Tippecanoe

I'm visiting Madison, WI for a conference. I just love this town. Walking around the business area around campus, I get a village feeling (like an intimate corner of a big city, not like Hillary Clinton) from all of the neat shops and interesting people. Also, there are bikes everywhere! All of this happens in the shadow of the Statehouse.

I often have meetings in these small, dank rooms in the basement of a large, dank building. Each can only seat 3 or 4 comfortably, but there are those that keep trying to stuff 6 or 7 around the table.

Yesterday, I was part of a group of four in room G-2. The conversation was going well, and things were getting done (or at least, we talked about doing them). There was a point, however, when two of the participants started scratching their right side - halfway between the armpit and belt line. This went on for over 30 seconds as we talked. I was totally captivated by the amazingly coincidental nature of the event, so much so that I totally lost the conversation.

Then, as suddenly as they had started, they simultaneously stopped. My attention snapped backed to the subject at hand.

My building at work shares a parking lot with a residence hall. This is the weekend where the students are returning for classes, so there are many vans, trucks, U-Hauls, and family cars packed with boxes, lofts, and mini-refrigerators.

This morning, there was a pickup a couple of spots down from me in the lot. The truck had a cover over the bed, which apparently made accessing the contents difficult. This kid had to crawl in on his stomach to reach something far inside - such that all I saw was his sandaled feet sticking out above the tailgate.

My first thought was to run over and quickly close the gate - trapping him inside. I don't know where these thoughts come from. Probably watching America's Funniest Home Videos too often.

P.S. He got a lot more angry than I thought he would. Some people just can't take a joke.

I went to my haircut appointment yesterday, and learned that my stylist of four years had left. I know ... it's a pretty scary thought.

When a guy can find someone that can remember how to cut his hair without having to explain it every time, he hangs on to that person as long as he can. Losing a stylist is like losing a mechanic, or a heating/AC repairman.

Yesterday, a nice woman named Tabi gave me a great cut, but I had to explain it all first. Plus, since I don't know much about her, I had to try pretty hard to keep the conversation going (and she wasn't helping).

I'm sure I'll be able to break her in at some point.