People in LA Can't Drive

     I hate unsolicited advice.  I'm sure I've mentioned this before.  The worst kind of unsolicited advice, however, is that which requires time travel. 

I'm unsure of what to do next in my career.
Oh, you should have moved to LA 3 years ago when you had the chance.

Thanks.  Super helpful.  But you know what, I don't want to move to LA.  And I don't want to travel back in time to do so.  Because people in LA can't drive.
     When I owned a car, I drove a stick shift.  It was fun and sporty and got great gas mileage.  City driving is a little more difficult with a stick, because of all the stop-and-go.  You end up with a massive left calf muscle.  If you don't already know how to drive a stick, you should not start on the streets of LA.  They're large, congested streets with a lot of stop lights and opportunities to really piss people off.  You could roll backwards and hit someone.  You could stall in the middle of the street.  You could drop your transmission in the middle of an intersection.  You could risk looking cool.  All of the competent drivers around you will hate you.
     Another thing about LA driving that's terrible are the buses.  You just can't get around them.  They crap out black smoke into your windshield.  You're blinded and it stinks.  You can't see around them, so there's no way to know when it would objectively be safe to pass them.  Also, it's never really objectively safe to pass a bus.  But they go so slow, and people have places to be.  Plus, they're really big, so you're never going to try to play a game of chicken with them.  You can't cut them off; you will lose.
     Speaking of getting cut off, people do this constantly.  Especially jerks in pick-up trucks.  Why even drive a pick-up truck in LA?  There's no real good reason to haul anything in LA.  You're just driving it because you're a douche, and to perpetuate the douchey stereotype, you cut people off- nice people who drive purple 1987 Buick Skylarks. 
     The traffic in LA is a nightmare, made all the worse by the concentration of people without the ability to drive attempting to do it there. So, traveling back in time to go to LA is terrible advice for two reasons: 1.) impossible, and 2.) the terrible drivers. 

Travel Day

     Tuesday was a travel day.  The amount of time it takes to get across the country plus the time change means the whole day is shot.  There is no reason to try to plan to do anything else.  You will be eating your meals in airports or on airplanes and sitting very uncomfortably for hours and hours. 
     In general, the travel on Tuesday went as planned.  I booked too late to get a non-stop flight.  Also, I did something else wrong and was given a universal middle finger- the middle seat.  The first flight left on time; I was concerned about making it because of the inexplicably long check in line.  I suppose it was explicable: discount airlines hire discount gate agents who don't give a fuck if you miss your flight and don't really listen all that well.  But it worked out and I made it to the gate just as they were boarding the plane.  I didn't have any trouble at security (this time), because I've done this before!
     The one benefit of the layover in Atlanta was the Moe's Southwest Grill in the terminal.  At least it seemed like the benefit at the time.  Several hours later it was clearly not the benefit.  I never ever learn my lesson about burritos.  A few days prior I had declared that the best thing about sleeping in the airport was a Moe's breakfast burrito.  This proved false by lunch.  Also, the worst part about sleeping in an airport is SLEEPING IN AN AIRPORT. 
     Let me explain: I was to depart on Friday evening after work.  I was quite excited about it, and had been doing a countdown.  I made the trek to Dulles National Airport (BTW, calling a DC airport is bullshit.  It's in Virginia.  Western Virginia.) and was plenty early.  I checked in to my flight but the times were all floopy.  The lovely gate agent person informed me that the flight was currently delayed by half an hour.  They anticipated it would be delayed more.  She offered me several options, including giving up all together and going home.  It was due to weather so there was only so much she could do.  She did kindly tell me I shouldn't check my bag because there would be pretty much no chance I'd ever see it again. 
     It was around 6:30pm when I checked in and the skies were clear and blue.  About an hour later, the delay seemed obvious.  A huge black cloud engulfed the airport as they delayed the flight even longer.  Eventually they announced it would leave at 11:14pm and nobody would make their connections.  Dulles is mostly large glass windows; people can see the terrible storm happening five feet from them, yet still, they were angry.  Of course, I wasn't happy, but this was clearly one of those "things I can't change" moments. 
     The storm cleared, the flight took off, and we landed in Atlanta at about 1am.  I wandered around for a while looking for just the right spot.  My flight from Atlanta to LA was scheduled to depart at 8:45am.  There is not a lot going on in an airport at 1am and even the tram shuts down, so when you go from terminal to terminal, you just might get stuck in one of them.  I found a row of seats that didn't have arm rests on them that was pushed against a wall with an outlet.  I plugged in my phone to charge and used my carry-on as a pillow.  I would find out a few hours later someone else apparently pushed this bench against the wall.  So I (unknowingly) shared a bench with a weary traveler in a similar situation.  I think we're married now. 
     I couldn't figure out how to turn the lights off in the terminal, but I swear, sometimes they were off and sometimes they weren't.  The cleaning crew was kind enough to not wake me even though they probably wanted to vacuum under me.  Eventually the hustle and bustle of travelers catching that first flight out woke me up.  I sauntered over the Moe's for a breakfast burrito.  I considered a regular burrito but I didn't want to confuse my body any more than it already was. 
    From Atlanta to LA went off without a hitch and I got in a few more zzzzs.  I arrived at LAX, cleaned myself up in the bathroom (like all classy people do), had some Reese's pieces for my time-change-adjustment meal, and was whisked away in a sweet sweet ride.  The rest of the trip was fantastical.
     This brings us back to the poor dinner decision made, yet again, at the Moe's in the Atlanta airport.  I love burritos. I can't help it.  I scarfed down the Homewrecker in just enough time to board the plane back to DC.  I had cleverly made my flight plans to arrive in DCA, aka Reagan National Airport, because it's much more convenient.  Except apparently there is a part of DCA that they don't really like to talk about.  I've been to DCA many times and I had never been in that part.  There were shuttles involved.  What?  But really, it was fine.  It was just weird and late, although time had lost all meaning.  I arrived back to my place at around 11:30, which was about the temperature and humidity of the 3rd circle of hell. 
      Already, I miss LA.   

Personal Plan of Actions and Milestones & LA! LA! LA!

     Today I started working on a personal plan of actions and milestones, also known as a POA&M.  POA&M (also written POAM when we're too lazy to add the ampersand) is pronounced po-am.  It's a fancy term for a list of shit that has to get done and dates you need them done by.
     I remember the first time someone explained to me what a POAM was.  A task was at hand; it was a fairly large task that needed to be broken down into parts.  I was told to write a POAM.

     "Do you know what a POAM is?"
     "No."
     "A plan of actions and milestones."
     "-"
     "You know what actions are, right?"
     "Yes, of course I know what actions are."
     "And you know what milestones are?"
     "A douchey word for goals."
     "So a plan of actions and milestones lays out all of your actions, or tasks, and your milestones, or goals, and assigns dates to them, so you can track your progress."
     "You mean it's a to-do list, with a douchey name."
     "A POAM is not douchey."

A POAM is actually quite douchey.   It's just a to-do list, usually with dates on it.  I suppose the dates are what pushes it over the edge from just a to-do list to a POAM.  There must be another term for it, but it has been so ingrained in me now I refer to a lot of my to-do lists this way.  I'm not saying it to be douchey though, I'm just saying it because now, it's what I'm most familiar with.  I want to make some changes in my life, I want to set up some goals and deadlines for myself, so I'm going to put them in a POAM.
     Also, as a side note, those who really take these things seriously will actually say P O A and M, every time they talk about it.  Recently I was assigned a very simple task and given a vague due date.  I was then told to come up with a "P. O. A. and M." for it.  The confused look on my face prompted the person making the request to assume I didn't know what a POAM was.  A similar conversation to the one above ensued, though if you can imagine it, it was even douchier.   It may have included the history of POAMs and graphical representation of milestones.  Rest assured, the confused look was because you don't need a POAM with two items on it.
     Anyway, that not withstanding, I am in the process of writing my own POAM for those aforementioned reasons of changing my life.  For me, a POAM will prevent chaos and stave off living in a box for a few months.  I appreciate that about them.  Plus, I'll probably get to make it into some sort of PowerPoint presentation with triangles and diamonds and stars and timelines.  That sounds awesome, doesn't it?  And by presentation I mean I'll hang it on my wall with tape.

      Part II:  Zero days to LA!  Woo!  I'm counting down the hours until I'm in the sky flying towards the land of angels.   LA! LA! LA!  I hope the Beach Boys were right with all the wonderful things they say about California.  (I've actually been to California before.  A decent amount.  I don't know why I'm acting as though I've never left this cubicle.)

     One more non sequitur:  since it's a holiday, there  will be no new Oliver on Monday, so there's something else I need to say before I go on vacation.  When you take charge of something, say, a group of people or a meeting, what are you doing?  Leading.  You are a leader.  Currently, you lead.  What if you did it yesterday?  What is the past tense of lead?  Led.  L-E-D.  Led.  Yesterday, you led the meeting.
     What is a main-group element with the symbol Pb and atomic number 82?  What is a soft, malleable poor metal?  Lead.  Lead, the element, and led, the action, are different.  If you have graduated high school and now hold a high-paying government position where you lead meetings and write emails about them, you should know the difference.  I have now lost all confidence in you over one small typo.  Powerful, huh?

The Final Countdown

     One more day!  One more day!  The anticipation is killing me.  Well, it's not really killing me, that would be pretty gruesome.   But I am really excited about my trip to Los Angeles.  The City of Angeles.  Lotusville. 
     I leave the District Friday evening and arrive at LAX around midnight.  Going from east to west, the time change is in my favor.  Mary has promised to take me to the late night taco truck near her house upon arrival.  I'm so excited, I probably won't sleep on the plane.  This only seems remarkable if you're aware of my propensity for sleeping on planes.  And trains.  And buses.  Anything that moves, really. 
     We also have tickets to UCBLA, and there's a Memorial Day BBQ on Monday.  It's already one of the most perfect vacations ever.  I was told there was no sleeping allowed, but I bet that was wrong.  I bet there will be lots of sleeping.  In the streets.  In the perfectly tempered breezy sunlit streets. 
     If I don't make it back at my scheduled time, it's because LA won me over.  I don't actually anticipate this happening, but stranger things have happened.  I have a lot of friends who live there and there's also a chance they'll put chlorophyll on the pillow they let me borrow.  Then I won't be able to leave!  I'll have to get a job at the taco truck and sleep under Mary's bed without her noticing.  What an exciting adventure!
     The excitement of my impending weekend adventure is causing time to slow way the fuck down.  Thursday?  More like This-clock-better-get-a-move-on-day.  Or There's-my-life-creeping-by-me-day.  Or Thirsty-doesn't-begin-to-cover-it-day.  Sheesh.  Come on Thursday, we used to be so tight you and me, help a lady out. 
      I've already packed my suitcase duffel bag; it was an easy task- just a bathing suit and a pair of flip flops.  Oh, and sunglasses.  A four day wardrobe all in a 1 qt plastic baggie!  Security will be a breeze!


Countdown to LA: 1 day!