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Archived Smirk

Last night we went out for sushi. I was thinking how weird it was that we haven't mentioned sushi yet anywhere in our writing when it hit me: the last time we went out for sushi was before we even started this website! We used to be sushi addicts, going every other Saturday or so, until we realized how much it was draining our bank accounts and stopped doing that. We usually spend at least 2 hours at the sushi bar doing the whole nine yards: sushi, beer, sake, tea, more sake…and all the sushi specials we can fit into our stomachs! When we first started eating at Japanese restaurants when we lived in Boston, I never ordered sushi, only boring cooked dishes like Beef Teriyaki with Miso Soup and Side Salad. I can't believe I missed out on eating sushi all those months (years?&#41. After finally trying a piece one day and realizing that it actually tasted good, I became the raw fish's biggest fan. I quickly became a raw fish purist soon after, only ordering sashimi because I felt that it was fish in it's purest form. Whatever. I eat it all now!

Posted in Smirks.

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By Janet – August 22, 1998

A Botched Business Trip

8/19/98 – Colorado Springs, CO. (Avery Business Trip – completed 8/28/98&#41
One of the joys of being in the Marketing department of a Fortune 1000 company is the fact that every once and a while, I get the opportunity to travel to one of the exotic corners of our fair country. Over the last 12 months, I have traveled to Sioux City, IA, Cleveland, OH, Baltimore, MD, Tysons, VA, Atlanta, GA and Houston, TX. As you can plainly see, these are not the tourist meccas of the world. Hell, most of them barely have decent cable in the hotel rooms. Usually, I can come up with something interesting to take my mind off of the travel… and then there are the times that I have to go to Colorado Springs.

8/19/98 – 23 Hours in Colorado Springs

There are some cities that grow on you the more times you visit there. Colorado Springs isn't one of those cities. Actually, this is my fourth time there, and each time it gets progressively worse. This certainly wasn't my worst time there. The worst time was getting stuck in a Radisson Inn for 2 days during this year's freak St. Patrick's Day blizzard with no food. This ranks a close second.

Whenever I travel for business, I try to be there for at least 2 full days, which usually means a 3 day/2 night trip. Anything less usually isn't worth my time. In Colorado Springs, it's easy to do this, as all of the engineers for my product work out of the Springs.

However, this time was different. I didn't have the time to spare for this meeting, let alone 3 whole days, so it was going to be a quick jaunt from San Francisco to Colorado Springs and back the next day. Total trip time: 35 Hours.

Leg One – San Francisco to Colorado Springs via Phoenix.

Because it was much cheaper than flying United (my normal airline&#41, I decided to save my company some money and take America West airlines. America West has found an ingenious way to somehow fit 2 extra rows in an already cramped 737. I am a big guy. I spent the whole two hours with my knees pressed up into the seat in front of me. The cramped quarters didn't annoy me nearly as much as the little baby two seats over who decided that it wanted to see how many people it could annoy as it shrieked "Mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy". At least the flight landed ten minutes early. We pulled up to the gate, and as I walked out, the 95 degree heat that the captain warned us about hit me. Dry heat be damned, it was just too hot.

Janet and I have been to Phoenix twice in our lives. Once, we were there as we traveled from Boston to San Francisco. Since we had a six hour layover, we got to see the outside of the airport… not just the inside. It was midnight and still over 90 degrees. We also went to Phoenix to meet up with my father during one of his Futon trade shows. It was hot and we got caught in a monsoon. I didn't know a monsoon in the desert meant a sandstorm.

Needless to say, I don't have any particular affinity towards Phoenix.

This trip would require me to make a one hour stop in Phoenix. One hour layovers usually work out to be this:

  • 5 minutes for the plane to get up to the gate
  • 10 minutes for everyone in front of me to pile out of the plane.
  • 5 minutes in line for the bathroom
  • 10 minutes to find something to eat
  • 1 minute to wolf down the food
  • 29 minutes of waiting in the plane with no air conditioning because they decided to start pre-boarding early.

Lunch consisted of a Pepsi, 'cause in in the Barry Goldwater Sky Harbor International Airport, they don't serve Coke. Back into another cramped 737, but this time I had an aisle seat.

Ten minutes into the flight, some 16 year old buzz-cut kid sitting next to me starts asking me about my tattoos. I figured the fact that I was reading a book (Future Perfect&#41 and listening to my CD Player (Barenaked Ladies – Rock Spectacle&#41 would be a clear sign that I was not in the mood to talk to him. But he kept on talking until I finally had to take off my headphones and ask him, "WHAT DO YOU WANT?" Buzz-cut boy asks if "that's a real tattoo". I answer "Yup". He replies with the ever-so-witty "cool". I ordered a jack and coke from the stewardess, downed it, put on the CD player and went back to my reading. Hey kid, didn't your mother tell you not to talk to strangers?

Leg Two – Colorado Springs

I got off of the plane and ran to the taxi stop, because Colorado Springs only has 4 taxis, and they're usually at the airport. I was lucky. A cab was there and I got in.

Cabbie: "Where ya goin?"
Me: "Antlers Doubletree"
Cabbie: "OK"

The cab was comfortable, and the air conditioning was soothing. I put on my headphones and grabbed the book out of my bag. At that time, the cabbie started to ask me all of those inane cabbie questions:

  • Where ya from?
  • Been here before?
  • Gonna be here long?
  • How's that weather?
  • What airline did you fly?
  • Ever been to the Doubletree before?

<sigh>

The Doubletree was nice. They had a small brewpub in the back and you get these nice free chocolate chip cookies when you check in… which is nice, because I was starving. After dropping off my bags and calling Janet and the office, it was time to get some real food. I made the mistake of going to the Phantom Canyon Brewing Company.

The Phantom Canyon Brewing Company has the dubious honor of being voted the best brew pub in Colorado Springs. That's like saying that the best chinese food in Rome is at the Peking Palace. No matter how good it is, it probably doesn't even come close to being passable.

Every time I go to Colorado Springs, I always seem to end up at Phantom Canyon, just because it has the closest thing to a good local beer that I can find there. But, as usual, the beer was only passable. The food, however, was as quite good. The bar fries with bacon, cheese and sour cream were fantastic (and 10,000 calories or so&#41… and the soup looked great (I should have had it, but I just wanted to get back to my room&#41. However, the beer lacked all trace of character. The Scottish Ale was a passable 70 shilling Scottish ale, but it just didn't have that oomph to make it worth ordering again. The IPA had such a lack of hop characteristic that I asked the bartender if he had poured me the right beer. Unfortunately, he had.

The night ended for me at 9:30 PM, and after watching one half of the 10pm news, I was asleep.

The next morning, I woke up, met up with my boss and headed out to the meeting.

Leg Three – Colorado Springs to San Francisco via Phoenix.

Fast forward to 3:25 pm. I'm back in the 12 gate Colorado Springs airport. I really hate being stuck in this airport for any extended length of time, and today, I am stuck in in this airport for an hour and a half. The Colorado Springs airport has one restaurant, two news stands and a coffee shop. That, and a smattering of phones thrown throughout the gates. However, for how small the airport is, they have two people-movers (those things that look like escalators, but don't go anywhere&#41… the thing is that the people mover only moves you 30 feet or so.

The plane boards on time… I'm lucky… I get an aisle seat on an exit row! That means I can actually spread out for the next hour and a half. I get a ginger ale and one of those packets of pretzels.

The Phoenix Airport is a bit better than the Colorado Springs Airport… they have a taqueria and a couple of bars. I decided to get a chicken burrito. What a slick move… refried beans right before I get into an airplane… but at least the flight will only be a quick 2 hour jaunt.

So, I board the plane, put on my seat belt and try to fall asleep. 10 seconds later, the stewardess asks me to move because some idiot with his kid needs my seat so that if there is an emergency, there will be an extra oxygen mask for the little sprog. Fine I mutter as I get up and move to the other side of the plane. The stewardess offers me a free drink of my choice after takeoff. Oh yeah… beans and beer… what an explosive combination.

How long did I say that this flight was going to take? Two hours? Not likely. I should have taken it as a sign when we had to delay our takeoff for 30 minutes due to wind shear. How long does it take to roll over to a new runway? Throw the damn plane into gear and head over to a new runway.

Finally we take off. Net Delay: 30 minutes

We finally get airborne and all seems to be going fine… until about 9pm (we were scheduled to land at 9pm&#41. I looked outside and noticed that the ground seemed to be on a slight angle… that slight angle which shows that we were in a holding pattern. Shit. As everyone in the plane starts getting edgy, the pilot announces that we are in a holding pattern over Oakland.

Ok, bathroom break. I take this as an opportunity to head over to the bathroom. So did everybody else. 10 minutes later, I make it into the stall, pee, wash my hands with those annoying faucets that do either burning hot or freezing cold water and only stay on as you are holding the faucet, making it impossible to rub your hands under the stream of water unless you use your nose. On my way back, I ask the stewardess for a bottle of water. "Oh, I'm sorry, we've already locked up the carts… would you like some coffee?"

We stay in the holding pattern for almost 40 minutes when the pilot comes on the intercom again, "Well folks, we won't have an approach in San Francisco for another 20 minutes, and we don't have enough fuel to wait, so it looks like we'll have to land in Oakland."

Leg 4 – Still stuck in the air

The whole plane just sighed when that announcement was made. Actually, half of the plane signed, the other half sighed. Then the pilot turned on the intercom again, "Since we don't have full privileges at Oakland, we're going to land, refuel, take off again and get back into the holding pattern." The whole plane started muttering… hell, some of us were planning to rush the door when we landed, run across the tarmac and grab a cab. The seatbelt light comes on and the stewardesses tell us to bring our seat backs up and to close the tray-tables as we prepared for landing.

Suddenly, our descent stops and we make a hard left bank turn. The pilot comes on to announce that Air Traffic Control has given us clearance to land in San Francisco.

Epilogue

We landed and taxied to the gate. Since I was in row 4, I was one of the first to get off. A quick 10 minute sprint to the cab stand was rewarded with a cab being there, ready and waiting to go to the Lower Haight.

Posted in Scowls.

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By Avery – August 18, 1998

Another

Topic #9
Another Hairy Topic…

Janet

Avery

We recently had to break up with our hairstylists. It just wasn't working out. They wouldn't let us look in a mirror until they were completely finished, and at that point, suffice it to say, the damage had already been done. I have unruly, poofy, not quite curly but a little more than wavy hair, or as I like to call it, the "rat's nest." I'm sorry to say, in all of my 27 years I have never had a good haircut. They always want to accentuate the poofyness, while I am strictly anti-poof.

Ever since I was 5 years old, my hair has always been short. When I was little, my mother was able to earn some supplemental household income helping senior citizens run their errands by schlepping them around town in a Cadillac. All of the old people would tell my mother "what a cute little boy she had." The reasons that I was always given for why my hair had to be so short were that it was "cooler in the summer" and "easier to take care of." Hmmm. I smell a rat's nest.

So, I was always mistaken for a boy, which was OK by me since I remember doing things like trying to become a boy scout on the grounds that it didn't say anywhere in the Handbook that you had to be a boy, and mean small-town hairdressers nearly brought me to tears, pulling my hair with the straight razors they used instead of scissors. As I grew up, my hair problems continued. I could make those fashionable woven ribbon barrettes, but didn't have enough hair to wear them. Outcast, yet again.

When I got to be a teenager in high school, the hatred of my hair hit an all-time high. I was so envious of girls with straight hair that I would spend hours at the bathroom mirror trying in vain to straighten mine. I must have used every styling product out there – mousse, gel, even saliva! Anything! Without fail, as soon as I got it exactly perfect, I would walk away from the bathroom and in five minutes it would look like my poofy, bushy hair with a hell of a lot of styling shit in it. And then I would cry.

In the 1980's, my hair obsession grew and grew. Since it was the era of the asymmetrical haircut, I just had to have my hair short on one side and long on the other. Unfortunately, this is another hairstyle that only looks good on people with straight hair. That didn't stop me! Not only did I try to give myself that hairstyle, I actually did it myself, with a cheap Woolworth's haircutting razor. I quickly realized that the asymmetrical look wasn't going to work out and moved on to that haircut which was, if anyone remembers, shaved in the back and on the sides, leaving a little cap of hair on the top. Yes, another haircut for straight-haired people. I looked like a mushroom. It was truly horrible. The worst part: having to judge the length in the back as I was shaving it off by myself. It was never even, so I would take a little off the right side, then even it out by taking some off of the left, and so on. It didn't go well. During the months as it grew out, my sister took to calling me "Medusa."

I forgot to mention the "tail" that happened to be so all the rage back then (in small hick towns, anyway&#41. I had one, braided, and kind of on the side, not directly in the back. Horrid.

I then moved on to colors, dabbling in the maroons and reds, the blondes to an extent (does Sun-In count?&#41, culminating in the worst color experience of my lifetime: black. It was supposedly a temporary color that was to wash out in 6 shampoos, but stayed for months. (Keep in mind that after a week I realized that black wasn't my color.&#41 I had to actually go to the hair place and pay them to remove all of the color and then attempt to match what my natural color should be. Yikes! By then it was completely dead, so they also had to cut it all off. Back to the drawing board.

I have tried in vain to emulate every magazine picture I see of  Drew Barrymore's hair. I've tried to get it to grow by sitting in the sun, taking vitamins, drinking milk. I drive Avery crazy by sitting in front of the mirror at night futzing with my hair. "But you're going to bed!" he cries, giving me a look. My argument is, if I can get it to look exactly the way I want it to at least once, even at 11:00 PM, then all hope is not lost.

Hair. We're obsessed with it. We have written musicals about it (Hair&#41. John Waters has created movies about it (Hairspray&#41. We have Hairclubs for Men. We have Ronco's GLH Hair in an Aerosol Can. We have advertisements where women actually orgasm in the shower because of their [Herbal Essences] shampoo. I wonder what patch of hair they're washing, because I've never come in the shower from massaging my scalp.

So, why are we so hair obsessed? Is it some genetic throwback to the days when we were monkeys? Think back to that last Marlon Perkins Wild Kingdom episode that you saw… back to the chimpanzees picking bugs out of each others hair. Obsession over our flowing manes of hair is part of our ancestral memory.

Actually, I don't have flowing manes of hair. My hair used to be something between the White Jewish Afro and a Bozo the Clown special. For years, I thought that if it grew long enough, that I could pull it into one of those cool ponytails. Then the grunge period ended for me in 1992 and I cut it off.

Surprisingly, my grooming techniques became much more complex the shorter my hair got. When it was long and ratty, generic Walgreen's brand shampoo worked fine for me. When I lost the rat-tail and my hair made me look like a frizzy Jesus, I moved to Pantene. When I got it cut really short, I started the common salon brands like Nexxus. Now, I can only use the ultra-expensive brands like Fudge, TIGI, and Vain.

And yes I am vain. My hair has been red, purple and red and purple at the same time. Now it's blonde with white highlights and brown lowlights. My average haircut takes two hours and costs upwards of ninety dollars.

Life would be easier if I was a cat. While I was watching my cat, an advertisement for a new shaving system called Mach 3 came on. I can't believe that people actually shell out $7 for this piece of crap. A shaving system. Screw that… I use a razor. Sometimes, when I have the energy, I even use shaving cream…. that is when I am not using it to kill spiders :&#41

Back to the cat. When she needs to clean her hair, she licks herself. Here is a cat's cleaning ritual: lick, lick, lick, lick, lick, lick, hack, cough, puke. Total time 5 minutes. If she eats her hairball, add an extra minute.

I guess I have nothing to complain about now. My current stylist (Andrea at WAK Shack&#41 gave me a great cut… she did exactly what I wanted, and I love it. But that wasn't always the case.

For a while, I really wasn't happy with my hair. I didn't realise it at the time, but all the signs were there. A few years ago, we started going to this place called Spaghetti and Ravioli. The owners were not hair stylists… they were artists, and their medium was hair. You sit down and the two owners flit around your hair… pushing and prodding until they decide what they are going to do to your hair. Your input (like when I said that I don't have time to put gel in it in the morning; and that I just want an easy, semi-normal hairstyle&#41 is taken and then discarded. They have the idea and they do whatever their muses tell them to do.

Well, it's difficult to complain… you feel intimidated. They tell you about the damage that you have done to your hair… then they use that hypnotic peppermint conditioner that numbs your brain. It's good that your brain is numb, because they don't have ANY mirrors in the salon (except for one, so you can admire their work as you leave&#41. Your head is in their hands!

The first few cuts were great. Then they started asking if they could do color. Red highlights were nice the first time… a mushroom shaped purple and red two-tone hairdo signalled that it was time to find another salon. That, and the fact that while I went to Spaghetti and Ravioli, I bought 4 expensive hats and wore them daily.

The breakup with Spaghetti and Ravioli has been hard. I don't walk on their side of the street when the shop is open. I know that one day, Mark will come out and inform me that the last person butchered my hair… and that if I come back for an emergency cut, all will be forgiven. But I resist! I won't cheat on Andrea… even if it means that I have to give up that mind-numbing peppermint conditioner.

By the way… if you have any topics that you would like us to take on in next week's Topic of the Week, Go to the Message Boards and use the Topic of the Week Conference.

Posted in Topics of the Week (1990s).

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By Admin – August 17, 1998

Neighbors From Hell

As you can tell by our previous Scowls and Topics of the Week, we really hate our neighbors. Now, the neighbors in the building next door are starting to piss me off. A few weeks ago, they started off by putting a bird feeder on their fire escape. That was nice, because it gives the cats had something to watch during the day. Then they added this damn windchime. Last night, I spent three long hours listening to the damn clanking of this windchime when I should have been sleeping. Melodic and smoothing, my ass!
I believe that your rights end where my nose begins… and that personal sovereignty ends where your property ends. Yes, the chimes are on the neighbor's property… but the noise that they make move into my property. That's the signal for them to take them down… or at least ask if they are bothering us.
People in California moan oppression whenever anyone asks them to take responsibility for themselves. I could imagine the confrontation now… there would be a lot of huffing and eye-rolling… and finally, the chimes would come down. Then for the next few months, they'd keep their music on loud and pound on the wall…. I would complain, they'd get louder. I'd go to the cops, they would finally stop. Is this how adults solve their problems in California?

Posted in Scowls.

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By Avery – August 17, 1998

Automated Trains!

MUNI has just introduced a new 21st-century feature to its service: automated trains! Controlled by A Computer, which is probably hidden in the rafters somewhere in one of those dark rooms with lots of screens like in the movies, the new feature now affords the drivers the luxury of just sitting back and enjoying the ride along with he rest of us on the underground potion of the route (without the added fun of the sardine-can effect, a privilege which we get to PAY for.) Well, it’s all fun and games until the computer breaks, or gets unplugged, or has a system failure. On Friday I was on my way to work, already cutting it close because I just can’t seem to drag my ass out of bed on time, and phew! Along comes a train pretty quickly. We pass the first station, the second…going pretty slow, but that’s OK…the train then gets to the third station and stops. And sits there. For a long time. The driver makes an announcement that since he’s not controlling the train, he can’t open the doors or move forward. Then he kind of suggests that everyone should get out there, which I do and then walk the rest of the way to work and arrive a record 45 minutes late. I’m all for moving forward technology-wise, but how scary is it when you’re trapped in an underground tunnel and know that the only thing that can save you is a computer?

Posted in Muni Chronicles.

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By Janet – August 16, 1998

Archived Smirk

Although the Brian Setzer concert was 2 days ago, I feel that I have just now recovered from the post-show high. This was the 3rd show of his that we've seen and definitely, without a doubt, the best! I know this sounds so sixth-grade, but he is the coolest, not to mention the cutest "rock star" ever! As a rule, I don't normally worship public idols like George Clooney or Brad Pitt (I never got what was so great about those two…&#41, but there's an exception to every rule, right? Of course, his platform sneakers and tattoos (and his hair!&#41 did make me swoon, as predicted. After looking forward to the concert for more than a month, the only letdown is knowing that it's over, and the only thing to look forward to now is hoping that he'll tour again soon!

Posted in Smirks.

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By Janet – August 16, 1998