Who Needs Craigslist?
When you can get all the missed connections you need on the flight home from Barcelona?
I arrived back in the States at SFO on 2 July. I had just finished a 1.5 week tour starting with a brief stop in ORD, followed by a two plane and one cab ride to Vilanova i la Geltru to attend GUADEC 2006. I capped it all off with a train ride back to three days in BCN, and I can safely say that I'm ready to stop travelling for a while - at least until I can stop thinking of cities in terms of airport codes.
For those of you with whom I spoke at the conference, I've been pondering our discussions since I've returned. Andreas, I look forward to reading the results of your survey and the rest of your research on the Ubuntu community. (And I still have your name tag - let me know if you want it back.) Ryan, attracting more women to software development is a topic near and dear to my heart; what I learned from the hour or so I spent with you discussing the GNOME women's program was invaluable. Jonathan, Jon and Luis, I wish I had been more awake when you were talking. Nicholas, I'm still flattered that you asked me to sign your SoC notebook.
Most of your names are swimming somewhere in my consciousness among the names of the 100+ Google Summer of Code kids who need their program payments wired to them. Alas, memory constraints. For anyone who's interested, I've got some photos from my travels to Chicago, Vilanova and Barcelona posted. I'd welcome the chance to continue our conversations in the future.
My time in Spain overall was spent in culture shock and awe. I'm fairly certain I only saw six clocks whilst there, all of which were off by three to nine hours. I've never typed a message on a keyboard with anything other than lower ASCII characters. I can't imagine how the animals for sale on La Rambla survive the night, boxed up in the heat and surrounded by beer hawkers. The open air market, hidden through a dark entrance, had the most vibrant color displays within that I have ever seen. Ah, Spain.....
Onto my MCs...
I touched down at 23.00, luggageless and exhausted, a mere six hours later than originally expected. My first mc led to a rather terse conversation with a decent chap in the employ of British Airways, trying to explain, as politely as possible, that since I hadn't been home in almost two weeks, I had no intention of taking the first non-stop from LHR the next morning. He rapidly found me a flight after I laughed at the joke he made at the expense of his Australian boss.
Probably not my most shining moment, but the friendly rivalry between the Aussies and the Kiwis is something I am more acutely aware of - and amused by - now that I am close to one.
The second missed connection lead to an up close and personal moment with the DEN TSA employees at their single security checkpoint in the entire airport left open after 21.00. I'll save the details of that story for another day, but I will say this much now: it does not give me confidence in my safety when I stand for five minutes, dumbfounded, arms oustretched, squarely planted on a utilitarian mat painted with would-be foot outlines, as four women debate which type of pat down I should receive, having caused the metal detector to beep at level four.
I spent July 3rd sleeping. July 4th is a holiday in the States. With my suitcase missing I had no clothes and I had to return to work the next day. Scary prospect, that. An emergency shopping trip executed, I was confronted with the realization that I like none of the colors and few of the fabrics gracing the runways of the great designer temple of Targét this season. Linen, though, is good, and that they had. I still think that I look daft in the tan cullottes I got.
My baggage turned up on my doorstep Thursday night at 10 PM, carried in a pickup overflowing with dented boxes and duffle bags. I got my favorite shirt back and suddenly owned jeans again. I didn't lose the books I had borrowed from my friends. The shells I found, digging in the Mediteranean shallows of Vilanova, all arrived unscathed. Better late than never.
In the same vein, welcome to Hawthorn Landings - and to my first blog post. Better late than never.
Oh yes, and just in case you're wondering, the Argentinian Peso is not circulated outside of that country. The Belarusian Ruble is apparently not well traded on international markets either. I am forever grateful that there are those well versed in the perils of international finance, so that I may remain ignornant of it most of the time.
We'll get you paid guys.
I arrived back in the States at SFO on 2 July. I had just finished a 1.5 week tour starting with a brief stop in ORD, followed by a two plane and one cab ride to Vilanova i la Geltru to attend GUADEC 2006. I capped it all off with a train ride back to three days in BCN, and I can safely say that I'm ready to stop travelling for a while - at least until I can stop thinking of cities in terms of airport codes.
For those of you with whom I spoke at the conference, I've been pondering our discussions since I've returned. Andreas, I look forward to reading the results of your survey and the rest of your research on the Ubuntu community. (And I still have your name tag - let me know if you want it back.) Ryan, attracting more women to software development is a topic near and dear to my heart; what I learned from the hour or so I spent with you discussing the GNOME women's program was invaluable. Jonathan, Jon and Luis, I wish I had been more awake when you were talking. Nicholas, I'm still flattered that you asked me to sign your SoC notebook.
Most of your names are swimming somewhere in my consciousness among the names of the 100+ Google Summer of Code kids who need their program payments wired to them. Alas, memory constraints. For anyone who's interested, I've got some photos from my travels to Chicago, Vilanova and Barcelona posted. I'd welcome the chance to continue our conversations in the future.
My time in Spain overall was spent in culture shock and awe. I'm fairly certain I only saw six clocks whilst there, all of which were off by three to nine hours. I've never typed a message on a keyboard with anything other than lower ASCII characters. I can't imagine how the animals for sale on La Rambla survive the night, boxed up in the heat and surrounded by beer hawkers. The open air market, hidden through a dark entrance, had the most vibrant color displays within that I have ever seen. Ah, Spain.....
Onto my MCs...
I touched down at 23.00, luggageless and exhausted, a mere six hours later than originally expected. My first mc led to a rather terse conversation with a decent chap in the employ of British Airways, trying to explain, as politely as possible, that since I hadn't been home in almost two weeks, I had no intention of taking the first non-stop from LHR the next morning. He rapidly found me a flight after I laughed at the joke he made at the expense of his Australian boss.
Probably not my most shining moment, but the friendly rivalry between the Aussies and the Kiwis is something I am more acutely aware of - and amused by - now that I am close to one.
The second missed connection lead to an up close and personal moment with the DEN TSA employees at their single security checkpoint in the entire airport left open after 21.00. I'll save the details of that story for another day, but I will say this much now: it does not give me confidence in my safety when I stand for five minutes, dumbfounded, arms oustretched, squarely planted on a utilitarian mat painted with would-be foot outlines, as four women debate which type of pat down I should receive, having caused the metal detector to beep at level four.
I spent July 3rd sleeping. July 4th is a holiday in the States. With my suitcase missing I had no clothes and I had to return to work the next day. Scary prospect, that. An emergency shopping trip executed, I was confronted with the realization that I like none of the colors and few of the fabrics gracing the runways of the great designer temple of Targét this season. Linen, though, is good, and that they had. I still think that I look daft in the tan cullottes I got.
My baggage turned up on my doorstep Thursday night at 10 PM, carried in a pickup overflowing with dented boxes and duffle bags. I got my favorite shirt back and suddenly owned jeans again. I didn't lose the books I had borrowed from my friends. The shells I found, digging in the Mediteranean shallows of Vilanova, all arrived unscathed. Better late than never.
In the same vein, welcome to Hawthorn Landings - and to my first blog post. Better late than never.
Oh yes, and just in case you're wondering, the Argentinian Peso is not circulated outside of that country. The Belarusian Ruble is apparently not well traded on international markets either. I am forever grateful that there are those well versed in the perils of international finance, so that I may remain ignornant of it most of the time.
We'll get you paid guys.
posted by Leslie Hawthorn at 11:58 PM
4 comments
