But before I forget, isn’t that post title hilarious? Because I’m writing about a lot of flies! haha!

It all started on Monday. Or Sunday. Let’s say Monday. I noticed that there was a fly in my apt, buzzin’ about being all nosy as flies are often wont to do. But then I noticed another fly. I figured I could easily outlast them in a game of “How Long is your Lifespan?”, so I let it be.

Now that I think about it, I think it was Sunday.

Anyway, the following day those two flies were just a-buzzin’ around, as happy as can be. That’s when the trouble started. I looked up, and saw a third fly. Now this is getting serious. To make matters worse, it was headed for my kitchen! Aghast, and with no small amount of hesitation, I laid my laptop down and followed it into the kitchen where I was met with… oh god like five more flies! What the hell people.

I looked around for open food containers or, I dunno, a rotting banana, knowing full well that I wouldn’t even own a banana, let alone keep it out in a place where something living and visible would have access to it. Alas, nothing could be found, and tracking their flight patterns, I found no region of interest (ROI) that would provide some clue as to the flies’ attraction to my kitch.

So after I hung a few strips of duct tape from various places in my kitchen (note: this does not actually work, it turns out), I walked into my hallway to find even more flies. Now it has become an endemic. After silently crying to myself, I uncurled from a fetal position on the floor and set to work. This called for a three-prong attack:

1. Deception. As everyone knows, flies are attracted to light, like moths to a flame, because they think the light is the sun, and — a little-known fact about flies — they suffer from hubris, causing them to soar higher and higher into the sky, until the glue that holds their wings together melts and they come crashing into the ocean, never to be seen again. Tactically turning my lights on and off to get them into position, combined with gusts of paper-generated wind and a quick opening of my door, tricked quite a few of the little beasts from my darkened apartment out into the lit hallway, where they promptly disappeared from my sight and hence no longer existed.

2. Attack. Using a rolled up paper towel roll, I bopped them lightly enough to cause them to be unable to move quickly — but not hard enough to cause a fountain of icky fly juice — leaving them a twitching mess on the floor, ready for Step 3:

3. Disposal. I vacuumed their bodies up. I really hope that killed them.

Over the next few days I found bodies littered on the floor near my windows, which I promptly Step 3′d. As the days went by I found fewer and fewer bodies. Today was the second day in a row where there was only one body, so I’m hoping that was the last.

Since I don’t really have a punchline or a moral to this story, I’ll end with a joke:

Q. What has four wheels and flies?

A. A garbage truck that’s missing a ton of wheels, apparently.

Upon arriving home, though, we were greeted with a warning that we were not to turn on any gas-using appliances in our apartments. As it turns out, the gas company apparently fucked up while installing a new meter. Since it was already 4:30 pm, they decided to just shut off the gas in the building and call it a night. So, no heat and no hot water — and no stove, though it was hard for me to care about that — all night.

Anyway, Walnut was nice enough to put us up in the Pittsburgh Hilton, which is right at the Pointe (where the three rivers intersect) and not too shabby. Claire and I carpooled, and naturally I used the $24 valet service. This was funny because my car isn’t worth a whole lot more than that, what with its rust and missing hubcaps. So tossing my keys to a well-dressed attendant was worth the look on the hotel staff’s faces.

We decided to waltz on down to the ballroom to eat, and passed a series of display boards for a convention on metal working or something. Anyway, they were boring from a distance, and looking at them close up was just painfully boring. It was shocking, actually, the level of tedium that it must have taken to make the various displays. Coma-inducing, really. Needless to say, we quickly left that emotional Chernobyl and headed towards Restaurant Row.

Restaurant Class

There were two restaurants in the hotel: the first being the very essence of the word “pub”. It was a bar with a few video games (golf, of course), some loud music, the smell of grease and spilled beer, and some loudly talking people.

The second restaurant was a classy joint, what with its tablecloths and multiple forks and wine menus. You know, the kind of place where you put your cloth napkin on your lap and politely sip your wine as you discuss the day’s events over a pasta dish with a white wine sauce.

These two restaurants represented the not-so-subtle line between the classes; a bleached white or a dark denim blue collar; a sophisticate or a philistine. I pointed this out to my dining partner as we waited for our dishes to be served. Since it took a little longer than the “just a few more minutes” that our server assured us of at least 6 times, he was kind enough to bring us each a second glass of wine.

While I still have insufficient money and enough empathy left to think a flat tax is a bad idea and to not complain when deciding fiducially when is the right time to exercise vs hold onto stock options, it’s not like I want to eat with — as Gene Wilder once put it to Cleavon Little — “people of the land”.

Bring it on Home

It appears that the gas was turned back on, and pilot lights relit, today a bit after 6pm. Thus concludes another epic adventure in the life of a most assuredly boring individual. (Me.)

1. The battery life had dwindled to about 5 minutes
2. One of the batteries in the remote had exploded, leaving an awful smelling substance inside, and rendering it useless (even after exchanging both batteries).

Both of these things caused me great joy. Why, you ask? Because this gives me an excuse to replacing my old, aging Roomba with a brand new Roomba!

Roomba = Awesome

For those who don’t get excited over vacuuming-based products, allow me to briefly summarize why the Roomba is so awesome:

1. It cleans your floors without you having to do it yourself.
2. It’s a robot.
3. It’s a step towards realizing Ray Bradbury’s beautiful short story, “There Will Come Soft Rains,” from The Martian Chronicles.

Apart from having to empty the dirt receptacle, the Roomba Scheduler could in theory start up, vacuum my apartment, then return to its station to charge — every single day — whether I’m alive to appreciate it or my corpse is slowly decomposing on my couch. Technology is wonderful like that.

Back to the Story

So anyway, at first I was going to get a $225 Roomba Discovery, and buy a separate $59 Scheduler Pack from iRobot, since this seemed the cheapest way to go. What I ended up doing was buying the $329 Roomba Scheduler, complete with all the little scheduling doodads.

I went to Bed Bath and Beyond to pick up the Roomba Scheduler, but sure enough, they didn’t actually have any in stock, only the Roomba Discovery and the Scooba (which cleans/mops floors).

So I asked the people there, and eventually this guy led me over to a computer, where he checked on the inventory. Apparently that store had never had that model. For that matter, the total number of Roomba Scheduler’s in all the Bed Bath and Beyond stores in America, combined, was 10.

So I had to order it. The downside is I have to wait 3-11 business days for it to be delivered, instead of walking home with my instant gratification.

But Wait

So I bought this $329 version at Bed Bath and Beyond, plus tax and shipping, for $371.

But wait! As it turns out, Best Buy was having a sale on that model for $229, and Bed Bath and Beyond price matches. So it wasn’t $371, it was $264.

But wait! I also had a 20% off coupon that Bed Bath and Beyond mails out every week, so the price wasn’t $264, it was $213.

But wait! Since they didn’t have any in stock and they had to order me one, shipping was free! So it wasn’t $213, it was $198.

But wait! They were having a promotion, where buying a Roomba gets you a $50 gift card. So really, it wasn’t $198, it was $148.

Suckers

And that’s how I ultimately raped Bed Bath and Beyond. Now I rub my hands together and wait for my delivery…

The Night Before

There was an open bar at the party we went to that night, and I somehow took advantage of it in such a way that resulted in me double-fisting drinks early and often. Needless to say, it was a fun party. I have pictures. And a movie.

Luckily things turned sane for some of us earlier than for others. John, Michael, and I headed back to the hotel instead of catching a cab to the next place with the rest of the posse. I thought we’d have one more drink at the hotel bar before calling it a night. When we got to the lobby however, we were unable to persuade John to join us in the hotel bar, and he wisely retired to his room.

Mike and I approached the bartender, but he told us they had just closed, but there was a place across the street that was still open. When we got to the lobby again, however, I was unable to persuade Michael to join me across the street, and he wisely retired to his room.

Realizing this nightcap as a lost cause, I too retired to my room, somehow finding Kim Possible an entertaining show. My excuse was that it was an interesting art style (Penny Arcade’s artist admits to being heavily influenced by it), and I’ve never seen it animated. It was pretty well done, actually. Oh, and I was drunk (not having to follow the storyline can only have helped).

Part 2, Wherein I actually talk about Macworld itself for the first time already

Apple employees are decked out in all-black, looking like a large, classy army when we move in groups. My job is to talk to people about iWork, explaining the new features and answering questions. The answers to the three most frequently-asked questions I got were:

1. No, this is iWork; the new MacBook Pros are over there. (gesticulates towards a large mob of people)
2. No, this is iWork; the new iLife is over there. (gesticulates towards the other side of the wall)
3. $79 is the upgrade price. (grins)

Overall though, it is great talking to actual customers: seeing people “ooh” and “aah” my work is what I live for. But what I was really looking forward to was getting an idea of what people like about it, and getting feedback about their individual workflows or any problems they have with either app. It means a lot more when someone comes up to you and tells you that they would like this feature because when they do such-and-such a thing, it would be helpful to have support for blah, than it is to see a comment on a messageboard that just says “iWork sucks lolz”.

Sidenote: When you remove the anonymity of the Internet, you’re left with real people, with real thoughts, feelings, and ideas. (With the anonymity of the Internet, you get only links to actual work people have done, and 13-year olds’ mental diarrhea)

At this point in the conference, my feet are absolutely killing me, and standing takes an enormous amount of willpower. (You’re welcome.)

The Keynote

As it turns out, we didn’t get “full” conference passes, so most of us drove down to the Cupertino campus to watch the Keynote. I, however, stayed and used some trickery (thanks Calin!) to get into the Apple booth and watch it there. It was, as usual, pretty exciting. Feel free to watch it yourself if you haven’t already.

They released my product, Keynote 3, as part of the new iWork ‘06… check out all the cool new transitions.

The Panic

In the excitement of the post-keynote scramble, I left my new leather jacket on my chair as I ran to check out the new products. When I realized that I wasn’t wearing it anymore, some 5-10 minutes later, I hurried back to my chair to find it missing, most likely “cleaned up” in the furious cleaning session that took place just before opening the booth to the media, then public.

Unfortunately, my jacket contained a few important items that I’d rather not replace:

• Cellphone
• Keys to my car, apartment, and office
• iPod
• Expensive iPod earphones
• CryptoCard
• Fake wallet

…basically, my whole identity.

Needless to say, I was panicking. I ran around and asked everyone I saw if they had seen it anywhere. I was even looking for people who happened to be carrying it, though that effort proved a bit fruitless, as 80% of the civilized American population has black leather jackets. I asked fellow employees, staff managers, security guards, conference coordinators, help desks, info desks, random people… I even stopped by the conference’s lost-and-found desk every hour or two, along with the Apple storage area.

The problem was, it could have been anywhere. Someone could have stolen it, or was just holding onto it, it could have been stashed in some tiny storage receptacle somewhere nearby, or taken to security, or lost+found, or thrown in the back of the giant black Apple obelisk… who knows.

Anyway, towards the end of my afternoon shift, around 5pm, someone came over and told me that:

1. They have found my leather jacket, and
2. I owed them a bottle of vodka.

So that was an exciting and stress-filled first day. I’ll have to remember not to do stupid things like that anymore.

I was actually planning this before I even got to Phoenix. Since I wasn’t able to be there for my dad’s birthday, we were all going to go out to a nice restaurant for a kind-of-informal-birthday-ish-dinner-but-not-really. I figured that would be as good time as any.

As it turned out, we went to “Thai-foon”, which is to thai food like P.F. Chang’s is to chinese food. The food was surprisingly good – not authentic, but still good. (Though I’m sure some people would avoid it like the plague. )

As it came time for the check to come, I was constantly glancing – though possibly overtly looking – for our waitress. I was studying her movements, figuring out from which side she would approach, so I could either discreetly motion her to give me the bill, or at the very least, be the first one to grab it. Finally the check arrived, and was quickly and deftly placed between my dad and I. So I reached for the bill with one hand, and reached for my wallet with the other.

Now, in all fairness, I had expected some resistance – my parents are nice people, and were constantly trying to pay for meals when we ate with our grandparents. (Not that they were successful, but they fought the good fight.) They would of course protest me paying, claiming it was unnecessary, I didn’t have to do that, etc. etc. Here’s how I imagined the conversation would go:

Me: grabs the check

Parent: “What are you doing?”

Me: “Let me get this.”

Parent 1: “Nono, don’t.”

Parent 2: “You don’t have to do this.”

Me: “I want to do this.”

Parent 1: “C’mon, let us pay.”

Me: “Hey, I’ve got some money now, let me buy you guys dinner for once.”

Parents: concede

However, as is usual when I try to predict my parents’ reactions to stuff, the situation in real life did not go as my mind had so wonderfully planned. I was therefore completely unprepared for what happened next.

As soon as my fingers touched the black leather case in which I imagine – but was unable to verify – was the bill, my parents went into attack mode. My mom half stood up and lunged at me, grabbing me by the arm while hissing “No” in a tone louder and more fervent than I had expected. My dad didn’t initiate physical contact, but he turned to face me in an attack position, looking almost furious.

OK, so they were overreacting. It took me a second to pull myself together after facing this surreal opposition. Nevertheless, I thought I’d just continue with the plan, gently encouraging them to let me pay, until they gave in.

I started to tell them, “Let me get this,” and proceeded to extract my wallet, but they would have none of it. My mom just squeezed my arm harder, repeating, “No. MARK. NO.” in a tone befitting a mother discovering her 3-year-old was about to experiment with possible goldfish/blender combinations. My mom was freaking out, and I was actually afraid she would cause a disturbance in the restaurant. I turned to my dad to face a look which basically screamed, “If you do this, I will punch you very hard in the face, right now.”

OK. Whoa. I, uhh… whoa.

On the one hand I was being loudly and forcefully admonished with increasing intensity, and on the other I was facing a sort of rage that I was neither physically nor mentally prepared to deal with. Clearly I had underestimated the situation. Even my sister sitting across from me was stunned. My face turned red, and I was afraid to look and see if other patrons were taking note, or staring, or perhaps dialing 911 in advance.

I had not anticipated this. I was ill-prepared for such an outcome, and after quickly surmising possible endgames, I soon realized my position was hopeless. I let go of the bill and in the awkward silence that followed, put my wallet back in my pocket. My sister laughed and explained that she too had at one point tried paying the bill, no doubt to a similar outcome.

I was rather embarrassed and ashamed, and the incident – which was not spoken of again – gradually dissolved into the background of our dining experience.

Me? I’m just happy to have survived.

Anyway, a painter dude came at 9 am this morning to paint my walls and ceiling (I guess they either cleaned or just dried out my carpet yesterday). I asked him what was up, and he said that the people in an apartment two floors above me (an Indian family, I hear) put too much soap in their dishwasher and it overflowed, flooding their apt and dripping all the way down to mine (and probably parts below).

So now my walls are repainted and the mystery has been solved. Not much else to say, really.

See ya in a few months!