/life/My Mom Oughta Be Proud
So I'm in Mountain View, California. I'm wearing a suit, and my taxi is arriving shortly to take me to the big day. I even ironed my shirt. (My family had a lively discussion about what I should wear at Chrismtas. In the end, I think there's something less formal that I'd rather wear, but I don't own it, so I went up rather than down. I grudgingly admit their possible influence over my attire.)
I'm in this crazy corporate land of credit cards and free internet and breakfast -- only slightly better than the StayOkay Hostels in Amsterdam, but those were very good breakfasts -- and networking with the people on my plane. One guy was a Monsanto guy that I chatted to in line, and my seatmate was a Motorola guy steeped in cellphone industry jargon that wasn't used in Finland.
The flight from Chicago to San Jose was very clear. I could see all these cities dotting the landscape. They looked very organic, and reminded me of some discussion of cities as being alive in Lila by Robert Pirsig. I started jotting down a cellular-automata-like system for trying to model it and produce pretty, organic-ish pictures. I'm such a geek.
Gotta run -- taxi's on its way. Very much enjoying myself. I don't know how this is going to go, and I don't know how many people they will be flying down for a spot. Somehow this lack of knowledge makes me less nervous -- I'll be who I am, and let the chips fall where they may.
