Airports are depressing places. They fill me with the urge to depart. If I can’t depart soon enough, the only logical thing to do is to drink alcohol and play on the internet. It’s a vicious cycle.

Oh well. At least I’m not trying to get four adorable but uncomfortable under-five-years-old children through security. That didn’t look like any fun at all.

So here I sit – awake as all hell but with vision bleary from exhaustion. Typing is an effort. My mind spins and spins. I munch homemade sauerkraut and sip ginger ale in an attempt to settle down to the point where I can lay still in bed and not bug redmed. She does not like to be bugged – especially during the designated sleep-period. She has her own troubles – more direct and visible than mine most days.

Two more business proposals out the door. A quarter million dollars of deliverables wrapped up in 30 pages of mostly-boilerplate. Will we get the work? Most likely. Would we have gotten it without my last minute of “oh my God, give me that,” edits? Who knows? The basic structure was there – the ideas were right, if vague. Most likely, the customers would have accepted the proposals but we would have been screwed, delayed, and stressed downstream because something was vaguely specified and under-funded.

Can the team do the work? Sure, no doubt. These two even look like they would be fun to work on. Neat science. But can we do it on schedule without getting still further backed up? That’s the unknown.

Somehow, through some weird and ironic twist of fate – nine families (17 adults and 14 kids) rely on me – at least in part – to stir the electronic embers hard enough this evening that the coals fan to life one more time this year. In the morning, perhaps, they will wake to a hot cook-fire and a lured beast in the hunting grounds. At that point, they will go and do the deed. I’ll help, maybe, a little – but mostly I’ll wonder whether this late night, like the others, is a useful contribution or just a parasitic scam.

Would all of this have gone down without me? Probably. Do I make it better? Maybe – for a few people.

Ah. There we go. “Guero” by Beck. That’s what we were looking for.

I’m like some sort of zen stress-puppy. My coping skills are fully deployed every day. I take breaks in which I walk to the coffee shop and back without checking email or twitter. I breathe deeply. I insist on a shower and clean clothing before lunch. I achieve INBOX 0 satori each afternoon. I exercise to exhaustion in the evenings – or else I unplug with friends, food, conversation, and Starcraft. I have hobbies, a beautiful wife, a house more comfortable than I need … and yet the backlog of shit grows and I wake most mornings to a feeling of vague dread and being behind.

Perhaps the Indigo Girls can help: “Joanie left for South Africa a few years ago / And then Beth took a job all the way over on the West Coast / Seems I’m heavier by the year and heavier by the load / Why do we hurtle ourselves through every inch of time and space? / I’m -a- sit around some corn and rock and rest in place. / With every lesson learned, a line upon your beautiful face. / We’ll admit ourselves one day: These memories we’ll trace.”

The question in the front of my mind is “where does this train go?” I see my situation for what it is. I’ve got a great gig in the middle of the worst job drought in decades. I’ve achieved work-nirvana in a lot of ways. I work from home. My reporting hierarchy is “flexible” to the point of laughter. I do not worry about making rent or buying food. Nobody is shooting at me. Nobody takes my stuff. I have the flexibility to worry about the ethics and sustainability of how I live and to bitch about the government, out loud, without fear.

As his holiness points out: If these material things were the source of happiness – rich people would be happy all the time. They are not, so there must be more to it than that.

The goal for the business this end-of-year is to begin the push towards the new structure. Six years in this gig. I’ve risen from “employee number one” to directing all our activities. Everyone is looking at me, expecting me to tell them where we go next. Well, almost everyone. Most of them are looking at me to be sure to win that fight too … and to win it so smoothly that the team stays together and productive through the process.

Screw it: Perhaps my dreams will give some answers – but more likely they will include being chased, onstage, on the mat and out of my league, just on the edge – all without pants on. I haven’t talked to the ancestors in my dreams for a while now. Too busy outrunning bears with my knickers twisted around my ankles.

Thanks for listening. Me? I’m typing this stone cold sight unseen – forehead on the desk – Godsmack “cryin’ like a bitch” blasting in my headphones. See you tomorrow.

Continuing on the theme of reveling in the ordinary things – it’s a truly glorious day. I played a bit of hooky and hopped a train to Providence this afternoon. Usually I drive, but it struck me as a nice day for a train ride. So I’ve read the paper – caught up on email (INBOX 0, people) – and now I’m waiting for a bit of a workout with old friends at the karate school.

I’ve been feeling strong lately. Historically, this means that I’m going to overexert and injure myself. Therefore, I’m trying something a little different: I craigslisted up a weight bench in the basement, and I’m mixing in cardio conditioning twice a week. Perhaps I can merely get strong without becoming unbalanced and brittle again. That would be neat. I would like to hold on to “strong,” and not continue through the regular cycle into “pissed off and recuperating” again.

Lot of history in the air today. The weather is filled with perfect back-to-school crispness. The mornings are dewey and chilly and demand a sweater, but the afternoon sun makes that same sweater too hot and sweaty. It feels like a good time to start projects. To re-commit to long term efforts.

The farmer’s markets are gasping their last before winter descends. I’m stocking up on beets, potatoes, onions, and so on. The hot peppers are perfect – and may be made into a hot sauce before the weekend is out.

Short form: I like this place – I should spend more time here.

First off: Rogue Farm is a pretty awesome Sci Fi story.

redmed and I just got back from Ohio, where we attended the wedding of robotify to Emily (who, if she’s on LJ – I don’t know about it). It was a small wedding, perhaps 40 of us in her parent’s cabin on the shores of lake Erie. Her harp instructor played, and there were musical offerings from various folks with whom I used to sing. They shared a traditional handfasting which was really beautiful and moving. My cold, dark heart was heard to offer a muted “ker-thub.” Seriously. I wish them the same sort of happiness that and I have found.

The party was wild! Wild, as in “high winds directly off the lake threatening to take the tent away!” However, the tent pegs held, toasts were toasted, dances were danced, and yet another couple smoothly and without any fuss served an all vegetarian feast as if it were the most natural thing in the world. We even managed to sneak out prior to the groom being bodily dragged into the water by his drunken friends … which is as close to perfect timing as a guy could ask for.

I knew two of the kids there: L and J have produced a gorgeous little four year old A. R and K brought tiny M, who is just the cutest big-blue-eyed baby ever. Contrary to the rumors, I do love kids – especially when I love their parents.

We splurged on a taxi home – so now there’s time to catch up on email prior to going to bed. The calendar claims that I have 10 days until I get on a plane again. TEN DAYS OF FREEDOM.

The totally ordinary parts of my life are where I find the most happiness.

redmed described yesterday pretty well. Wake up – putter around – start moving – get breakfast – pick up veggies from the farm share – make some sort of preserved concoction (mango chutney) – go see some kinda street fair – play with power tools, cussing and breaking and fixing – then settle in with computer games – all in close proximity to her and the cats.

This morning – similar. I woke up and wandered into the office only to realize that there was a cross-oceanic-video-skype going on with capital_l, so I should probably put on some pants. So far, I’ve kicked off a couple more debugging jobs for work, chopped another parcel of the red oak that we picked up (unsplit, warms you twice) for firewood, and mowed and edged the lawn. Next, I think I may scope craigslist for a weight bench. I’ve decided that “12 pounds under the threshold for my weight class,” puts me at a disadvantage. I can either lose 5 pounds and be constantly nervous about eating a larger sandwich, or I can put on 7 or 8 pounds of muscle. I’ve always kind of wanted to be buff.

Work? Oh yeah, I’m getting on another goddamn airplane tomorrow. Each individual trip is sorta fun and fulfilling – but in mass they take me away from the place where I’m happiest: right here.

I filleted a cod this afternoon, and then I made fish stock with the non fillet part. Sort of a “whole buffalo” mentality here around the mansion. Used thyme that I grew myself, too … and a leek from the CSA. Anyway, I was wrapping up the “fish head in a pot, process” and I had a catastrophic sort of knife-drop incident. One of the ones where the knife is spinning in front of my head and I’m like “how the hell, um, crap?”

Anyway, the hands did what they’ve been told a thousand times to do: Get the hell out of the way of the knife. You drop a knife (or a sword, or whatever), you get your hands out of the way. Do not grab the falling blade. The hands were safely behind my back almost as soon as the “knife in the air” alert went out.

The knees, on the other hand swung into the “cushion the landing of the valuable item which you have dropped” routine. They’ve won praise in similar situations recently for neatly catching my phone and then sliiiiiding it down my calf. Very slick. So the knees are like “we’re ON it.”

Meanwhile, the conscious mind had time to say “no knees! noooooo!”

The knife wound up sticking me perfectly vertically, about an inch away from my kneecap. It sort of bounced off my leg. I was like “hey, that wasn’t so … um … blood soaking through my jeans now.” Anyway, a deep but narrow wound that only now is beginning to hurt. That was me, limping up the stairs with my pant leg hiked above my knee to avoid (further) staining my jeans. Yay.

For what it’s worth, the fillets were some of the best I’ve done, and the broth smelled awesome. Thanks, cod.

I’m in Miami on work, helping these folks bring up a new compute server. They’re one of those truly interesting groups – a hundred years of plant research – 300 subspecies of mature mango tree on the campus – that sort of thing. I’ve been told that if I’m good, they’ll send me home with a bag of mangos. “Not those boring ones you can get in every store, either.” Allright, I’ll try to be good.

I’m staying in a nice marriott which is undergoing some rather savage renovation. Because of that, I was able to score a “bay view” room on the 15th floor. My hotel room has two full walls of window, looking East across the water. I was awakened this morning at about 7am by the sunrise over the water. Life is hard – you know?

The weather is stunning and perfect, high 80’s with an offshore breeze. I got free of work about 4:30 today and seriously considered striking south for Key West. It’s a beautiful drive – as I remember from when I was about 10 years old. However, it’s also a three hour drive. While a mai tai overlooking the oil slick would have been nice – I made other plans a bit closer to home.

I went to South Beach, the art-deco southern end of Miami Beach. It’s one hell of a scene. There are little islands ringed with very expensive yachts on the way there. I walked the length of the thing – from about 5th street to about 14th – and found a little tapas place where I could eat slowly, savor a caiperina, and watch the people. I have no idea how the hostess put up with the crap attitudes of the people walking by. May I never become such an entitled little shit as those tourists. In any event, the ceveche was amazing.

I made the mistake of reading the political news – something about Republicans and Democrats frantically lying about each other. I briefly wanted to start a political rant titled “listen, dickheads,” but I ordered a glass of wine instead. I’m beginning to despair that democracy is the way out of the hole our country is in. I think we need an enlightened dictator. Yes! A dictator! Barkeep! Just one more!

Anyway, after dinner I resumed my walk. The streetwalkers, drug dealers, and other hustlers were out by then (nearly 10pm). I bought a cigar (hand rolled, in front of me, by a genuine cuban) from a sidewalk vendor and watched people some more. Slowly, I started to see the grit on the signs. The wrinkles on the guitar players. “Stardust” became “dust.” “Essex House” became “sex house.” It was time to come back to the hotel.

So that was my evening. How was yours?

So I finally threw away the circa 1995 website that I had up at chris.dwan.org, and made a whole new one based on wordpress. I have no intention of moving the blogging stuff over there – except perhaps for some of my more structured and public thoughts. LJ will be live and well, thank you.

Anyway, that’s back alive now. I intend to be a bit more public with cross linking this LJ feed, twitter, facebook, and so on. I’ve always claimed to operate under the assumption that everyone knows everything that I write online. I.e: If you don’t want it to be public, don’t write it down. Perhaps the cross-links will keep me a bit more honest about that.

There you go.

I think that the last time I made a serious update to my web presence was in the mid 90s. Some things have changed a lot – while others have remained pretty much the same. These new CSS widgets and doo-dads sure are glitzy.

In any event – tuning WordPress to my liking appears to be a proces of removing option after option to get to a clean, fast, readable interface. I expect to remove a lot of the crap over to the right in pretty short order … mostly since I don’t intend to host a social media bonanza here – but instead provide a relatively static set of information about myself.

Anyway, “hello world.”

I am in Minneapolis.

I have been brought here by a particular storage vendor who wants some opinions on the “life sciences market.” For this, we are having breakfast in the morning and perhaps a couple of meetings.

This afternoon, I arrived on an airplane. I rented a car from a hateful little car rental company who sucks sucks sucks. I checked into a Sheraton. Then I drove an hour north to see my god-children and some dear friends from when we used to live here. On the way south, I stopped off at an inner city ER where another good friend works.

Tomorrow, after said morning of meetings, I will have lunch with a devilishly clever engineer, and then I will guest lecture a class at St. Thomas University – taught by yet another old friend.

On Thursday, I return home on the early flight.

If life is a lemon, then let it be said of me that I squeezed the hell out of that lemon.