I have a name-tag letting me into this exclusive auction house, with my photo on it, and I have to wear it all times to prove I'm allowed to be there. A guard at the security station made me hand over my Driver's License and look into a camera so they could have a real-time picture. Other guards stood by to "sort of" watch, their wary eyes never leaving me. None of my party was allowed to be alone until we'd all been checked in and ensconced in a room where we were to work. All very top-drawer security and a strong vibe of "don't even try to mess with us." I'd be intimidated (well, sort-of) except for one thing -- my name's wrong on the name-tag.
All this fuss and fuddle...and I'm now known as Michael Sullivan. Not Kyle. Not Michel. Not Kyle Michel, as it is on my birth certificate and driver's license and passport and lease and every bill I get. So legally speaking, it's not me. I'm a fake. Shit, I knew that long ago...I'm just amazed it took these folk this long to make use of it.
Oh...and the guard who did the name-tag doesn't like Texas barbeque. He prefers Chicago style, which apparently is next to sauceless.
San Antonio seems to have calmed down. My mother apparently took a spill while my brother was out getting some dinner for them both, and then she spent yesterday not wanting to eat. But today she's feeling better and life is easier. Or so I'm told. I'll be down there in a month.
I must be getting used to New York City. It was its typical busier than hell place, today, and since my hotel's right by the street leading to the Holland Tunnel, I can see how insane traffic still is -- cars blocking intersections so they can sit and wait for cars ahead of them to move even as they don't -- but none of it seemed out of the ordinary to me. Or impressive. Not quite a year ago, I sat for over an hour to get into the Lincoln Tunnel to get to Manhattan..and last December did it, again, when I drove down for an interview for "Dining With Strangers", so this line was not that big a deal except we're in the Village part of Manhattan and it looks meaner. Dunno why anyone owns a car in this part of the city.
Tomorrow night's Indian food...and I hope it's the good spicy kind and not the bland watery type. I had both when I was living in LA and both claimed to be authentic. Dunno which is, just know which makes my tummy happy.
All this fuss and fuddle...and I'm now known as Michael Sullivan. Not Kyle. Not Michel. Not Kyle Michel, as it is on my birth certificate and driver's license and passport and lease and every bill I get. So legally speaking, it's not me. I'm a fake. Shit, I knew that long ago...I'm just amazed it took these folk this long to make use of it.
Oh...and the guard who did the name-tag doesn't like Texas barbeque. He prefers Chicago style, which apparently is next to sauceless.
San Antonio seems to have calmed down. My mother apparently took a spill while my brother was out getting some dinner for them both, and then she spent yesterday not wanting to eat. But today she's feeling better and life is easier. Or so I'm told. I'll be down there in a month.
I must be getting used to New York City. It was its typical busier than hell place, today, and since my hotel's right by the street leading to the Holland Tunnel, I can see how insane traffic still is -- cars blocking intersections so they can sit and wait for cars ahead of them to move even as they don't -- but none of it seemed out of the ordinary to me. Or impressive. Not quite a year ago, I sat for over an hour to get into the Lincoln Tunnel to get to Manhattan..and last December did it, again, when I drove down for an interview for "Dining With Strangers", so this line was not that big a deal except we're in the Village part of Manhattan and it looks meaner. Dunno why anyone owns a car in this part of the city.
Tomorrow night's Indian food...and I hope it's the good spicy kind and not the bland watery type. I had both when I was living in LA and both claimed to be authentic. Dunno which is, just know which makes my tummy happy.
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