Staring into Town Lake from ten floors up, waiting for the explosion of bats that never comes.
Tonight, dinner with co-workers, some from here, some from India. We marvel over cultural quirks. They speak of home loans rates at 14% and a college affirmative action program for the untouchable castes–they pointedly blame the British for coining that phrase “untouchable” (India love/hates the British). The program for these so-called untouchables is called Reservations and seems to annoy the emerging Indian middle class. (Middle caste?) I mention a book I just read about untouchables, but no one cares.
At the moment, the hotel Wi-Fi network is broadcasting several iTunes shares from people who are probably unaware that they’re actually sharing music with strangers. I poke around, of course (they are being “shared” after all). One is labeled with the guy’s full name. So now I’m googling him. He does marketing (as a consultant) from somewhere in Texas. His taste in music is surprisingly good, though, unlike his personal website. The next one is far worse and includes Kenny G. I’m done with this activity.
Note to self: disable iTunes sharing while traveling (and change the library name to something meaningless).
Tomorrow I return to the bright conference room with the six other programmers, all in a mad-dash effort to port our gizmo from A to B in a short time frame with high complexity and high risk. That’s geek-speak for a good time.
Mostly, though, as it is with traveling, I miss home. I love the comforts of our nest. Steph and I are an immutable pair, blissfully accustomed to spending 20 hours a day in each other’s presence. Being away from her is a miserable thing.