Draggin' Ass - A Pet Name?

There is this group of bicyclists, you see. They have ridden many of the charity events I support; they on their bicycles, me on my motorcycle. This group - this eclectic collection of cleverly witted intelligence - has aptly named themselves "Team JackAss". There seem to be more of them now than ever before, growing exponentially as one screw up leads to another burst of laughter and another name is born. Smart Ass, Ass Wipe, Wise Ass (my better half), Slow Ass, and even THE Rear Admiral. Many of these names were derived from performance related chicanery during events. Still others are from ephiphany-triggered "AHA!" moments over Black Magics ;o) I, as a mere member of moto and not of the real cyclist ilk, am an honorary member. My name is Draggin' Ass.
Now I'd like to say there are times when it's spelled DRAGON ASS!! Envision a firey show of strength and menace.. Grrrr!!!
..I'd like to say it..
But really, it's because I'm physically exhausted just about all of the time these days. I'm getting older. My grandmother passed away this weekend. She was 88? 89? I wonder if I'll make it that far. I'm on blood pressure medication now - my heart rate wakes me up at night. It's a strange sensation. I have been working nonstop these last few weeks, and when I'm not on travel I'm sitting at my computer working from home. I'm exhausted by the end of every day. And I'm barely moving. My ass is dragging for real...
It's getting old, this getting old thing.

Who Moved My Weekend?

 Anybody know where the weekend went?
Damn.
It was beautiful  outside my window today. It felt great seeing the sunshine and smelling the fresh air as it gently rolled in through one window and out through another. As I sat in my corner. Working. Again.
As much as I'd like to complain and whine about how unfair it was that my motorcycle sat right outside that window, with its cover on all day in that awesome sunshine, I can't. It's my work. It's gotta get done. I've got to do it. Sacrifice a few weekends for the opportunity to change a perspective. Change a mindset. Change a culture. It can be done and I can do it. I and a few like-minded others. Aviation is a crazy industry, but story-telling is an unscrupulous art form that can make or break your point. One can drive home the winning run, or wait endlessly for the humiliation to end. I prefer being in the driver's seat. So I'll sit on my side of the window and do my thing, hoping for a break in the grind in the near future when I can get up, go out, and take the cover off the Wildebeast again. She's patient. So patient. Way more patient than I am.
Damn.
Anybody know where the weekend went?

..and we're IN

Wow - that was easy.. I mean everything, too. The initial account set up, the blog creation, the import to my site, the whole enchilada. I can't believe I waited so long to give up the ridiculous battle with ASP and just accept the simplicity of Blogger.
Awesome.
Now all I've gotta do is write stuff.
Right.

Sometimes I'd much rather play with the code ;)
Let me know if you encounter any hiccups...

Transition

Well, I quit.
I gave ASP.NET a try, and I've decided I've had enough of the instability. My old blog had been down more than it was up on Blog Engine. Given that I'm writing this at 2:15am, it's easy to understand that when I actually find the time to write, I need the stuff to work!! Insomnia helps, but that's another entry for another time...
So those of you who find this before I import it onto my site (clever, you are), hang in there with me while I move through the transition to Blogger. It appears to be much more flexible and straight-forward, and that's exactly what I need nowadays.

Musings from 28,000 ft

This is the second of two flight legs smack dab in the middle of this week's itinerary. I flew out of Baltimore Monday afternoon after having arrived to the airport 5 hours earlier. My car is in the shop and I begged a ride from Robin before she went to work in the morning. I truly believe I could have missed my flight just sitting there because I was so tired. People watching helped. Where some folks get their clothing ideas for travel is a mystery to me. Who wears 3 inch heels and a short skirt to lug a suitcase behind her running ass to catch a connecting flight in time? Some really pissed off and miserable woman in Baltimore, that's who. Man I love my comfortable shoes. Right now I'm seated next to a young person who I am guessing to be between 16 and 19 or so. Her hair is ink black with bright copper highlights, held off her face by a white bandana with monster smiley faces staring out with sinister grimaces. Her eyes have been hidden the entire flight by large round plastic sunglasses with thick red frames. I think her lipstick might even match her glasses. I can clearly see from the ripped thread fragments hanging from her plaid hem that her skirt is not of the same shade of red. Her fingernails are painted black. Her white button down oxford shirt bunches only slightly where the black vinyl corset cinches tightly over it. She's reading a thick book and seems very into it. "The 50 Most Notorious Murders". Figures..
I have realized I'm of the generation that is now the older generation that just doesn't "get it" anymore. I don't understand the darkness in kids. How can they be happy when they are so preoccupied by miserey and pain? Is this a different kind of "happy" I've just never experienced? I have to say that when I see kids all decked out in goth and heavy makeup I feel a little sad. I'm not sure if I feel bad for them because of the lonliness I imagine they feel, or if I'm feeling bad because I can't relate to this kid. (Shrug) I do know those 3 inch platform shoes she's wearing are gonna smoke those hooker heels I saw in Baltimore when she's rushing to make her connection. Assuming, of course, that some goth kids do, in fact, hustle when necessary.
Now, as I look out the aircraft window, I'm presented with pillars of thick fluffy clouds. Uh-oh. No sooner am I realizing I had better finish my 6oz of ginger ale while I still can than the first effects of turbulence jostle my cup from its position on the tray table in front of me. It slides a little to the left before I catch it. I take a deep breath and drain my cup. Here we go.
What bumps we experienced were enough to rouse gasps and short yelps quickly smothered by my fellow passengers on board the regional jet. We land shortly thereafter as the crew plants the aircraft hard onto the runway. My bones jostled. Thanks guys - I'm sure that helped.
As I exit the jetway, I'm thankful for my shoes, that I had a light lunch, and another uneventful flight.