On the road again: Las Vegas/CES, day 1

So it's 10:10 p.m. local time, which your body believes is really 1:10 a.m. where it woke up after three hours and fifteen minutes of sleep, you're in Las Vegas, you've been working solid for a good while, and you're staring at a big lump of work still awaiting your attention. What do you do?

Why, go out for pie, of course.

Not just any pie, mind you; oh, no. This is very special pie, and you can find it in your hotel, the MGM Grand, only a couple of blocks walk (no exaggeration) from your room. This is the Emeril's version of banana cream pie, and it is the best BCP on the planet.

It is from this very line of fine reasoning that I found myself sitting at the bar of the Emeril's restaurant here savoring a piece of this most delightful pie and sipping a cold glass of water as a trio of seriously drunk, CES-bound, marketing women a few stools away provided free entertainment. The cute Indian woman with the British accent rarely spoke as the pale, paunchy blonde and the trim brunette fought for the coveted Mary role in front of three geeks they would never have noticed had they not been so far into the bottle. People-watching is at its best in Vegas.

Having moved my tired self across the country, spent way too many hours on a plane, had a good dinner at Fix, and done a ton of work, I think it's time for me to finish the final pending tasks and fall into my bed.

Tomorrow, Bill and I begin our walking tour of CES.

Heading to CES

Tomorrow, I hit the road again, this time to CES in Las Vegas. I'm quite looking forward to the show, both to see some of our clients and just to bask in the uber-geekiness of hundreds of thousands of square feet of tech on display. I'm particularly interested in seeing the many varieties of netbooks, because I'm still not sold on this computing category. It feels to me like an awkward middle ground between a three-pounder, such as an Air or a Lenovo T3100, and a smart phone, such as my iPhone. I'll report my opinion after I've checked out a lot of them on the show floor.

In unrelated news, as you would expect, I am chipping away at the plot of Children No More. I understand it at a macro level and have for some time, but I now must work out the details so I can write an outline and get busy on the book. This one will in many ways be darker than any of the others, but I'm still looking forward to getting back to writing; everything up until the point at which I'm putting down text always feels a bit like cheating.

While I'm in Vegas, I'll eat at least a few really good meals, see three shows, and if time permits, grab a few hours at a poker table (though this last is definitely lowest on my priority list). Stay tuned over the next five days for my report.

The breakup of America is near

or so Russian Igor Panarin would have you believe. My friend and fellow writer, John Lambshead, brought this to my attention via this article in the Wall Street Journal.

Panarin exhibits craziness of a high order, the kind you usually get to read only in fiction or in stories of people under treatment. When he discusses the fate of Alaska, for example--it will become part of Russia--the story says,

A framed satellite image of the Bering Strait that separates Alaska from Russia like a thread hangs from his office wall. "It's not there for no reason," he says with a sly grin.

You have to love a guy who's already decorating for the coming economic apocalypse.

The best part of the story, however, is the map at its end, a beautiful drawing that shows the eventual fates of all us loser Americans. Just stare at it and enjoy.

Though I know this guy is predicting the collapse of my nation, I couldn't help but smile and be happy at the sheer wackiness of his vision. Wow.

Vacation ends

Tomorrow, I return to my day job. I like my job, but I have to admit that I'm not really ready to go back. I entered my vacation far more burned out than I had realized, and I am ending it more than a little toasty. I also feel that other than keep up with the holidays I accomplished nothing these past two weeks. I must remind myself that this is simply not true. In particular, I

* turned in Overthrowing Heaven, got Toni's comments, addressed them, and turned in the final copy (that last bit tonight).

* finished everything in the budget box; hurrah!

* figured out chunks of Children No More. I'm not ready to outline yet, but I hope to start doing so before the end of January.

For those who are joining me in returning to work tomorrow, I hope your Monday goes well and as painlessly as possible.

Personal IT hell

I'm heading back to work Monday, and then on Wednesday I'm flying to Las Vegas for CES. (I know you're feeling bad for me--great tradeshow, fabulous meals, a couple of Cirque shows, it's rough--but I'll try to be strong.) In preparation for the trip, I'm trying to get a bunch of my computers up to date, a process that has landed me in personal IT hell. So, I'm going to keep tonight's entry short and leave you with this song. It's been rattling around in my head for two days, so with luck this video will transplant it to yours. Enjoy--and go re-watch the wonderful Grosse Pointe Blank if the song compels you to do so.

The Spirit

simply wasn't bad enough to be good. The trailer had convinced me that it wasn't going to be a seriously good movie, but I had high hopes that it could be the kind of bad movie that's big fun to watch. For the most part, though, it was not.

Kyle correctly observed that the movie would have benefitted from radical surgery, with many scenes and the entire back story best hacked off and fed down the disposal. The result would have been a one-hour HBO special, but that show might have been more fun to watch than the film.

None of this is to say that the movie provided nothing of value. Samuel L. Jackson chewed the scenery in ways that were at times highly entertaining. Watching Scarlett Johannson call some thugs "polyp" and "toejam" was fun. Paz Vega earned the immediate lust of every man in the audience. You also have to love any scene that contains the line, "And this one is for Muffin!"

Despite those fleeting pleasures, I can recommend this one only to hardcore Frank Miller fans or those, like me, willing to watch any comic-book-based film. (Oh, how did I miss that Punisher movie?)

R.I.P., Donald Westlake

He died Wednesday night, and already I miss the books I'll never get to read. I never met him, but I loved his Parker novels, which he wrote under the pseudonym, Richard Stark; I laughed at his comedic books; I marveled at the efficiency and ruthless logic of The Ax; and to this day I don't think any novel has ever better captured the twisted insides of a failing writer than his Adios Scheherezade.

I'm particularly sad that I'll never read another Parker book, but if you haven't yet discovered them, you still can. I suggest consuming them in the order in which he wrote them. Enjoy.