Thursday, July 17, 2008

Technical Problems


Massive technical problems. As in, I am gonna eat their ass.

Downstairs in the lobby on the wireless network from hell...

Beautiful hotel, but they has gots me upstairs (non-ADA) which is not only dumb, but PAIN. LM and/or Hubris have to help me up and down the stairs, carry my bags, and in general, wait on me.

Hmmmm. Strike what I said about “dumb.”

Hopefully LM and I get moved in the morning. I sure as shit can't go up and down these stairs another day. (Although maybe if they got me a mountain bike. Some of those suckers gear down so low a rider could climb telephone poles.)

Ooooh... and Maggie Jochild is here in the morning!!! Go Maggie!
So... No more writing from me tonight. Not till they fix their fucking technical problems. Or till I get to the convention center.

I'm also not even naming the hotel...YET. Not till after we, um, negotiATE an appropriate change in our room charge given I had to go down and up the god-awful stairs from my room which I'm paying for to their lobby which I'm not...

Austin rocks. This hotel's IT setup is rocky.

Lower Manhattanite:

“Whats a dazzling urbanite like you doing in a rustic setting like this?”--Gene Wilder's Waco Kid to Cleavon Little's Sheriff Bart

What am I doing here? Hanging with the rest of the GNB crew, commiseratin', “conversatin'”, and Netroots Nation-aytin', faithful readers. Be fooled not--this is not some cow-town, this beautiful Austin, Texas. From the moment I hopped off the plane, I knew I was in what one would call "cool" environs. It probably had a lot to do with the huge, bronze statue of the amazing Texas political giant Ms. Barbara Jordan, staring down thoughtfully, weighty book on lap and glasses at rest.

Nothin' like that at Kennedy or LaGuardia, kiddies.

Then, walking to the ground transportation area, I was captivated by a beautiful woman in a coral-colored dress--seeming to walk in slow motion in the sticky night air. She floated damn-near, dress catching just enough breeze to where she looked akin to something descending from a cloud---but then, it could also have been simple fatigue on my part--a tough flight after a doubly tough night full of more drama than Wagner's "Ring Cycle" on crack. Ye Gods!

But, the kid is here, along with Jesse, Hub, TLG, and Mme. Robinson. The nicest touches were entering the hotel room, and finding it festooned—not with corny-ass hotel art--oh, no! Instead? A beautiful, striking, vintage silkscreen poster of Bobby Womack and his Peace Band playing at Port Arthur, Texas from back in the “That's The Way I Feel About Cha” days. Then, descending the balcony steps, the ring and peal of live music from across the street at The Continental Club. Oh yes...I think this could be fun. Fun indeed. But now...on to sleep, perchance to dream...of a nice breakfast.

I doubt it will be bagels. :)