More like, where haven't I been? My last blog entry was from the green room at
our annual Customer Engineering Conference, nearly eight weeks ago. I haven't
disappeared, left Sun, or had an bizarre gardening accident or spontaneously
combusted (for you Spinal Tap fans). In some semblance of chronological order,
I have been:
In email communication with Mark Cuban, who graciously signed the Mavericks jersey
that Jonathan wore on stage at CEC. We'll be auctioning it off in support of
ONE.org in the near future.
Instructed, educated and informed about nearly every facet of fiduciary
responsibility in a large corporation. While the material is dense and dry,
it's also important. Jail is not fun. Bad press is not fun. On the
other hand, Fort Lauderdale is supposed to be fun, and we managed to miss it.
Across the Buckeye State, where in fact I was able to shout "Hello Cleveland!" with
upon finally arriving in that storied city. The fact that it was snowing, and I'd been
awake for nearly 18 hours made it a happy "Hello".
In Carmel, California with CTOs from some of Sun's top accounts, hearing
their unexpurgated views on technology, our strategies, and how they govern
architectural processes. I spoke a little; I learned a lot.
Harbored in a Lake Placid, NY motel without working telephones, let alone
internet access. But hearing my son's name over the public address system in
the Olympic Arena sent chills down my spine.
Through Times Square half a dozen times, with nary a sighting of the
Naked Cowboy. This is a distinct
leading indicator of the economy, because when the Naked Cowboy is on tour,
someone is paying for it. A
bodybuilding self-proclaimed preacher who plays his guitar
wearing nothing but tighty whities and a smile is on expense account.
Which is fortunate because he has nowhere to put his wallet while working.
In Baltimore's Inner Harbor and the nation's capitol, currently home
of baseball's American and National League Eastern Division leaders. Another
team in the greater BWI area
was supposed to be bad for the Orioles, remember? Too bad that giant sucking
sound is coming from 161st Street in the Bronx.
The distance on the 7 train, the Rocker ride, Times Square to Shea Stadium
(for the purists, it's not quite the distance, it's one stop short of the terminal station).
Having lived in the New York metropolitan area for more than 30 of my 42 years,
I'm embarassed to admit it was my first trip to Shea. Warning to
Mr. Met: with
that head, there's no way you're going to be in the anti-steroids campaign.
In full hockey equipment, skating once again with the NJ Ice Dragons who made the
playoffs in their inaugural year.
On so many conference calls requiring in full-cycle charges to my
cordless phone that I need to replace its battery.
At the same time, the end of the "Jeff Halpern Story" managed to write
itself on the way home from Lake Placid, and I've begun entertaining
ideas to do a serialization of Bruce Springsteen's "Jungleland" as
an online novella sometime this summer.
And now, back to our regularly scheduled blog....