Trip Report

Life is weird, thankfully.

Months ago I shot my mouth off to IBM storage mucky  muck Andy Monshaw about something or another, and the outcome was that we would go break bread, drink drink, and solve all problems.  If that didn't work, we'd do the former and I'd listen to him bash EMC.  Andy has an almost worrisome, deep-rooted hatred of the Hopkinton folks, and it's good fun to get him spun up on something they did or didn't do. Or might do.  Or might think about doing. 

So after endless schedule massaging by poor people on both our ends, a date was set for last Thursday in Manhattan.  Wouldn't you know that day was also going to end up to be Game 2 of the Franklin Little League National League playoffs - and the Dodgers, of which my 12-year old Jason is a proud member of, were up 1 Game to nill.  I was bumming that I was going to miss the game, but a date is a date.  Plus, we were up one already.

I arrived via train (which is a far more civilized way to get to NY until one can rake in enough dough to fly private) right on time, and headed off to 590 Madison ave, where I was shuffled off to the 17th floor of some ridiculously expensive real estate.  Upon exiting the elevator, I was greeted by a lovely receptionist who sat seemingly alone amongst pieces of art that probably were individually worth more than my entire collective being.  There were no people anywhere.  Quite a lovely spot, however.

Andy appeared out of some hidden wall somewhere and we got down to business.  I won't tell you what was discussed, but suffice it to say that the conversation turned lively and interesting - not adjectives typically used when describing anything IBM.  We were joined by Mary Coucher, VP of Biz Dev for Andy's group - a downright smart, passionate, and non-standard cookie cutter IBM'er.  I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Prior to dinner we stopped at some roof top hangout where one of Andy's "comms" people was having a going away party.  I don't know what a "comms" person is, but there were lots of them.  While Andy was kibitzing over a Jameson or two, Mary and I worked on solving world peace.  We got onto the subject of next generation storage applications like video surveillance and the home media market, which got us to what each of us watches on TV (recorded, of course).  She has Desperate Housewives, Curb Your Enthusiasm, The Soprano's, and 24. As she is saying this my phone rings, but I don't answer it.  A few minutes later I take it out, and on the screen is John Slattery's number.  Slats is my college roommates bro, who I happened to call the day before as he lives in NY to see if he could hook up for a beer.  He is also "Dennis" on Desperate Housewives and has been making out with Eva Longoria for the last few months.  I was curious to research just how hard work that was.  Plus, he's married to George Clooney's X, and that alone is worthy of discussion. I've known him forever, and even though he's been in a million things, no one really knew him that much until this gig.  Now he's a regular in People and my 15 year old daughter is trying to hook me up with her.   

My phone rang again, and this time it was my wife.  Mary was chatting with someone and Andy continued to kibitz with his whiskey, so I answered.  She proceeds to tell me how Jason just hit his first home run - a monster 3-run shot to spark a slow rally to tie the game and send it to extra innings.  I was psyched, and completely horrified that I missed it.  They ended up losing in the 7th or 8th, but Jason didn't care.  He spent 10 minutes describing the whole thing - clearly out of his mind happy.  Made me feel like crap.

Anyway, I was knee deep in IBM sport drinking by then, and still had dinner to attend, so I left well enough alone.  We all went off to some Mexican place (that was out of this world, but of course I can't remember the name of it nor where it was) and argued everything from CMOS to Salsa.  It was entirely refreshing to engage in debate with very smart IBM folks who weren't just pushing their tired old "we're IBM so we are right" rhetoric.  Andy, Mary, and Carl (Andy's "ops" guy, whatever that means) were definitely willing to listen - and not automatically assume they were blessed with divine correctness.  I've had IBM executive discussions that have been wildly irrational - the kind that end up sounding like a business version of the Black Knight scene in The Holy Grail.  This, thankfully, was not one of them.  Perhaps there is hope for the mighty Blue Knight after all.  The way they were talking, I can't wait to see what they come up with, as they were downright giddy with how "un-IBM" some of their impending moves were going to seem.

So I leave the joint and am about to jump into a cab when Carl, the Haitian French speaking Andy Ops guy tells me that I just need to walk up a block or two and over a block or two and I'll be back at my hotel, The NY Palace.  43 miles of poor shoe walking shin-splint inducing hard labor later I found the hotel.  It was still early, and I wanted a nightcap.  The Palace is a beautiful hotel, but one that tends to frequented by 80 year olds with zillions of dollars who must head off to bed by 10 because the 6 seat bar from the Shining tucked into the corner was all closed up.  Figuring that this is NY I just popped out to find a watering hole with a bit more zip to it.  I rounded the corner and ran into the W on Lexington - which is a modern joint that caters to 20 year olds with zillions of dollars.  Upon entering the Whiskey Bar, I realized that I was too old, too ugly, and too lazy to fight my way to a glass of wine.  I gave up and went back to the Palace.  When I got there, I asked the doorman why the Shining shut down at 9pm?  I half expected him to call me Mr. Torrance.  He told me that the real bar - Gilt - was on the second floor, and that was open and ready for me.  I found it, and it was perfect.  Neuvo, Ian Schragerish joint without a big crowd, and with the best per glass wine list I've ever seen.  With the exception of the art deco purple chunk of art that made one end of the bar look like you were inside a golf ball, the place was great.  I drank my $35 glass of a nice Barolo and headed off to bed.

I headed out early to catch the 8am express to Boston.  As I'm walking through Penn Station I notice this guy leaning against the stand where the cops and soldiers are always hanging out - right outside the Acela express club.  It was Jeff Garlin - who is Larry David's manager in Curb Your Enthusiasm.  In an amazed state (this was number two on the list of discussed TV shows the previous evening), I say "Hi Jeff, I love the show", because A: I do - it's one of the funniest shows ever put on TV, and B: because you say that even if it weren't true, because that's just what you do.  An hour later I'm in the cafe car on the train (and I don't care what anyone says, that train food, nuked in a plastic bag, is fantastic) talking to my wife on my cell about seeing Jeff, and doesn't he walk right in and stand in line 12 inches in front of me.  Not being shy, I say "hey Jeff, say hi to my wife" and make him take my phone.  My wife has no idea what I've done, happily continuing her tale of how the dog ate the curtains or something. He patiently listens to this, until he gets a chance to say hi and introduce himself.  My wife loves the show as much as I do, so it all worked out.  He couldn't have been a nicer guy.  He also lost about 50 pounds and had wiffle instead of his big curly hair.  I almost gave him a show idea based on my real life battles with the recycling people, but figured I had worn out his hospitality.

Friday night the Dodgers (our squad) won the first series.  Every person there felt compelled to tell me what a great hit my son had.  Too bad you weren't there..... Sunday we played game 1 of the NLCS.  Trailing 5-4 in the bottom of the 6th (we only play 6 innings, so it's really the bottom of the 9th), our superstar Kyle draws a walk.  Our #3 hitter, Frenchie (a 2 handicap - which is supremely annoying), smacks a double and brings Kyle home to tie the game.  Our cleanup hitter strikes out.  Now it's Jason's turn.  My son, god bless him, inherited all of my genes, the poor bastard.  He is smart and funny, but short and stumpy.  He makes me look tall.  He is slightly faster than a large office building.  He is good looking though.  Anyhow, Jason rips at the first pitch for a strike.  He looks at strike 2.  He fouls off the next pitch.  Even in Little League, you don't want to throw a strike when its 0-2, and this guy just got away with one.  He grooves the next pitch, and Jason belts it over the fence for a walk-off home run and team victory.  As he goes by me at first, he says "happy fathers day. I didn't get you anything else".

How cool is that?