The institutional mouthpiece of Kjel.org

I hope we are not stunting the Jr VP’s growth or screwing him up in some way by not insisting that he eat better at dinner time. I hope they force feed him a balanced diet at ’school’, because at home he generally chooses one food for dinner and will brook no objections to that plan. That food by the way is never broccoli or apples, it’s more likely bacon or chocolate chips. A declaration (I’m quoting from memory here, so it might not be verbatim) the boy made at the start of dinner last night brought this phenomena to mind:

“Dearest Mummy and Daddy, I shall not be eating this rice tonight, nor will I partake of the chicken you’ve so hopefully placed before me. Please also place the cap back upon that tub of yogurt and place the tub back in the refrigerator, and then remove these dreadful vegetables from my sight with all possible haste. Tonight, I dine on beef jerky, and only beef jerky. Please procure me some forthwith.”

He proceeded to eat about eight pieces of beef jerky and then pronounced himself done with dinner. Protein deficient he is not.

Guess who’s office (or the beer drinkers in said office, anyway) decided that it would be fun to go to the Holiday Ale Fest Thursday afternoon? That’s right: I’m going twice this year. Once as a responsible adult, the other on Saturday morning . . .

I hope the CFO remembers to pin my bail money to my shirt again before she drops me off.

Should I sight a single snowflake while at work today I plan to put my hands in the air and scamper about my workplace yelling incoherently about the end of the world. We have some new people in our office from L.A. and I think it is important that they learn the proper Portland attitude toward snowfall.

A note to a certain driver on I-5 today: no matter how fast and aggressive you drive, no matter how much you yell and sneer and cuss, no matter how many people you tailgate and cut-off, you are still driving a light blue, wood-paneled minivan. No amount of road rage is going to change that.

Kjel.org has had an eventful week or so. The blow-by-blow:

Wednesday: The CFO’s parents arrived at the HQ and we went out for Mexican food. The Jr VP ordered for us. Mmmmmm, flautas y margaritas. This meal marked the beginning of a brief but torrid love affair with deep fried food. Deep fried foods and the CEO often have little dalliances, and hold each other in high regard when we are not ‘together’ so to speak, but for several days this weekend things got a little intense. By Sunday we both agreed that we needed a time-out. I have a feeling though that we’ll hook up again sometime soon.

Thanksgiving: The four adults and two kids played a while at the HQ, then I ducked out and went over to the Chief Educators house for cocktails. I was also present when the turkey was dropped into the fryer: impressive. There was a mushroom cloud of turkey flavored steam over Miles Ct, but no oil spilled this year. Someone has learned a thing or two about this little thing called “displacement” over the last several years. The menfolk stood around outside by the fryer as the ladies prepared side-dishes. Even with the fryer and the whiskey, it was damn cold outside. Also I had no coat, so that might have played a small role. Once the turkey was done and removed we did some experiments with the fryer. The man from the Dalles is entitled to yell Eureka!: mini bagel dogs in the deep fryer for three minutes were a revelation. The bit of turkey I sampled was damn good too but I took off for home as the rest of the group was sitting down for dinner — I had my own dinner to eat. The CFO whipped up some roast duck and sides, and a glorious chocolate cake for dessert. Upon seeing the cake the Jr VP wished everyone at the table a happy birthday, and then started singing the song. He got about two lines into it before the song was muffled by handfulls of cake.

Friday: A pretty slow day for Kjel.org. We went up to PCC again and walked around and/or rode our “bike” as was appropriate. It was still goddamned freezing out, and both lads had runny noses and were quickly done with playing outside. We went home and played a game called “Bad Monster” for about four hours. The game begins when the Jr. VP declares, in monster-voice, I’m a Bad Monster!. The rules get complicated pretty quickly, but any game that involves the Daddy Bear wrestling the Bad Monster for control of Couchtop Mountain is usually a good game. We were both pooped after our long day of playing. Jr went to bed; I went to the Old Barn with the Edumacator. Beer and deep fried mini corn dogs were consumed. Excellent, but no match for the bagel dogs.

Saturday: Jr and I decided to head down to Fred Meyer for some supplies. He and I used to go shopping all the time together but not so often anymore. It was fun, even if the only thing he wanted to buy was yogurt and cookies. Then we got cheeseburgers and went home and played; it was a fine afternoon for boys. That afternoon the football team from a certain institution of higher learning located in Pullman traveled to Seattle to face a bunch of purple clad chumps and criminals in the Apple Cup. Lucky for me, the game was on TV. And what a game: huge momentum shifts, lead changes, lucky breaks, and the good guys winning in the end:

The CEO swore at the TV a lot during the game. If the HQ had a swear jar I would have had to resort to panhandling for lunch money on Monday. A lot of the outbursts occurred when the Cougs were losing early, but once I remembered to put on my WSU sweat pants and make sure the AK was wearing his WSU Baby onesie, the Crimson and Gray turned it around. I don’t want to take too much credit for the turnaround — I’m just happy to help when I can.

Sunday The Jr VP and the CFO took some bags of leaves to the leaf drop off site and then went to Costco. Stinkboy apparently had developed quite an attachment to those leaves. Mommy! That man took our leaves!. All day he talked about the bad man who took his leaves. I wasn’t nearly as sad as the boy to see them go. At Costco something similar happened: he saw people buying the same pajamas he has (the firetruck pajamas) and got royally pissed. My pajamas! At least he only complained and didn’t actually try to liberate ‘his’ PJ’s. That’s the point I think where amusement will turn into concern. For the CFO andway — I’ll still be amused.

Sunday afternoon the CFO headed off some for well deserved spa time and I stayed home with the lads and made beef jerky (the secret ingredient in this batch is scotch — in my belly and the jerky) and watched football. It was during this period that I came up with a new nickname for the Intern. Henceforth, he will be referred to as Barfboy. In the same way that his brother (aka Stinkboy) smelled worse than any other baby I’d ever met, Barfboy leads the baby-league in puking ability. I went through four shirts Sunday afternoon, all of them with similar puke stains on the left shoulder. And the back. And down the front — Barfboy is pretty much full service. He is getting huge so it’s not like he’s malnourished or anything, he just throws up a lot. In the same way that Stinkboy eventually smelled better I hope Barfboy can soon grow out of this, because at this rate I won’t have any shirts left by Christmas.

Sunday evening I did some Christmas shopping. I did it without pants on. Bless you, Amazon. No one would get any gifts from the CEO if it were not for your glorious service.

Monday Back to work. Everybody is, to quote the Jr VP, “so sad.” Jr because he has to go back to school and can’t play with Mommy and Daddy all day long, and Daddy because Christmas is horrifyingly close and he is nowhere near ready for it. I don’t even know what I want, let alone what to get everyone else. McDonalds gift certificates, here we come!

Son of a bitch it just never stops. First the City Hall buttmonkeys tried to get me at home. They were thwarted. Then they targeted me at work. Nice try but no dice, assclowns. Now they are trying to turn the whole neighborhood against me. Shit. I’d hoped to be done with this, but if not, well PDX, prepare to have it brung. CFO, find me some clean pants! It’s go time, City Hall style!

Neighbors in Southwest Portland hope forming an unusual tax district will pay for complex street upgrades
People rarely walk Southwest Portland streets. It’s just too dangerous. There are few sidewalks. And bike lanes, common in the heart of the city, are nearly unheard of. Residents have complained for years, but nothing’s happened. Now a coalition of neighborhood associations, intrigued by an idea floated by Commissioner Sam Adams, is planning to sell property owners on something that could change the way street improvements are funded not just in Southwest Portland, but throughout the city. They want to create a special taxing district to pay for improvements on three Southwest Portland streets and have property owners — even if they don’t live on the street — pitch in. If approved by property owners, it would be Portland’s first “halo” improvement district, said Tom Miller, Adams’ chief of staff. In a traditional local improvement district, only property owners abutting a project pay for it. The halo would extend outward maybe as much as a quarter-mile to draw in property owners who also benefit from street improvements and can help pay.

Looks like my debut last week as a crank at the City Council meetings was only postponed, not cancelled.

There are very few things I like better than a cold beer on a hot Christmas morning. Lucky for me, a perfect excuse for almost exactly such a treat is right around the corner: Holiday Ale Fest 2007 See picture #2 on the photos page: our man from the Dalles is still featured. I will be there next Saturday morning when the doors open (11:00 AM), and will leave when either I am full of beer or they run out. Or when a gentleman with a badge asks me if I’d rather leave quietly or continue making a scene. I know how that has ended in years past. Which option will I choose in 2007? Come down on Saturday morning and find out!

Kjel.org is making a controversial choice this year for Thanksgiving: we’re not cooking a turkey. Or even a Turducken. Since it is only going to be us and the CFO’s parents, a turkey just seemed a little much. We still are making something special though: we picked up a pack of duck hindquarters at Uwajimaya the other day that we’ll roast and then drench with “jezebel sauce“. Yummy. I also plan to swing by the “good liquor store” (the one in Burlingame) and acquire a bottle of something brown and slightly peaty for the CFO’s father and me to share. By “share” I mean he gets a glass or two. With plenty of ice. Small glasses.

Kjel.org might be moving to Pullman soon; the CFO is thrilled. Thrilled, I tells ya. I’ve submitted my resume to Washington State University, and, if accepted, next season I will be the head coach of the WSU football team. I don’t really expect to be hired as head coach, and frankly, head coach is not the job I want. I’m doing it just to position myself for the true dream job should it also become available: WSU offensive coordinator. I like to imagine sitting up in the booth drawing up triple reverse quarterback-throwback type plays, most of them run out of either the wishbone or the shotgun. A lot of tackle-eligible stuff in the playbook too, plus a couple of double-secret trick plays that we’ll save just for the Apple Cup. I’ve got one in mind called Dogstomper option right that I am just itching to run some year. Also, we are not going to punt. Ever. The good Lord gave WSU four downs in which to move the football, and by God move it we will.

One more game for the Cougs this year. I hope they show up for this one; on Saturday against the Beavs they didn’t. If you can’t get excited about a chance to beat up on the Huskies, then you probably shouldn’t be playing on my* football team.

* Mine soon anyway. At the least the offense.

I am convinced that were the ladies and gentlemen below to replace the current Portland City Council our local government would improve considerably.

Back from City Hall already. There were 400 people in line in front of me to also bitch at the city council, so my debut as a crank that attends council meetings and spouts off will have to be delayed. There were enough pissed off people there already — I’ll link to a news story about it tonight when the meeting is finally over. My early feeling though? No name change for SW 4th: the folks wanting Interstate to change have too much invested in it to accept anything else.

Guess who’s boss just asked him to walk a few blocks down to City Hall at 3:00 today and bitch about the proposed name change of a certain downtown street?

They couldn’t get me at home with their bogus street ‘improvements’, so now the city is targeting me where I work. Bastards.

New Portland street now in the running to honor Cesar Chavez
It now looks as if the Portland City Council won’t rename North Interstate Avenue for Cesar Chavez on Thursday after all. Instead, there appears to be four votes to rename Southwest Fourth Avenue — where City Hall sits — for the farm worker labor leader, tossing new fuel into a debate that has enflamed community passions in recent weeks. City Commissioner Dan Saltzman told Mayor Tom Potter late today that he has the votes for the Fourth Avenue name change, according to John Doussard, the mayor’s spokesman.

Do the raging assclowns at City Hall not know that there happen to be other businesses and organizations on SW 4th, or do they just not give a shit about all the hassle this would cause? For all the same reasons this was a stupid idea for Interstate it is a stupid idea for SW 4th. And I’m not even going to attempt a discussion as to whether this street or any street in town should be renamed after Mr. Chavez. To even obliquely attempt to raise that topic in the People’s Soviet of Portland will get you branded as a member of the KKK, and I got enough problems in this town as it is. Anyway, if this thing goes through I predict that this city is going to see some ugliness. Me, I’m going to confine myself to launching a campaign to change the name of whatever cross street City Hall happens to sit on. Rumsfeld Avenue has a nice ring to it I think, but then again so does Karl Rove Blvd. Or maybe just W street. Hell, I’d be happy with Ichiro Lane. Anyone else got anything better?

More pictures from the recent archives, this time from a trip to Tierra Del Mar on the Oregon coast this last summer. Here’s a crazy-haired lad packing some bubble-flingin’ heat out on the deck of our beach house. Check out the between-the-eyes scab on Headwound Harry here:

He had that stupid thing on his face for about six weeks since he kept finding ways to reopen it. Keeping two-year-olds from continually wounding and re-wounding themselves is harder than you might think. Rope barriers to keep him from going over the cliff proved quite effective however. And fun to play with too.

And then of course I had to watch him on the beach like a hawk as the Jr VP’s deficiencies in the area of water safety skills are well documented. I guess I better go in here with him. HOLY FU. . .! ! ! uh, I mean, SWEET JEBUS that water is cold!

Run! Watchout Stinky!! Ahhhh, water!! Daddy, too fun!!

Yet I managed to get him back home alive. Again. A good trip.

It seems like every weekend for the past couple we’ve looked out the window and said This has got to be the last sunny weekend of the year, we better get outside and do something! This weekend we saddled up the Jr. VP’s “bike” (I wouldn’t call it a “trike” if I were you, not when he’s around anyway) and headed next door to the PCC campus. It is a perfect place for the lad to ride, with long, flat cement hallways bound on either side by walls. So long as I can keep up with him and prevent Jr from riding his bike down the stairs (that handle on the back is a lifesaver, literally) everyone is pretty safe and happy. Except for the poor schmucks attending class on Saturday morning — I’m sure they enjoyed watching the four of us walking around outside while they were indoors, furthering their education.

Monday night the Chiefs Edumacator and Bride came over for football. The CFO made lumpia and chicken adobo, and we spent the evening stuffing ourselves and watching the Hawks lay some pain on the Niners. We also had a beer testing session. It’s still early, but I need to know what is worth spending my money on this year. The initial results were somewhat underwhelming. Maybe I just picked a bad crop to taste? It looked like my go-to beer store (Barbur Foods) had had a run on the winter beers over the weekend as they were out of several of the usual suspects. We did the best with what they had:

We started with Winterhook. Fine, but not much too it. Tasted a lot like regular Redhook. We then moved on this year’s Jubelale, which was much better than the Winterhook. No spices or anything, just good, malty carmelly winter beer. Next up was the Wassail. I’ve loved this one in years past but this year I wasn’t really impressed. Not a bad beer in any way, but nothing complex or special about it. Up next was Wreck the Halls, an Imperial IPA. It is a huge beer, with one 22 oz bottle chock full of enough malt and hops to make three kegs of Bud Light. Very good, but again, I remember liking last year’s version better. I wonder if my taste or Full Sail that is changing. Much more investigation is warranted I think. We finished the evening with the Snow Plow (“Mr Plow” as the Edumacator calls it): a fine milk stout from Widmer. You know how Guinness has just a tiny touch of sourness to it under the malt? Snow Plow has none of that, just creamy roasty black deliciousness. Mmmm, beery deliciousness.

Next up on the reviewing stand this week will be Sierra Nevada Celebration and my favorite from years past, Ebenezer. Reports forthcoming.

When the Jr. VP imagines Kjel.org in his head, I believe this is how his family looks:

If I won a billion dollars tomorrow I would quit my job and start in on a project very similar to this. I would also acquire some henchmen and then buy a island somewhere (with a volcano!) and become a Bondian super-villain, but that would come later, after the beer.

Dear CFO,

Happy Veterans Day! We know the real date of the holiday even if the calendar makers screwed it up this year. Why, just seven years ago it fell on a Saturday. Anyway, enjoy the day!

Love,

the CEO.

The pictures just keep on coming at Kjel.org. Below we have a set I found from July, back when the CFO had a freshly baked Intern-sized bun removed from her oven. Firstly, we have a picture of the CFO’s doctor taking her blood pressure post-bun removal.

I believe here the good doctor is utilizing the University of Minnesota Olfactory Baby-Wellness Protocol. Yup, smells like a baby!

The doctor on a house call. You sure this butterfly is on the level? No one ever suspects the butterfly, so watch out.

The doctor performing a follow-up to the University of Minnesota Olfactory Baby-Wellness Protocol. Still smells like a baby alright!

The happy AK, as held by Daddy.

For some reason this story resonates with the CFO. I have no idea why.

North Bend driver picks jail over showing license, registration
A frustrated driver who told a State Patrol trooper he’d rather go to jail than show his license and registration during a traffic stop got his wish. . . . When pulled over, the North Bend man denied that he was speeding and refused to provide his driver’s license, registration or proof of insurance, the State Patrol said. The trooper explained there were several ways to challenge a speeding ticket, but that refusing to provide his driver’s license was not one of them. . . . The man then told the trooper would rather go to jail. He was placed into custody and his car was released to his wife, who was a passenger in the car. She had only shaken her head when the trooper appealed to her for help in convincing the husband to cooperate.

Some more recently discovered pictures, these from the Kjel.org trip to Banks Lank in Eastern Washington this last August. It was long drive, but a good time once we got there. The Jr. VP was in heaven, as he got to play and play with crazy cousin Chuckles. There was a putt-putt golf course just below the house that we rented. Here’s a view from our deck of the two lads hitting the links:

We rented a ski boat for a few days, and explored the lake and played around. The Jr. VP was a ruthless captain when Chuckles was on the inner tube behind him.

Um, Daddy? A little help? Someone thought is would be a great idea to scale a dirt cliff on the beach where we were playing. Didn’t think much about how you were gonna get down, eh Stinkboy?

Speaking of not thinking about consequences: there are some drawbacks to the fact that the Jr. VP is fearless (robots, falling, mean dogs, and flying screech monkeys notwithstanding) such as the fact that he will charge into any body of water and not stop until he reaches a depth of five feet or so. The lad is substantially shorter than 5′0″. I don’t even think he knows that he doesn’t know how to swim. I’d prefer that he doesn’t learn that fact on my watch. When we were wading in Banks Lake I was just glad that I could keep him corralled in the shallows; otherwise I might have had to put down my beer. Or, more likely, rescue the lad one-handed.

Apparently my 11:00 appointment tomorrow already has made an appearance in Colorado:

Demon or doggie? Spooky photo changes couple’s lives
Joseph Martinez and his wife Patty had their photo taken at Patty’s parent’s 50th anniversary eight years ago. . . . For the most part, its is an unremarkable picture. But recently they noticed something strange in the picture over Joseph Martinez’s left shoulder. It appears to be a snarling dog, but the couple thinks it’s a demon. Martinez says the photo was taken at a bad time in is life, a time when he says drugs were “killing his soul.” They also say no dogs were present at the festivities. A photo expert who examined the image - the photo was shot on film, not with a digital camera - calls the picture “very strange.” Patty Martinez is convinced of the photo’s supernatural aspect. “I, right away, thought it was Satan! I really thought, I said, ‘man, you’re really walking with Satan!”

Click this link to see the picture — I couldn’t display it here because of technical difficulties. What, it’s not like I work at a technology company or something. Pic below.

Though the CFO in the past has accused me of many of the seven deadly sins, (some venial ones too!) accusations generally with merit, to my knowledge she has never said of me that I was, literally, “walking with Satan.” Thanks Hon.

If I was this guy I’d have permanent neck damage from snapping my head around all the time trying to get glimpse of the Demon Dog, then trying to grab and get a collar on him. Taking that pooch to Gabriel Park or the Lucky Lab would be one hell of a good time. I wonder if that mutt is good with kids? Maybe the lad could take him to school for show and tell? Mira! Aqui esta mi perro de diablo . . .

I wonder what kind of camera set-up you need to catch a photo of the Devil? Myself I’d probably go with a fast shutter speed (1/250 or faster I think?) and the aperture as small as possible given the light — if Satan is a ways behind the subject you still want him to be in focus after all. Maybe a UV filter of some sort? Or would that then filter out the Prince of Darkness? Chief Photographer, you got any ideas?

The lads had a fine Halloween this year. Stinkboy helped to “carve” some pumpkins on Saturday, and then on Wednesday after I got back from L.A. I helped the two boys (dressed up in their puppy costumes) greet folks at the HQ. The Jr. VP trick-or-treated at one house (our neighbor) and then claimed he was done. Get this though: the boy likes candy. He was upset when he realized that his little plastic pumpkin only had two candy bars in it. Then he had an idea: Daddy, trick-or-treat! “Oh, hello little puppy. Here have some candy. ” Thank you Daddy. 5 seconds pass. Daddy, trick-or-treat! I saw where that was going, but that didn’t mean I could stop it. The lad succeeded in his scheme to drain the HQ’s candy supply while building up his personal stash. Good thing I know where he hides his stash. I hope he doesn’t know where I hide mine.

Here is the Jr VP wearing his home-made Halloween hat. He may be part wizard. At this point it would not really surprise me.

The Jr. VP drew on his pumpkin instead of cutting it with his blade. I don’t really think I need to teach him to carve anything yet. Nothing good would come of that skill right now. Something funny maybe, but nothing good.

Watch out! That puppy is trying to lick you!

Two puppies (one eating a bone) and a Mommy:

A home maintenance note: when you can see small plants growing out of your gutters cleaning them is probably overdue. I wish the CFO would get off her lazy rear and get it done. It’s just going to get harder the longer she waits. At least she cleaned up the yard this weekend. Here are some pictures of the lad ‘helping’ her do that. Look at my big blue hands!

Make like a tree and get out of here!

I’m tired of leaves. Look, pumpkins! And my truck!

A final note: The CFO mailed my ballot for me the other day. At least she says she did. It could be floating in a gutter somewhere. She is a much better person than I am however so I believe her when she says she placed my vote. I hope she did: after all the times I’ve helped her out with voting by fixing her ballot for her after she’d filled in the wrong boxes she owes me that much.

I’m not even sure what to say about this. I suppose it’s funny because no one got hurt. No one I wouldn’t eat, anyway. If this happened to me though I’d really have to re-think my views on karma.

Cow falls from sky, barely misses couple
MANSON, Wash. — A Chelan County fire chief says a couple were lucky they weren’t killed by a cow that fell off a 200-foot cliff and smashed their minivan. District 5 Chief Arnold Baker says they missed being killed by a matter of inches Sunday as they drove on Highway 150 near Manson. The 600-pound cow fell about 200 feet and landed on the hood of the minivan carrying Charles Everson Jr. and his wife Linda of Westland, Mich., who were in the area celebrating their one-year wedding anniversary. They were checked at Lake Chelan Community Hospital as a precaution.

It’s a well known fact that Optimus Dork is not good at remembering to set his clocks back.

So Chief Sniper, a reminder: tonight is fall back. Set your clocks back one hour when you go to bed. You’re welcome.

In cleaning up my laptop I unearthed a trove of pictures from Summerfest 2006 I believe. I will share some with you:

1. The Chief Bride and her opponent about to wail on each other.

2. The Chief Bride turning her attention instead toward the photographer. Uh oh. The Pinkdog however looks unamused.

3. Here we have the Jr. VP screwing up someone’s croquet shot. The Chief Bride looks intrigued but again the Pinkdog looks unamused. To the right, Neth is preparing to eat a baby.

4. In the foreground we have Lt. Dan and Mr. No-On-49 playing beer pong, but in the background you can see the aggrieved croquet player taking his vengence on the Jr. VP with a croquet mallet. It appears the Pinkdog is trying to alert me to the assault. Mallet-boy is lucky I didn’t see her at the time.

5. And finally: Watch out Stinkboy! He’s in the Navy!

I’ve watched a lot of football in my day, but this is possibly the most insane play I have ever seen:

Tuesday night I went to a huge outdoor reception at Sony Picture Studios in Culver City honoring Vint Cerf, a man widely hailed as one of the founding fathers of the Internet. There were speeches from various luminaries, all effusively praising and thanking Mr. Cerf for his accomplishments and acknowledging the truly world-changing effect his work has had. There were video tributes from important people all over the world saying much the same. Everyone was falling all over themselves to honor Mr. Cerf, and with good reason — he’s done a ton of good in his time and everyone who’s ever known or worked with him thoroughly loves the guy. As far as I can tell he deserves all the accolades that have come his way.

Then there was the video tribute from one Mr. Albert Arnold Gore Jr. “The internet has been invaluable to my efforts to inform people world wide about the climate crisis. My organization . . . I am able to . . . When I was the Vice President. . . We should all be thankful this teaching tool is here for me to use to educate you about global warming.” At the end of his “tribute” to Cerf you could hear the crowd grumbling a bit. Socializing afterwards nobody wanted to just come out and say the former VP made an ass of himself; you never know someone else’s politics and no one wants to inadvertantly offend. Even so there were plenty of comments like “Wow that Al Gore sure knows how to stay on message, huh?” or “Uh, well, I guess it’s nice to see that Al knows it didn’t have to be all about Vint tonight.” The thing about it is that it was supposed to be all about Vint that night. Everyone knew that, except a certain blowhard ex-senator. Al, here’s an inconvenient truth for you: you are a ginormous grade-AAA douchebag. And a shit sandwich too, now that I think about it.

Another thing: somehow* I ended up seated at a table right behind Mr. Cerf’s VIP table; he and I were almost back to back. When the actual speechifying and such started I spun around to face the stage and was directly behind and to the right of the Man of the Evening. He was getting a lot of attention from both national and international media. I was his unintentional wingman: I am now present in roughly 1,000 pictures and some number of hours of video footage taken that evening. I wish I’d combed my hair. Or worn a clean shirt. Or at least a cleanish one.

* CEO’s brain as I am sitting down: “Reserved sign?” I don’t see one. Weird they’d have a table this far forward unreserved, but oh well. I guess I’ll sit down. Why is everyone looking at me funny? . . .