Boondoggles in the Age of Mercantilism

I'm in New Orleans (actually Belle Chase, LA). On Friday I'll be flying to Delaware*. Given the quantity of good food, live music, and the magic that is Delaware in December; you might think that I'm on a boondoggle. Why would you say that?

*Of course I'm not flying directly to DE. I'll be touching down in Baltimore and making my way north via I-95. Could someone please make the New Castle County Airport a commercially viable airport? That's all** I want for Christmas.

**I actually want quite a bit more. Like everyone else I lied a little when I made the grandiose statement.

You said it, because people love to say Boondoggle. Please take a minute to say it out loud. Did you say it more than once? Of course you did. It must be one of ten most satisfying words/phrases* to say out loud. Do you know what a boondoggle is? I've never bothered to look up a definition of the word in a proper reference compendium. My connotation is that a boondoggle is when someone takes a business trip for primarily personal reasons.

*I don't have a top ten list put together, but when I do I guarantee that Mercantilistic Idealisms will be on that list. Why? I'm so happy that you asked.

Mercantilistic Idealisms: One of my favorite high school compatriots, Stan Brunson, used this as his stock answer to any geopolitical question that might come up in Economics, Political Science, World Studies, and sometime even Physics. I think Stan enjoyed the confused look on our Physics teacher's face when he'd answer a question about free body diagrams with "Mercantilistic Idealisms".

Mind you, I don't think this answer was ever correct - even when were studying mercantilism during Political Science class. The key to the entire answer wasn't to get it right - it was generally to lighten the mood and get a laugh. If Stan was answering Mercantilistic Idealisms, then the chances were good that no one knew the answer. It was straight deflection & a bit more polite and engaging than "We don't know already; can we move the class along?"

If you want to try this at home, the delivery is also highly important. The first thing you need to be is 6'7". The second step is to lean back in your combo desk/seat with your hands behind your head and your feet halfway across the aisle. The third step is confidently answer "Mercantilistic Idealisms" and grin like you might have just said the most important thing of the decade.

By the way, I think I made up the part about Physics class. But I want to believe (it really isn't inconceivable) that he may have used this answer in Physics class. Stan may have also only used this answer about five times in four years of high school and I may have been the only other one that found it funny. But I still do.

It is my contention that the number of boondoggles actually taken are at least a factor of ten less than the number of times you hear the accusation of a boondoggle. (Remember this post is about boondoggles.*) I don't have sound math behind that number, but I know people love to accuse others of being on boondoggles. I think it is primarily because people really like to say the word.

*That sentence made me think about Arlo Guthrie's 'Alice's Restaurant' and now I'd just like to take a second to wish you a belated Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you had a meal & then a second meal that just couldn't be beat.

However, I don't want you to stop. I like saying boondoggle as much as next guy. Go ahead - accuse me of being on a boondoggle all you want. Just don't be surprised when I answer your question about the purpose of my trip with: Mercantilistic Idealisms.

Oktoberfest in East Hampton

There exist important nuggets of information you pick up in life. Some of them you know how you picked them up: Say 'please' & 'thank you': Mom & Dad; Pound for pound the Korean BBQ Restaurant* is the best spot to eat in Newark, DE: Brad. However, there are other nuggets that are just as important, but you cannot remember how you learned about them: don't eat the yellow snow; or the uglier the tomato the better it is likely to taste.

*If you are in Newark or have ever been to Newark & you disagree, I defy you to eat the bulgogi there and tell me I'm wrong. You may want to bring Brad to maximize this experience.

I just spent the weekend in my East Hampton hideaway & let me tell you whatever you may have heard about Hampton tomatoes is absolutely true. They are delicious & they can be downright ugly. All of mine came from Alex's produce stand. If that means anything to you - then proceed there immediately and buy the ugliest one you see. Then buy eight or nine more. Seriously, what were you going to do with only one tomato?

Of course there are other pursuits in the Hamptons besides eating tomatoes: fishing for bluefish; eating corn on the cob*; lounging on the beach; drinking wine; drinking beer; and if you have the time, you may want to enjoy a cocktail. But if you have never been to the Hamptons - don't fret. You have likely been to a beach town that is its equal. You just didn't pay $85 for your souvenir t-shirt.

*I've been living in Houston and I'm terribly missing the concept of the Delaware roadside produce stand. I was longing for summer tomatoes and corn - and I'm currently filled up. But check back with me in a week or two.

When I wasn't busy eating ugly tomatoes I also found time to celebrate German living, Oktoberfest style, with the German side of my clan. We went to Rowdy Hall and got our fill of sausage & potato salad & sauerkraut. The sauerkraut there has too many caraway seeds. That's not just my opinion, but also the opinion of Tante Franziska. She's from just north of Munich and knows how to make a mean kraut & sausage & come to think of it is possible everything she makes kicks ass. Tante: the plum cake was ridiculous! Plus it is always nice to go to a event with a native - to point out what's not authenticate* & to make you feel more legit.

*It recently dawned on me there is no such thing as the authenticity of food. You may stop bragging or worrying or vexing over whether or not your Sesame Chicken is authentic. I guarantee it is. I don't care if you bought it in the freezer case in your supermarket - it really is food. It might be awful & you may want to avoid it, but saying that it isn't authentic is just silly. We (and I'm including myself with this) should all stop.

Here is what I mean: anyone who thinks that weisswurst they are eating today in Munich is the same as it was 100 years ago is crazy. Twenty years ago you could have hermetically sealed and deep (Walt Disney's head deep) freezed that sausage and then delicately & expertly brought it back to life so it was exactly the same -- there is no way that sausage enjoys an identical taste to the one today.

Everything changes. Generations change. Climates change. Peoples taste change. You now love sushi & somehow can translate LOL into a meaningful phrase. And our food changes along with us. Your Chinese food isn't just Americanified - so is your American food. Does you pantry look anything like June Cleavers? I doubt it. How often do you reach for a can of cream of mushroom/celery/chicken soup when you start cooking dinner? (Put your hand down Big Fizz.)

Things may be changing a bit quicker now, but food & language & everything else evolves. So I have stopped worrying if that little mom & pop Mexican joint produces the same stuff as their counterpart south of the Rio Grande. They don't. Carolina & Texas & Kansas City BBQ all taste wonderfully different. And I'm betting more than a few yahoos in Dakota** make a mean BBQ too. It's all American food - whatever that might mean. Japanese food - whatever that might mean - tastes different all over Japan too.

**The Song of the Summer supports North Dakota's wish to be officially known as Dakota.

So eat what you like; stop your worrying; and feel free to tell that blow-hard he/she has no clue what they are talking about when they tell your spicy meatball is not authentic. Tell them its not authentic in Tuscany either. It'll freak them out.

Happy Oktoberfest. Eat a sausage* & get a beer. I recommend Brooklyn's Oktoberfest over Spaten's. And whatever you do, get yourself to the Korean BBQ Restaurant in Newark, Delaware. And who knows - maybe it’s authentic.

*I haven't gone completely loopy here - get a bratwurst or a knockwurst and save the chorizo for another day.

Eight Nights without Air Conditioning

It's August. I live in Houston. And I've just spent eight straight nights sleeping without air conditioning. How did I do it? I left Houston. Problem mostly solved. The first four nights were spent in Wilmington, DE. Delaware may not get national pub about it, but August in Delaware is usually a hot & humid affair. I caught four great evenings - starting on August 24th. It was down right chilly for August standards. I was crashing at Toad's condo and I was happy to see the windows open. Sleeping with windows open has not been a reality for quite a while down here in Texas.

Of course, I was pretty darn giddy to be back in Delaware. But I was leaving Houston just when it became cool for a minute to be from Delaware. I didn't get to answer one Joe Biden question. Oh well. I had bigger fish to fry - and I did. I got to see Brad & Denise's new (to them) home; eat ribs out the new Turner smoker; caught up with my cousin JamesT; ate some Korean bulgogi in Newark, DE; and finally got to reconnect a bit of Wilmington.

But that was all before I Wednesday night. That is when I got to attend a proper Wednesday Night Crew (WNC) outing at the WNC International headquarters: the Washington Street Ale House. I was joined by el P, Bugs, Agent J, the Admiral, and the official hairstylist* of the Song of the Summer. How could life have been nicer? I was in Wilmington, DE; enjoying a Dogfish 90-minute** Pale Ale; and hanging out with some good friends. It was 11pm & I had a flight to catch at 7am in Philly - so I was now ready for bed.

*It should be noted that I don't actually use the official hairstylist of the SoS to cut my hair. She's much to expensive and talented for that trivial of an endeavor. However, if you need a proper quaff near the 19806 zip code, let me know.

**90-minute is simply my favorite beer. Delaware's little Dogfish Brewery has been getting pretty darn big. I know that their 60-minute Pale Ale is on draft all over the place here in Houston. But 90-minute is harder to come by. It'll be available in a 4-pack at your favorite place to buy beer (I suspect). And the 90-minute is the official beer of the WNC. But that's a tale for another time.

That is always when the Big Fizz* will say, "Let's get cheesesteaks. Mike doesn't have access to cheesesteaks. Let's go" So up I-95 North I went with Jayesh & Fizz. Straight to Pat's "King of the Cheesesteak". Turns out; the kid living in Texas is the best one for directions. Turns out I was also the only one waking up at 5am. And after the cheese whiz goodness, I was starting to stare at 1am.

*The Big Fizz is the most nickname-able of all my friends. Maybe of anyone ever**. His real name is Larry, but you'll hardly ever hear that. He's known as Toad & The Big Fizz*** primarily. But you'll also hear him called Two Hands, Mom-mom little fat boy, Lil Thome, and a few others. But I stick with Toad & Fizz and have no reason for skipping between the two. It just happens.

**Maybe that title should go to Idi Amin or Shaq; but aren't most of those titles/nicknames self-prescribed for shameless self-promotion. That cannot count. But I did get Toad, Idi Amin, & Shaq into the same thought - and that's got to count for something.

***If you ever get a chance to greet Big Fizz, the proper way to greet him is to say "Big Fizz" and then follow that immediately with a louder "Big Fizz". Like this: "Big Fizz, BIG FIZZ!" You'd be surprised how much fun this is.

And I did wake up at 5am. OK. I didn't. I got up at 5:20am -- and now I was late. Getting showered and throwing the PJs into the suitcase took me to a little before 5:40am. I was about 20+ minutes to the Philly airport. I needed to drop off the rental* car. Somehow I made it through security and onto my Continental flight.

*Never rent a car from Thrifty in Philadelphia. They are not "on airport" as they claim. They are nice 10 minute ride away. I didn't need that.

I don't recall taxi-ing or take off or a beverage service. I woke up on the descent. The girl next to me had just spilled hand lotion on my pants. Maybe it was turbulence. I don't know. All I knew is that she had a look of horror. I'm assuming she thought I'd take my pants off and throw them at her. I didn't. That didn't even occur to me at the time. I scooped the lotion and now possessed moisturized hands & pants - in a good way.

I needed 'em. I was off to Houston; to stay for about 4 hours. Then I went straight back to the airport bound for Denver & my next four nights of air conditioner free sleeping. Dry Denver. Moisturized pants were key. If you haven't been, Denver, CO is a great town. It seems there are few people that share this opinion, but as far as I know it didn't become a cool place to live until about 14 months ago. That's when my friend Katie Gaston moved there. I'd never been to Denver before: mainly because there was never a Katie there before. So I believe it may have just become relevant.

Katie & I & Katie's carnival of WNC-Denver* groupies tripped up to Steamboat Springs for a couple of nights of camping and soaking in hot tubs. The exact joint was Strawberry Park Hot Springs. The epitome of luxury camping. I was a luxuriously priced anyhow. My share for two nights was $70 -- and there were six of us! But the campsites were great. Really fantastic.

*Katie is straight kicking my butt by starting a wildly popular branch of the WNC in Denver. Good form Post Master General.

However, I had been lead to believe I was car camping. So had Katie. We were car camping, except the car was a solid 1/4 mile hike up an 80° gradient. (It may have also been only about 5%.) That may not have been that big a deal, except we had the car packed with about the same amount of stuff I had when I moved into my freshman dorm room*. It was car camping. You are supposed to bring luxuries. We did.

*My freshman door room number was 000. How cool is that? Answer: its cool. The best part is that the school's directory could not comprehend a 000 room number. So my name was listed in the directory with the number for the pay phone in Cannon Hall. I was incognito. If you can get your hands on 91/92 UoD campus directory you'll find "Mike Lennon / Cannon Hall". That's right. I owned Cannon Hall. I wouldn't mind having it back - I could walk to the ACE Delaware office.

However, there was a considerable payoff: lake sized, natural hot springs. Lake might be a bit on the embellished side of things, but the pools were big. And they were oh so nice. Plenty of temperature settings to choose from. There were hot water falls. It was a pretty fantastic experience. And the upshot to camping there, is that you were only a 5 minute stroll from camp to the pools. On top of that, campers were allowed to hang out in the pools until midnight. It didn't stink. It didn't stink one bit.

And we enjoyed those hot springs until about 3pm on Sunday when Katie & I took the 3+ hour drive back towards Denver and the Red Rocks amphitheater. We took a little brief stop to admire the Continental Divide*. And then we found our way to Morrison, CO. Parked the Golf and walked up the 836 steps to get into the amphitheater. Red Rocks is a must see venue - that's my official stance anyhow. When Katie moved to Denver, I decreed that I would make it to a show this summer. We settled** on Gov't Mule.

*This was my second trip to Denver, but I did not get the Rockies properly the first time. So this was actually my first time ever in the American Rockies. It wasn't my first time in the Rockies though. Somehow I made it to the Canadian Rockies before I saw the home grown version.

**Other contenders were Willie Nelson, Yonder Mountain, and Mark Knopfler.

Gov't Mule put on an insane concert. This being Warren Haynes that much was expected. But this being Red Rocks, Mule was up for having a lot of fun. So I got to hear great Gov't Mule tunes {"Soul Shine", "Beautifully Broken"} and they played ridiculous covers: The Beatles "Dear Prudence", Black Sabbath "War Pigs", Doors "When the Music's Over", and Buffalo Springfield's "For What its Worth". It all added up to a show that was easily worthy of being one's first Red Rocks experience. Oh, and Umphrey's McGee kicked some serious fanny as well.

That's where I've been. Now I'm headed off to bed in air conditioned bliss. Good night Denver. Good night Delaware. See you soon.

Wedding in Tuscany - Part V

After the dream wedding in Tuscany, I was getting ready to travel back to the States. But first, there was a Sunday evening to enjoy in Tuscany. The Irish have a custom where everyone must do a "party piece" at their big affairs. A party piece can be anything - as long as it's entertaining to the masses. Sing a song. Do a card trick. Tell a story. Whip out some cardboard and bust out some 80's breakin' moves. Whatever you like. I lead the Irish in a rendition of "Deep in the Heart of Texas". I was Texas Mike after all. My Texas friends were big fans of me teaching them the song. I had to find an internet kiosk the day before to look up the words. I'm not that good a Texan. (Sorry Ed.)

The wine was especially good (and free) on Sunday. The villa had given everyone a bottle of red & white as a gift for staying with them. Most of the Irish had no need for these bottles & I was happy to help out with the Chianti. The evening proceeded with lots more fine stories and then concluded with lots of fine pleasantries. It was my last night in Tuscany. I was off to drive to Rome in the morning.

At least this time I had a travel companion in the Golf to help with directions. JJ did one better by fixing the GPS unit. JJ's good like that. We both decided it would be more fun to find some little towns than rush to Rome and see it maybe for 4 hrs. So we made a lot of stops.

My least & most favorite was the town of Pienza. I bought a fantastic chunk of cheese there, and we also found some great espresso & gelato. Very quaint. Very pretty. An easy walk all around it. And all that for only $160 in parking fines. Parking in Italy is not fun. I wasn't too happy to find the parking ticket. I was less happy when we got to Rome, asked Google about Italian parking tickets, and found out how they will track you down (sometimes by getting the rental company to charge your credit card for them). So we paid it. Cost of having fun I guess.

It was 9pm by the time we finally found our hotel in Rome. I was tired. I was the only one licensed to drive the rental. But neither of us had been to Rome and it really wasn't a question if we were going out. We did. Found an interesting restaurant in the heart of the city. Found the Coliseum. Found a good walkabout & finally a cab ride back to hotel. I was exhausted. A great trip. Only three flights later (Philly-Charlotte-Houston), I was back in big Texas. It was 11pm. I was working the next day. A one & half hour drive north of the city - to find a very high strung project installation. Yay.

I tried to soothe my customer with stories about cheese & prosciutto & wine & parking tickets, but he was freaked out and doing 50 different things at once. I was jolted back to reality & work life. There would be no bucolic sunset & sipping Chianti for me that night. However, I was starring at impending trips to Delaware & Denver. Fun times were not too far off at all.

Wedding in Tuscany - Part IV

I attended Thursday night dinner at Fonte de Medici and got good & caught up with Ciarán. During that conversation, I told him that a good friend of mine was going to be coming in from Madrid. I told Ciarán the job Jayesh was working on, because I figured Ciarán would be familiar with it - he was; controls is a small world. I asked if it was OK if JJ (Jayesh) crash some of the party. He said sure. Now at this point JJ did not have an invite to the wedding. Not at all. He was planning on stealing the rental car & having some fun on his own while I went off to the wedding. (He had scheduled himself a flight home out of Rome the same day as me.) He didn't want to impose on my friend. That was the plan before he got to Italy anyhow.

But put yourself into his situation - you are a half step away from one of the best affairs you might ever get invited to. The reception is going to be at a castle. The wedding is going to be at a church in Florence that you may have gone to visit anyhow. You wouldn't have even entertained the concept a day before, but after getting drunk on Tuscany's excesses you are certain that you are going to have to crash this wedding. He told me his plan. (It simply entailed getting on the bus.) I said, "Good luck." JJ got to meet everyone at dinner on Friday night, but he also knew that he was flying without an invite.

On Saturday, Jayesh & I board the wedding bus bound for Florence. It takes us to Florence. This full size coach bus is somehow navigating the same streets that could Barely accommodate my little Volkswagen Golf. MC Escher is the only person who could understand this dichotomy.

I get off the bus and walk up to a church that was built in the 1500s. Yeah, those 1500s. It was, simply, sublime. The stations of the cross. The frescoes. The pipe organ. The ceilings to infinity. You've likely seen it's equal in Italy & other parts of Europe. But I went to a wedding at this one. Wowsers.

We exit the church and there is a throng of tourists waiting to take our pictures. I kid you not. I am in at least 50+ vacation photo reels marked Florence: 02-AUG-2008. It was an absolute trippy experience. The bus shows back up and whisks us away to a castle. Castello Il Palagio. This is where I would spend the next 8 hours of my life dining on superb food & imbibing fantastic wine. But before we eat, let's take a second to talk about the guest list.

You can imagine that this is not the kind of wedding you invite 300+ to. The courtyard of the castle was set up with tables in a horse shoe arrangement. I would estimate somewhere around 60 chairs at this table. That's it. Sixty. That's a small wedding. And not an easy one to just blend and hope no one notices. Especially when your parents are from India and everyone else at the wedding looks decidedly Irish. Tans, they do not have. JJ gets a bit nervous when he sees the table. He bites the bullet & goes over to ask permission* from the father of the bride. Allegedly the man paying for this affair. "You wouldn't mind if one extra shows up, would you? Namely, me?" is what I suppose JJ said. I don't know. I was hiding at the bar.

*There is something about weddings that sometimes causes people to forget they are otherwise fully functioning adults. I've overheard questions like, "How do we get to the reception if we are not going to take the shuttle you've provided for us?" or use the directions printed in the invitation - for that matter. How it's appropriate to bother a groom with this question 5.2 minutes after he's been married, I have no idea. Yet you see it. Somebody always has something for the groom. I assume the bride too - but I tend to be in more of the groom side of wedding parties.

So I stroll up to Ciarán late at the reception and ask him how the day has gone. He's clearly exhausted, yet still visibly happy. And he unloads for a half second about how he wishes people would just stop asking for things. That's when I put one hand on his shoulder, look him dead in the eye, and ask him, "Can you get me an elephant?" I really did say that. But he absolutely let me down.

Of course, these are the Irish we are talking about. I could have showed up with the party list for the Tom Summer Classic and they would have been OK with it. So we all ate and drank and danced the night away. It was insanely pretty in that courtyard and there was no way it could get any better. That's when the fireworks started. A full spread - just outside the castle walls. How fun is that. Answer: very.
{post originally written on 21-Aug}

Wedding in Tuscany - Part III

Ciarán & I met in Leicester, England while we were both working on a controls project. We both do the same sort of engineering work. But there were loads of other engineers in Leicester for this project as well: Rob from England, Chris from Scotland, Gunther from Germany, Kristof from Poland, etc. I went home after the England portion was complete. The rest of these yahoos followed the project to Ireland. And with the exception of Chris*, they accepted Ciarán's invite to a wedding in Tuscany. Getting to see these guys again was an unexpected pleasure of attending the wedding. It was a huge added bonus when I thought the only person I'd know was the groom.

*The only reason I mentioned Chris Hyland is that he is one of my favorite characters from my England stay. He has the strongest Glaswegian accent you can imagine (think Brad Pitt in 'Snatch', but worse). I couldn't understand him for at least one month, but once I did I realized he was one of the funniest guys in the place. A few years ago I dragged some friends over to Ireland for Thanksgiving at Ciarán's flat. Chris was there. I tried to warn my friends that they weren't going to be able to understand him. They didn't believe me. They were wrong. They'll all admit it. I don't think they understood a single word he uttered all evening (and Chris is a bit of a talker). But they all believe he's one of the more fun loving people they've ever met. Chris is good like that.

But the other thing I had going for me, was that I was exotic. You don't get that feeling often as an American. But I was only person from the USA for miles. Ciarán & Eilish introduced me to their friends and families as Texas Mike. Texas has a bit of reputation and they were all excited to meet a cowboy - I think. I didn't want to disappoint & confuse them by saying I was actually from Delaware. Delaware doesn't really have a reputation (even in Pennsylvania, yet alone Europe). After getting over the fact that I was not adorned in a ten gallon hat, boots, or a giant belt buckle, the lads settled in and treated me like one of the gang. Of course, I was asked to explain America's policy on just about every subject you'd expect an Irishman to care about: Iraq, the church, the drug war, Hannah Montana, etc.

I've come to expect these questions. The Irish (and probably just about everyone else) believe that Americans are in constant contact with our State department and are ready at a moments notice to discuss foreign relations any news item from the past six years. The key in these situations is to speak authoritatively & resolutely - and make up lots of stuff. Unfortunately, they are not likely to ask you about the hitting statistics of Albert Pujols. A person I'm vastly more knowledgeable about than the President of the European Commission*. So making stuff up is paramount.

*President José Manuel Barroso. I had to look it up.

But so is making sure you've had plenty of wine. Personally, Chianti is one of my favorite wines - and I was living in the heart of it's home for 5 days. Beer in Italy would cost you an arm & a leg to drink. Chianti was about the cheapest thing one could buy. Thank goodness. Finding something affordable was a plus.

This was the crux of my evenings for four straight nights: Thursday to Sunday. The wedding was on Saturday & at this fantastic little castle (more on that later), but the other evenings were all at the villa Fonte de Medici. Destination weddings, I suspect, are nice in the fashion that for four straight nights you get to lounge with all your guests. It gave me a huge amount of time with Eilish & Ciarán, and I can say that I'm now pretty well acquainted with a few of their friends as well. This is probably my favorite part about the affair. However, the wedding itself was stunningly spectacular and I helped a friend of mine crash it.
{post originally written on 20-Aug}

Wedding in Tuscany - Part II

So a proper sleep is evidently going to have to wait. I did grab a little nap on the plane, but that may have done more harm than good. I hurried off to bed when I returned to my home. Only I didn't sleep. I hate that. Finally I got up. Too tired to read, unable to fall asleep, and I turned on the TV. Olympics re-runs. Misty May & Kerri Walsh are winning again on the beach.*

*I do not know that it was actually a re-run. They've won 107 straight matches. Everything looks like a re-run at this point. But they sure are darn fun to watch.

My eyes grew heavier and I slumped off to bed & proceeded to not fall asleep. I repeat this process until 3:30am. The worst. My alarm goes off this morning and I'm convinced it is an argument the Russian official over a gymnastics scoring decision. This disagreement takes about 5 snoozes to resolve & I am now starring at 07:50am. I have an 08:30 meeting that I'm not prepared for in this slightest. Fortunately, I've read the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe, so my first reaction to this situation was "Don't Panic"...

Florence, Italy. I get back into my rented Golf with a sense of confidence, vigor, and wonder. I'm going to a place I've never seen before. I'm going to a place that has statues. The statue. That David. The statue of the fabulous quote: "I just removed all the parts of the stone that was not the David." Or something similar to that. There are going to be frescoes & espressos & olive oil soaked tomatoes. Mike's traveling happiness was to obtain peak output in t-minus 30 minutes.

Have you ever thought about driving in Florence? I gotta suggest you don't. I spent 1/2 hour looking for parking. I'm sorry, I was looking for parking for about 2 minutes. The next 28 minutes I spent trying to find my way back to something that wasn't a cobblestone alley way between buildings. That's what passes for roads in Florence. Normally I'd be stone giddy at that realization. Normally, I'd be on foot.

But I was in a car; I was alone; the female British voice had stopped communicating hours ago; I was stuck. Literally. At one point I thought I may have to just park the car and leave it there for eternity. There was no where to go. This is not the situation you want to be in when you have slept for 4 hours out of the previous 60 or so.

I got out. I'm still not sure how. No scraps or hit pedestrians or ruined national treasures. I also never stopped to look at the frescoes, drink an espresso, or eat an olive oil marinated tomato. I finally found a sign that indicated Siena "that way" & I followed it. Got lost again. Saw another sign. Got lost again. Repeat. Then I finally found the Firenze (how the Italians spell Florence) to Siena highway and got on.

From there my directions back to the bed & breakfast took over. Fortunately, I noticed a good number of cute restaurants on my way to the B&B in the daytime. It was dark now. But I found a great meal of prosciutto & melon and then a salmon farfalle main dish. I was ultimately off to my proper bed. I needed sleep and I got it.

When I woke up, I really wanted two things: coffee & a map. My B&B was awesome. Not only did I get a map, but the lady that runs the place looked up where the bride & groom were staying (I only knew the villa's name). She gives me great directions once again and I'm again armed with knowledge. And the coffee was superb.

I had all day to fart around before I was due at the wedding party's villa. So I went out and found a neat little small Tuscan town: Radda in Chianti. It's my favorite town in Italy. For no reason other than it was the first I went to. It has two streets to speak of and you can walk around it in less than an hour. I did just that. And I took 2.5 hours to do it. Because that's the more Italian way to go about doing things.

At around 3pm or so, armed with actual directions & a map, I set off to find the Fonte de Medici. That's where the wedding party was staying. That's where my friend (the groom) was to be found. And I won. I still can't believe it - but I started to understand that little corner of Tuscany. By 4pm I was talking with my old friend Ciarán and we immediately started making fun of one another. It's what we do.

And I had now found my Tuscany mojo. Wake up; coffee; get lost; small town lunch; eat an amazing meal a breathtaking villa; and wine the night away while swapping stories with the Irish. The later we'll get into in the next chapter.
{Note post originally written on 19-Aug}

Wedding in Tuscany - Part I

I'm starting my first ever blog post while drinking a Hop Devil* in the Philadelphia Airport. I'm actually on my way home from a visit in Delaware, but if you'll permit me, I want to talk about my first trip to Italy. I was going to attend Ciarán's wedding in Tuscany. It didn't suck.

*Victory Hop Devil is just one of my favorite beers. I may be a complete homer (guy that just roots for the home team), but Victory & Dogfish Head are my two favorite breweries - anywhere. Dogfish is from downstate DE: Rehoboth Beach. Victory is actually closer to my Wilmington, DE -- Victory is in Downingtown, PA. I just had my first Victory Hop Devil from the tap in about 10 months. Yum.

On Wednesday 30-JUL I landed in Rome. This is when things started to get dicey. Normally I kind of attack vacations. Somehow I never really viewed this trip like it was a vacation. I viewed it a lot like I think about traveling for a wedding. Just go & have fun. There's no sightseeing over a wedding weekend. There's no need to study languages. There's no need for guide books. You land. Someone picks you up. They take you to where you drink & eat. Start having fun.

The thing is, I wasn't landing in Houston or St. Louis or Philly, I was landing in Rome. That's in Italy. It's a place that has a few guide books written about it. It's a place that doesn't speak English (or at least not with the fluency required for tricky transactions). And no one was there to pick me up to take me to that land of food & wine & fun. I needed to get a rental car. After taking 20 minutes to figure out that would require me to get a ticket number (like I was at the deli or Japan*), I proceeded to acquire a Volkswagen Golf and a GPS unit that would talk to me with a female British accent.

*Japan loves tickets. You need a ticket to do anything in Japan. For example, you need a ticket to ride the ferry from Fukuoka to Busan** (South Korea). That stands to reason. It's a legitimate mode of transportation. However, after you get to the ferry terminal and redeem your online purchase voucher for a ticket, you'll be directed to kiosk that will sell you a terminal usage fee ticket. Why don't they just wrap up the cost for the terminal usage fee (think about the myriad of fees in your last plane ticket) into the cost of the ferry ticket? Answer: the Japanese love tickets. This allows you to have two tickets for one ferry ride. How cool is that? Trust me, it's cool if you're Japanese.

**Depending on the time of day, which direction you are facing, and what country you are currently standing in; this city is known as Busan or Pusan. With a B or a P it's a groovy place with awesome food.

Everything was working out for the first 2 hours of my 4-7 hour journey to Tuscany. I was a tired, tired pup after the flight (I barely slept) so I stopped at least four times between Rome & Florence. At my last rest stop (where I grabbed a little nap) my GPS unit decided to stop working. Have I stressed enough how I did no planning for this trip? I was armed with sparse emailed directions written by an Italian woman; these directions were no more than five sentences long. Besides knowing that Rome was south of Florence, my geographic knowledge was limited. That GPS wouldn't work again until Monday - when Jayesh fixed it. I had no maps.

Fortunately, I've read the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe, so my first reaction to this situation was "Don't Panic". I'll have you know that I vehemently disagreed with myself over this course of action. Amazingly, the directions with which I was armed did an admirable job of finding my bed & breakfast. This was a massive win and really set me on a confidence boost. After finding the most picturesque accommodations I've ever seen or imagined, I grabbed a nap and my car keys for a white knuckle driving adventure in Florence.

But right now I've just returned home and I'm finishing the post after a long commute to Houston. I'll start back up after a decent slumber.
{Note: post was original written on 19-Aug}