The Concrete Fairy

Sidewalk markings don't usually excite me. When I put out the garbage and recycling last night, however, I did a double-take when I noticed bright orange spray paint marking the blacktop blight outside of my house, left there by Boston Water last October. They sent me a letter notifying me about a lead pipe part that connected our building to the network of city pipes under the streets, offering to subsidize most of the cost if we arranged to have them replace it. There's no children in this building, and I Brita all of my drinking water or boil tap water (I suppose I brush my teeth with unfiltered water, though), but we figured it was a wise replacement nonetheless. What I thought was going to be a very pricey endeavor turned into just a $350 bill after the subsidy.

The crew arrived one morning, dug up the sidewalk, showed me all 12" of the pipe they replaced, patched up the hole with blacktop, and moved on to the next lead pipe. Before they left, I asked about the blacktop, and they mentioned that someone would be by soon thereafter to pour new concrete. After a month of staring at the blacktop, and seeing similar blights all throughout Southie, I figured we were stuck with the scar forever.

But now I'm seeing these sidewalk markings, not just outside of our blacktop, but also around the blacktop outside of a neighbor's home. I'm hoping the concrete fairy will be here any day now.

Mother (and Daddy) Goose

I have passed this family of Canadian geese a few times on the way to the office. They seem to enjoy feeding on a grassy area near the Storrow Drive interchange with Beacon St. near Kenmore. The little goslings on the right aren't so little any more. A couple weeks ago, they were cute little things, but like all Canadian geese, they are quickly growing up to become ugly pooping machines.

My perception of Canadian geese is based on what I remember from growing up outside NYC. The goose population and subsequent goose kills were significant issues in Rockland County. Scientists kept trying to study their migratory patterns by tagging their legs and, subsequently, their necks. Much of this article chronicles the goose round-ups on the 90's (and, of course, the famous failed Border Collie experiment).

While I'm not a goose fan, I did feel bad that many geese were forced to hang out wearing yellow numeric tags around their necks. Nothing like living your life in a plastic collar.

Covered in white paint

While I appreciate the numerous trade propositions I have received lately, most recently from Meaghan in exchange for lobster and lemonade (yum!), I plan to retire from my deck refinishing business after the completion of my deck. This project has almost defeated me.

I spent much of Saturday scrubbing a bleach / mildewcide solution on the deck and railing, in preparation for Sunday's messier task that involved color, drop cloths, and brushes.

After some more color deliberating, I made a last-minute change to the plan and elected to paint the railing with white paint. The white railing matches the white support posts, and complements the rest of the house much better than if I had stained the railing. The white paint looks great and brightens up the entire deck, but it's quite the task applying it. Coat #1 is done, and coat #2 will occur at some point in the future. I employed Ryan to help with the task, and we were both beat and covered with white paint afterward.

I feel like the white paint officially completes my Mississippi River trip, especially after finding an assistant. It would have been a true Tom Sawyer situation if somehow I persuaded Ryan to do the job for me while I kicked back a couple beers.

I'm ready to start mixing the lemonade and lobsters myself if anyone is willing to pitch in!

America, F*@K YEAH!

What a change in climate - I stepped out of Logan into a clear 65 degrees with no humidity. So happy to be back home...

In fact last night it was down right chilly. I was with Brian, Kelly, Chris, and Gregg at Phil and Will's for movie night outside on their back patio. We watched Team America: World Police, which I was hoping I would enjoy more with the help of a cadre of friends and booze. Unfortunately, I didn't, and kept dozing off with my arms inside of my shirt sitting next to their outdoor firepit (it was cold, I was tired). I like some animation - Simpsons, Family Guy, South Park, for example - so I like this kind of humor. But something about that movie just doesn't hit me where it counts.

Weather looks great today. I'm done sanding. Time to scrub on some bleach / mildew solution and think about staining the deck. Finally. I'm so done with this project!

Automatic for the people

Pet Peeve of the day - lack of plugs.

Why can't airports make working plugs more plentiful? To find a plug near a seat is next to impossible. To find a working plug seems to be an additional challenge. Here in Atlanta, I sat next to 2 different plugs, neither of which worked.

And don't get me started about automatic soap dispensers and automatic faucets. Finally after the third sink I approached, soap squirted out. Machines don't seem to like me today.

Confrontation Rocks

Contrary to my welcoming countenance and inviting personality, I love a good fight.

I had the pleasure of confronting a vendor at our convention today. Without naming names, we had a number of "Lead Generator" companies do just that - generate leads of potential students for our schools. Some of them worked out well, others were bad, and still others were terrible. These guys were terrible.

So, I sauntered up to their booth, they chatted with me, smiling faces, blah blah blah. I told them more about where I worked and quickly told them that we were an existing client, and that this vendor's leads were the absolute worst we saw and how displeased we were with their company. Like clockwork, one dude walked away, another dude continued talking to me but did not look me in the face, then soon walked away (from their own booth mind you), and the other two were left to explain the carnage - one of whom had a smug look on his face as if he hopes to meet me in a dark alley later so he can impale me with a blunt object and dump my body in Lake Pontchartrain. If nobody hears from me in Boston this weekend, that's probably what happened to me.

Way too hot and humid

During the local new this morning, they showed the 7 day forecast here in New Orleans. Highs above 89 and lows around 73, with chances of thundershowers every day. This combination of heat and humidity makes northeasterners like myself became sweaty and dripping messes.

I took a walk yesterday morning before my 2pm meeting, wearing a short-sleeved shirt and shorts, and creating massive amounts of perspiration. It was gross. I need to operate in air conditioning, with gentle ocean breezes and temperatures closer to where Boston is today - high 60's. Perhaps this is why my hotel rate is low - lower demand for rooms in the summer?

I have always preferred cold to hot - you can always add more clothes and layers, but you can only take so many off until you're less than decent.

Hot tub, poppin' bubbly

I returned from my evening out in New Orleans to find this tray of strawberries and chilled sparkling wine in my room.

I'm assuming they put it in the wrong room, as I'm not here with any fanfare or as a special invited guest of the hotel's. Nonetheless, a very nice sentiment, especially from a hotel charging me $69/night. The more I think about it, this entire stay must be coded strangely in their computer. Sometimes clerical and data errors rock.

Return to New Orleans

I'm back on the road this week, and once again find myself in New Orleans. I find it odd that there is no nonstop direct service from Boston to New Orleans. JetBlue flies here, so hopefully in the near future they will add a nonstop BOS-MSY.

I flew Delta, connecting through Atlanta, an airport I strongly dislike due to its size. I believe this is my first time connecting through ATL. Besides today, all of the times I see ATL, it's because that's where I'm headed.

This week, I'm here for convention. Usually I'm not a big fan of conventions, but this one is different. I am so used to going to a convention and having to sell something, present something, be on a panel, be on a main stage, or do something else much more involved than wander around a convention hall, attend workshops, meet vendors, and be taken out for a couple dinners. It's a much different perspective when you're the one being pitched to.

The convention's main hotel was booked up, but I found an unexpectedly inexpensive $69/night rate at the Renaissance Pere Marquette. I have no idea why the room was so cheap, since it's right next to the French Quarter, it's one of Marriott's "upper" brands, it's a convention week, and the hotel is oversold Wed night. Maybe I just lucked out. Always nice to save a couple bucks for the company.

The son of rage and love

My hesitation with jukeboxes is having to wait to hear the songs I select. You never really know how many songs are ahead of yours, and it irks me when I pick music that gets played after I leave the bar.

I love these (relatively) new digital jukeboxes that permit bar goers to pick from an extensive selection of music.

At Beantown Pub Saturday night, 2 bucks earned me 5 songs. I should have spent 5 dollars for 14 songs, but not knowing when my songs would have been played, I didn't want to make the additional investment if we left early. If I was guaranteed to control one hour of music at the bar I'm patronizing for just 5 dollars, I would do that. Honestly, it's quite an unnecessary dilemma (it is only 5 quid), but this is how my head works.

I am a snob when it comes to music. It's a very important part of my life, and my tastes are not always mainstream. Not that I'm seeking to push loads of Gregorian chants to an unsuspecting public, but I'm most certainly not going to select The Fray and Nelly Furtado when given the option. While I would prefer to pick songs that I truly want to hear, I hedge my picks with songs I wouldn't mind, plus that I know others are fine with as well.

So, in went 2 dollars, out came 5 songs within about 15 minutes of picking them - Black Betty (kind of a fun left field rocker), Starry Eyed Surprise (which should have been a massive hit), Don't Stop Believin' (always seems to be a pleaser when drinking), and two others I'm forgetting. I know that a skipped a bunch of options because I was afraid they would be too unfamiliar.

I almost picked Jesus of Suburbia by Green Day - a great song that I would have played for the sole reason of it being over 9 minutes, thereby giving me a good bang for the buck and longer audio control. I enjoy music control.

Season's Not Over

I found this pic of Johnny Damon this morning on the NY Daily News' Yankees blog. I thought it was cool. Not because of Johnny, but rather the wooden bat in mid-split during the back swing.

All of a sudden, the Yanks are 9.5 games back and have won 9 of 11. I know I'm in the minority living here in Boston and - God forbid - staying allegiant to my New York roots and cheering for the team I watched during my entire childhood.


Sox - Yanks is the best rivalry in all sports. That's a biased opinion, but I am the one who writes Platinum Elite, so I'm allowed to say that here.

We have been fortunate over the past 11 years to see Yanks - Sox pretty much 1-2 for a decade, and combined we have seen 5 World Series Titles and 7 World Series appearances between the two teams. Baseball is really more exciting when both teams are doing well. I'm glad to see the Yanks make a run at it after being down 14.5 games for obvious reasons, but more diplomatically among Boston fans - I think it's good for the game and the rivalry.

Just For Men

I tried a new place for a haircut last week. State Street Barbers on Washington St. has been around for about a year. I met the owner of the Boston location, and he mentioned that he owns a couple other locations in Chicago with some business partners, but owns this one outright (State Street is a bit of a misnomer - I believe the State Street to which the name refers is in Chicago).

It was a bit pricier than Supercuts - with tip I paid $34 instead of the $22 or so I pay at the Packard's Corner home of surprisingly unexpected head massages while getting shampooed.

The ambiance at State Street is very classic masculine (except for the chill music being played) - dark paneled wood, straight-razor shaves, even a beverage upon your arrival (though the complimentary beer I'm told they used to offer has been supplanted with soda and water due to city issues).

I am noticing more and more than after haircuts, I am receiving "wow, look at that" comments more frequently, accompanied by people pointing at my head and the amount of grey hair I have coming in. I recall pulling my first grey when I was just 20. They have been coming in steadily over the years, and now they are noticeable.

I think it's more of a shock for people who have known me forever and for younger friends in my current social circle. It's a sign of age (and wisdom, I might add). I don't mind the greys all that much. I can always color my hair if need be. My greater concern will be when I begin noticeably losing my hair, which is when I will begin keeping it close-cropped.

Out of Order

I have never seen this happen before. I got a call from John on Thursday - he wanted to get lunch. We agreed to meet at Bertucci's in Kenmore. John found a parking spot right on Beacon St. right outside of Bertucci's.

He parked at a meter that was Out of Order, so he had an hour for free. When we emerged from lunch, John had a $25 ticket, and the meter was suddenly working. I suppose meter have to switch from broken to repaired at some point, but wouldn't it be fair to put for a repairman to put an hour on a meter if a car is parked there when he repairs it? (Assuming a human repairs it and it doesn't all of a sudden awake from brokenville automatically).

I saw a meter maid on the walk back to the office, and explained the problem to her. While she wasn't rude or anything, she said that he probably would have to appeal the fine in writing. Never one to turn down a confrontation, I went in for the kill. I'm sure when she saw me running up to her yelling "excuse me" and then asking a question on John's behalf, she was thinking "uh-oh, how can I get away from this person as quickly as possible."

The other Platinum Elite

I just learned that Platinum Elite has company on the Internet.



If you're looking for a cheerleading camp outside of Atlanta with a touch of religion thrown in(God's blessing is always welcome when you're being propped up 15 feet off the floor by another child), this organization looks like the place to be!

For quite some time, Platinum Elite (this blog) was the 3rd natural search at Google when searching on the words "Platinum Elite." This always amazed me since I do nothing to optimize the site, and Continental Airlines - the inspiration for the name - was nowhere to be found.

Now, the girls with spirit have bumped me down to #5.

Another T adventure

I'm just not cut out for daily T commuting. I left my car at the office after Scooper Bowl Wednesday night, since we took the T to City Hall Plaza, and it was just as easy to T it home from there.

I would estimate that if everything was timed perfectly, the commute from door to door would be 45 minutes. 15 minutes to walk to the Andrew T stop, Red line to Park St., Green line to Fenway, 3 minute walk to the office.

My error was simple. At Park St., there were 2 T's boarding passengers. I picked the unmarked one near the C line platform that was filling with people, figuring that based on where it was parked, it could be a C line, but nonetheless I had a 75% that it wasn't an E line. Yep - it was an E. Game over. Maybe it was really parked at the E platform, and I read the wrong sign.

Good thing the weather was beautiful yesterday, and the walk from Huntington was a breeze. But I still always end up sweaty after crowded T rides.

Scooper Bowl Wednesday

I'm a charitable guy. When I heard that The Jimmy Fund was asking for $7 donations at City Hall Plaza yesterday at Scooper Bowl, I was more than happy to oblige for this excellent organization.


They were also asking donors to eat copious amounts of ice cream, probably because children love ice cream, and they wanted us to keep the Jimmy Fund children in our hearts, prayers, and bellies. Who am I to turn away the interests and needs of children?


I arranged to meet Kelly and Brian there, and invited co-worker Karin, who has moved from our Connecticut offices to our Boston office just this week. What a fitting way to involve her in local charities.


All of the big guns were there with 3 or 4 flavors each. Caramel and blueberry flavors seemed to be overrepresented among all booths, while chocolate-based concoctions were almost entirely absent.

Although I live in Southie, I have yet to experience the debauchery known as "Harpoon Fest," but I am assuming that Scooper Bowl is similar to that with fewer drunks, many more small people in carriages, and failed American Idols.

Upon arrival, I walked over to the first line I saw, which peculiarly was away from the ice cream tents. I took a stroll to the front to see what I would be waiting for, and saw a woman signing B&W photos. I thought an exclamation of "Who are you" would have been deflating to her, but an equally or better ego-reducer could have been waiting in line, and asking her for some Butter Pecan when reaching the autograph table.

Turns out she was Ayla Brown, our venerable local New England Idol hero who just missed the Top 12 in 2006's season. She's tall, goes to BC, and actually had a good voice. Technically, the MC did not lie to us, claiming that Ayla's new single was climbing the charts (I checked my sources...it moved from #43 to #40 on the Adult Contemporary airplay chart, but 94% of the 47 times radio stations aired her single last week, they played it overnight - the graveyard for airplay and the way record labels try to push songs up the chart by begging for tons of overnight spins to overinflate a song's popularity). Ayla always seems to be available for events like Scooper Bowl, or anything sponsored by Kiss 108, Mix 98.5, or Magic 106.7. I give her credit for making as many local appearances as possible over the past year or so, and trying to build her local career and create a story for her career.

Opening for Ayla was someone who I kept calling Phil Stacey, but turned out to be Nick Pedro. Poor Nick was terrible. He sang 4 songs, each one all over the place and pitchy (dawg), and his thick Boston accent interjected uncomfortable and unwitty banter between songs. The engineer helped his cause by drowning out Nick and keeping the levels very high on the karaoke CD's used to accompany him. Poor Nick doesn't even have a Wikipedia entry.

Death Bringer

This is Leo. He's one of my upstairs neighbors' cats. They have 3 others.

Leo loves me. I first learned this one day when I was home working and I heard his loud meows in my front hallway (they are all indoor cats, and my neighbors like to let them roam around in the staircases every so often, which is fine with me). When I opened the door to see what was going on, he raced inside. I saw my neighbors later, and learned that Leo absolutely loves sitting outside my door.

It's not just my front door. When the cats roam the back staircase, they sit at my door there as well. And meow. Loudly. Yesterday I was sanding the deck (again), and after working on the part flush against the house, I stood up and was startled to find Leo staring at me. Monitoring my progress. Plotting something.

As I mentioned once before on Platinum Elite, the easiest way to kill me would be the combination of a small room, shag wool carpeting, a cat, a padlock, an hour, and no inhaler.

Deep down inside, I truly believe that cats are Satan's Servants. Friends with Lucifer himself. And the devil has told his cat minions to go out and find the weak humans, act all coy and cute, and destroy them. As Leo is the leader of the other 3 cats in my building (they follow him around live good little soldiers). He is my sworn enemy.

Arching your back and rubbing up against my leg will do nothing for your cause. Meowing repeatedly and loudly to come inside and show an interest in my place - no go.

I'm on to you, death bringer.

Please help me

I had a meeting today with our web developer at one of my favorite places (Starbucks), and to my horror, I spotted this:


Yes, a new series has been released. I did some investigation online, and learned that the new '07 Parks Series consists of the following new ceramic mugs:


Boston (Boston Commons)
Los Angeles (Griffith Park)
New York (Central Park)
Philadelphia (Fairmount Park)
Phoenix (South Mountain Park)
Pittsburgh (Schenley Park)
Portland (Portland Rose Garden)
San Diego (Balboa Park)
San Francisco (Golden Gate Park)
Vancouver (Stanley Park)
Washington (Mt. Rainier National Park)
Washington D.C. (Cherry Blossoms)

Of course, I purchased the Boston mug (duh). I need an intervention.

Late nights, sanding, and a catfish

I am a bit groggy after a late ending to the Sox-Yankees game last night. I'm guessing that this morning won't be the most productive throughout Boston with the game ending around midnight. The fans who attended the game and had to drive home to the suburbs must not have arrived home until well after 12:30 or 1.

Well, nothing wild happened this weekend. I stayed up until about 2:30 am Friday night, which is uncharacteristic of me. Jamen's birthday came and went after a fun evening, and now we're already counting down until his next birthday. He's unhappy that Leap Year creates an additional day until it's his birthday again.

Since I took 453 photos on the Great River Road Trip, and haven't had a chance to show them all, I think I'll post some of the more momerable ones here on Platinum Elite every so often.

Catfish are ugly suckers.

I sanded a bit more on Saturday. Sanding is becoming the bane of my existence. It just takes a lot longer in than I had anticipated. I had to order a couple replacement parts for my Cyclone 4-in-1 sander, because I managed to wear down the attachments that help me get in all of the nooks and crevasses. The deck is looking good, though.

It's been almost 36 hours since I stepped foot on the street outside. That will change momentarily once I head out to get to the office. Sometimes I like to see how long I can go at home. It's not usually preplanned, and was much simpler when I worked at home, and during the winter months of Boston gloom. And it's not like I'm being anti-social, because my friends were hanging out here Sat night and yesterday.

I'm leaning toward the purchase of a Nintendo Wii. The games look like relatively simple party games. But does playing Wii Tennis count as exercise? Maybe that would get me back on track, because I know that consuming brownies and the ingredients for Bananas Foster do not (thanks, friends).

Pounding on 30's door

Yesterday and today were and are John's and Jamen's birthdays respectively. It's good that both fall in different months, because of all of my friends, the two of them take their birthdays the absolute most seriously.

May is the "Celebration of Life," culminating in John's birthday. Last year, his daughter was also born in May, which automatically diverts much of the attention away from John. But thinking back to all prior years, I remember how important John's birthday is to John, so he still deserves a birthday nod. I'm hoping we have a chance to get together this weekend to celebrate.

Jamen hasn't named his birthday month, but tomorrow he will begin the countdown to next year's birthday. Jamen's half-birthday is also a bit of an event, so I like to point out how my birthday in November interferes with his cycle. My half-birthday and actual birthday are each about two weeks before Jamen's events, so if we're going to make a big deal about his, we have to make a big deal about mine first, and then he only gets two weeks until his day each time. Tonight is his party. If any incriminating photo ops occur, I will post them on Platinum Elite next week.

Feliz cumpleaños a mis dos amigos buenos!