cold shower sprays into nose and eyes…caressing hair, cooling thighs
Kisses evolve, evolution into the inevitable
Shapes move, near open windows open onto darkness
Shapes move, to the sounds of nothing, except the occasional cab horn or pedestrian talking
West Side Highway (10 pm-11 am)
Out into the warm night, oddly unfamiliar streets
Treacherous crossing on the Hudson, headlights blind
Eerie flood lights, glaring and white, illuminate the crowds
They share a stony silence, muse at the moon, low and red
Night is still young
Block Party (11 pm-12 am)
On Leroy, between Bleeker and Carmine - parked SUV, dude & his bull dog, bumpin’ stereo, blarin’ beats
People dancing, drinking in the streets
Conveniently, corner bar proffer beer and bathroom for revelers
Party on the street, it’s a blackout!
Finding Friends (12 am-1 am)
Boy smokes with the boys, girl listens to girl chatter.
Boy keeps with the boys, girl lost in her own surrealist world
Unexpected and unlikely, yet strangely natural…these events of the blackout
Coming Home (1 am)
Round two, smoke and talk, to comfort the uncomfortable spaces, wipe away hesitations
Inching forward, teasing, caressing
Another cold shower, extraordinarily clean and delicious
Standing at the window, darkened windows are silent
Lying naked, staring at twinkling lights of Jersey (they have power!)
Looking down 8th Avenue, still dark
Feel the simple pleasures - airy room, draft of moist air, smooth skin
Sleep envelops contented souls
Eggs in a Cup
Awaken to a fresh dawn, sun pouring forth
Do we have power? Flip on bathroom light, nope
Silence still pervades, rich smells of bacon saturate, unconscious chatter during breakfast
Smile and part ways, reverie while walking home, in awe at life
All because of a blackout
Sunday, July 06, 2003
Paradise Lost
Kalalau Beach
Through purgatory and back (ok so it was more like multiple immense valleys and miles of treacherous switchbacks but hey, close enough), we journeyed to taste the sweet nectar of paradise lost - the famed, secluded Kalalau Beach in Kuai.
Kalalau is only accessable during the summer months when the weather is mild, the tides low and the currents tame. Protected from the masses, you can get there by foot or by sea, so that only the determined and pure of heart can make it. Here, everyone shares food, supplies and even bed linen, while happy, naked, petrouli oil-smelling, hippies frollick openly.
On the Trail
We broke up the trek into two and nine-mile segments on the way out.
The first night we camp at Hanakapei Beach - otherwise known as 'Windy, Muggy, and Hoppin' with Frogs' Beach.
I am secretly miserable (and so was Joanne I later found out) due to incessant itching (mosquitos love vegetarians I am told) and residual feminine issues. YUCK. Nightfall is calm though, and a bright moon, stars, and frogs, emerge to greet us.
The morning after, checking for mosquito bites
The next day sucked ASS. We do nine miles in eight hours. The first six miles, we trek through mosquito-infested tropical fruit forests and up and down knee-numbingly steep, and mind-numbingly long, rocky terrain.
Are we there yet?
Did we walk that far?
To keep myself occupied and sane, I daydream about sipping a chilled glass of Reisling in an outdoor bar in the lower east side of Manhattan, wearing a summer-y tank and a flimsy skirt, basking in the perfect 80 degree warmth of a New York summer, so perfect that the air feels like your own skin.
GOOD GOD. Snapping back to reality, I alternate between slapping at mosquitos, grumbling because I WAY overpacked, and cussing at the trail.
Dried mango slices good.
IT NEVER ENDS. The last three miles are even more tedious and gruelling than the first. Now we are trekking across precarious cliffs of loose red dirt and scree, on trails so narrow they are barely the width of our boots.
Looks so harmless and beautiful from afar.
The tradewinds pick up at 2 o' clock sharp every afternoon, swirling red dirt into our eyes and trying to blow us off the side of the cliffs.
The Three Sisters cliffs.
ARE WE THERE YET? Dusk softens the harsh sun when we arrive - like weary wanderers searching for the promised land - at the mystical Kalalau Beach.
The promised land!
Activities at Kalalau
Set against a backdrop of majestic, awe-inspiring fluted cliffs, the beach offers a vast expanse of soft white sands.
A gurgling waterfall and pool that cascades down from the cliffs to the sand provides clean water for drinking and washing. A plastic pipe, held at the right angle, acts as a makeshift showerhead to spray oneself with water. Sea caves provide a natural, protected and shady campsite.
The valley abounds with bubbling brooks, refreshing ponds and miniature waterfalls in which to play and wash. Fruit trees galore offer ripe mangos, guava, bananas, oranges, egg, passion and other mysterious tropical fruit for picking and eating.
At Ginger Pool, we get massages and sucked 'liquid honey' out of white ginger flower stems.
We pick mangos to lunch on at the Outlaw Pools. Outlaws are the hippy and runaway teenagers who live off the land during the summer months without the required county permits for camping.
I maow-ed on a DEELISH lunch of mangos and more mangos and was so mango-ed out I passed out under the shade by the waterfall, while everyone else splashed around on the waterfall 'slides'.
Mmmmm mangos
At Big Pool, the big attraction was a super algae-covered waterfall 'slide'.
Here, we picked watercress and searched for bananas for dinner. Surprisingly, a day packed with eating fruit and playing in ponds makes one ravenously hungry. Tough life eh? Other fun activities included peeing into the ocean (girls too!), avoiding falling rocks (at dawn and dusk) from mountain goat activity on overhanging bluffs, and scrubbing pots with sand.
We camped for two days and nights under a cave right on the beach.
Kayaking - the morning after
AS IF - hiking twenty-two miles while carrying more than a quarter of my own weight wasn't enough punishment, we wake up the very next morning at 5 a.m. to kayak seventeen miles along the same coastline from which we had just hiked out!
The purpose is to see the Na Pali coast from a different perspective (by sea), but that morning my perspective is lost amidst a fog of sore muscles and groggy sleep - partly due to lack thereof, partly due to the side effects of bonine for motion sickness.
On the ocean at 7 a.m.
In between paddle strokes, I'm sucking down Ginger candy while trying to keep my head from rolling to one side and my eyes from rolling into the back of my head.
Sure, kayaking is fun - if you like getting stung to death by Man o' Wars, getting thrown out of the kayak from huge waves, getting sunburned to a tender beet red, and peeing into the ocean through your swimsuit (pretty fun actually).
And because we just couldn't get enough (of Kalalau)
The next day, just for kicks, we drove to Waimea Canyon where we got yet ANOTHER view of Kalalau Valley - from a lookout point looking to the westward face of the mountains.
Thank god we don't have to climb that.
We made it, twice, and back! That cold Heineken never tasted so damn good.
Through purgatory and back (ok so it was more like multiple immense valleys and miles of treacherous switchbacks but hey, close enough), we journeyed to taste the sweet nectar of paradise lost - the famed, secluded Kalalau Beach in Kuai.
Kalalau is only accessable during the summer months when the weather is mild, the tides low and the currents tame. Protected from the masses, you can get there by foot or by sea, so that only the determined and pure of heart can make it. Here, everyone shares food, supplies and even bed linen, while happy, naked, petrouli oil-smelling, hippies frollick openly.
On the Trail
We broke up the trek into two and nine-mile segments on the way out.
The first night we camp at Hanakapei Beach - otherwise known as 'Windy, Muggy, and Hoppin' with Frogs' Beach.
I am secretly miserable (and so was Joanne I later found out) due to incessant itching (mosquitos love vegetarians I am told) and residual feminine issues. YUCK. Nightfall is calm though, and a bright moon, stars, and frogs, emerge to greet us.
The morning after, checking for mosquito bites
The next day sucked ASS. We do nine miles in eight hours. The first six miles, we trek through mosquito-infested tropical fruit forests and up and down knee-numbingly steep, and mind-numbingly long, rocky terrain.
Are we there yet?
Did we walk that far?
To keep myself occupied and sane, I daydream about sipping a chilled glass of Reisling in an outdoor bar in the lower east side of Manhattan, wearing a summer-y tank and a flimsy skirt, basking in the perfect 80 degree warmth of a New York summer, so perfect that the air feels like your own skin.
GOOD GOD. Snapping back to reality, I alternate between slapping at mosquitos, grumbling because I WAY overpacked, and cussing at the trail.
Dried mango slices good.
IT NEVER ENDS. The last three miles are even more tedious and gruelling than the first. Now we are trekking across precarious cliffs of loose red dirt and scree, on trails so narrow they are barely the width of our boots.
Looks so harmless and beautiful from afar.
The tradewinds pick up at 2 o' clock sharp every afternoon, swirling red dirt into our eyes and trying to blow us off the side of the cliffs.
The Three Sisters cliffs.
ARE WE THERE YET? Dusk softens the harsh sun when we arrive - like weary wanderers searching for the promised land - at the mystical Kalalau Beach.
The promised land!
Activities at Kalalau
Set against a backdrop of majestic, awe-inspiring fluted cliffs, the beach offers a vast expanse of soft white sands.
A gurgling waterfall and pool that cascades down from the cliffs to the sand provides clean water for drinking and washing. A plastic pipe, held at the right angle, acts as a makeshift showerhead to spray oneself with water. Sea caves provide a natural, protected and shady campsite.
The valley abounds with bubbling brooks, refreshing ponds and miniature waterfalls in which to play and wash. Fruit trees galore offer ripe mangos, guava, bananas, oranges, egg, passion and other mysterious tropical fruit for picking and eating.
At Ginger Pool, we get massages and sucked 'liquid honey' out of white ginger flower stems.
We pick mangos to lunch on at the Outlaw Pools. Outlaws are the hippy and runaway teenagers who live off the land during the summer months without the required county permits for camping.
I maow-ed on a DEELISH lunch of mangos and more mangos and was so mango-ed out I passed out under the shade by the waterfall, while everyone else splashed around on the waterfall 'slides'.
Mmmmm mangos
At Big Pool, the big attraction was a super algae-covered waterfall 'slide'.
Here, we picked watercress and searched for bananas for dinner. Surprisingly, a day packed with eating fruit and playing in ponds makes one ravenously hungry. Tough life eh? Other fun activities included peeing into the ocean (girls too!), avoiding falling rocks (at dawn and dusk) from mountain goat activity on overhanging bluffs, and scrubbing pots with sand.
We camped for two days and nights under a cave right on the beach.
Kayaking - the morning after
AS IF - hiking twenty-two miles while carrying more than a quarter of my own weight wasn't enough punishment, we wake up the very next morning at 5 a.m. to kayak seventeen miles along the same coastline from which we had just hiked out!
The purpose is to see the Na Pali coast from a different perspective (by sea), but that morning my perspective is lost amidst a fog of sore muscles and groggy sleep - partly due to lack thereof, partly due to the side effects of bonine for motion sickness.
On the ocean at 7 a.m.
In between paddle strokes, I'm sucking down Ginger candy while trying to keep my head from rolling to one side and my eyes from rolling into the back of my head.
Sure, kayaking is fun - if you like getting stung to death by Man o' Wars, getting thrown out of the kayak from huge waves, getting sunburned to a tender beet red, and peeing into the ocean through your swimsuit (pretty fun actually).
And because we just couldn't get enough (of Kalalau)
The next day, just for kicks, we drove to Waimea Canyon where we got yet ANOTHER view of Kalalau Valley - from a lookout point looking to the westward face of the mountains.
Thank god we don't have to climb that.
We made it, twice, and back! That cold Heineken never tasted so damn good.
Wednesday, January 01, 2003
tauntaun
Oh oh oh...it's that snow creature who's stomach Han Solo cut open so Luke Skywalker hid inside to stay alive (yes, I had to google that) - New Years Eve, NY - Jan 2003
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
