Jet-lagged in Amsterdam

So the blog has fallen nearly into disuse. I get it.

But hey, better late than never, right?

So it's a few minutes after 6am and I've been up for two hours because I'm an idiot and I never follow my plan to NOT crash immediately after stepping off my flight in some European city. Slept from about 12:30-6:30pm, then showered, went out for dinner, walked around, and crashed again at 11pm. And now I'm awake, hungry again, and wishing I could not hate myself for paying €3.75 for a small tube of Pringles from the minibar. Normally I keep a granola bar or two stashed in my computer bag for between-classes emergencies, but I've gone through all the pockets to no avail. Damn me for being stupid.

But at 7:00, SOMETHING should be open, so I just have to hold out a little longer. Meanwhile, I should catch up on life since my last blog post was months ago. Hmm. Classes start this week, and I'm teaching Strategic Management again, using an updated version of our strategy game that I haven't actually tried yet. Should be chock-full of frustration, given the bugs they found in beta. What else? Oh yeah... been subbing on a few pro bands, which is fun, but nerve-wracking as hell when I'm the new kid in the room, playing with a bunch of folks I go to clubs to see. Got my butt kicked this past week subbing on Roger Neumann's band in rehearsal, but it was after nearly three solid days of oh-my-god-don't-f***-up-the-part sightreading on similar bands, and I guess I just got too mentally exhausted. I'm not sure whether being on this trip for four or so days without horns will be good or bad for my chops, but I suppose I'll find out.

Not much else happening and I'm tired of listening to my stomach growl, so it's off to find a shop--or at least a vending machine--somewhere. More later...

Maximum carnage in a minimum of time...

Visited with my friends Donna and Rick at Donna's mom's house near Phoenix this past Friday night. Kind of thrown together at the last minute, but that's how my social life usually works. So, after playing an outdoor gig in the morning, I ran home, showered, and headed off to the airport. After about an hour in the air, I touched down, rented a car (and by the way, at Alamo Rent-a-Car, a PT Cruiser is among their "compact" models), and soon I was crawling through traffic on my way to the suburbs south of town.

After I arrived, we hung out at the house a while, looking at real estate websites (they're working on a possible move to the area), giggling at lolcats, and having a glass of wine before striking out for dinner about an hour later. The Mexican restaurant we went to was a favorite of Donna and Elinor for their mole, but the place was pretty crowded so we ended up outdoors on the patio. They had great chips and salsa, and we munched those for a while as we ordered a round of drinks. My blue margarita was excellent, and in the 100-degree heat it went down like fruit punch, even though I'd been making a special effort to drink a lot of water all day. After a short while our entrees arrived, and we chatted about business planning as we worked through them. I had the pollo asado with rice and borracho beans, which was very good. Donna's mole was excellent, and I was kind of wishing I'd ordered the same when the weirdness started setting in.

"Weirdness," in this context, is the best term I can think of to describe the general feeling of, "whoa... what the heck is happening to my head?" After confirming with Rick that yes, I was looking a little pale, I tried waiting it out, hoping like crazy I hadn't lost track of how much I'd been drinking and was about to lose my dinner all over the patio. Just in case, I asked Donna to walk with me to the ladies' room. It was a good thing she agreed, too... because she kept me from doing a face-plant moments later, as I unceremoniously passed out.

But wait... it gets better! So I come to and find myself on the tile in the middle of this restaurant. The manager is offering me a damp towel and telling me not to get up so quickly, and I'm thinking, "oh crap... I can't believe I just did that." But I still wanted to go to the ladies' room, so Donna and the restaurant manager (a very nice lady who said this happened a lot) escorted me over, and I soaked up the air conditioning while I tried to clear my head. A few minutes later a team of paramedics arrived, so we moved back out to the patio where they checked me over. My blood sugar was normal and I was starting to feel a bit more together, so we were thinking of just heading for home when the medics asked me if I was okay to walk out to the car. Upon standing my blood pressure and pulse (which were being monitored) both took a nosedive, so on their recommendation I consented to be taken to the hospital. Within minutes I was sporting an I.V., a heart monitor, a pulse/ox monitor, and was being loaded into an ambulance bound for Mercy General Hospital in Gilbert. Not *exactly* how I'd planned to spend the evening.

I was certain I was headed for a lecture about my reckless alcohol abuse, but after a battery of blood tests, an EKG, and a chest X-ray, the E.R. doctors decided that my meltdown was likely the result of a combination of fatigue, low potassium, and being unused to the heat, which were all amplified by the drink I'd had at the restaurant. They dumped about a liter and a half of saline into me, prescribed potassium and sleep, and then turned me loose to go home at about 1:30am. Rick and Donna (who had been incredibly good sports through this whole stupid adventure) drove me back to Elinor's house, and spent a few minutes peeling innumerable little adhesive foil squares off my skin before heading off to bed. What a night.

Given that waste of an evening it would have been nice to stay a little longer, but I didn't really mind going home Saturday and spending the rest of the weekend taking a break from my usual hectic routine. I think that if there were a moral to this story, it's that I'm not 18 anymore and really need to get serious about taking better care of myself. That's a bummer, but as my office-mate once remarked, getting old is WAY better than the alternative.

In the interest of posting a trip photo, though, I give you this shot of Elinor's little whirlwind of a Boston Terrier, Pogo. This year-old terror is almost always moving, and I was actually surprised to catch him taking a momentary catnap the next day. Here he's hoping that his perfect "down-stay" will earn him another game of tug-of-war...

The world's most laid-back airport

But don't tell anybody. Burbank airport is one of the few places I fly from/to where you can show up a half-hour before a flight and still make it. Love the air-stairs, too.
Sorry for the ugly cellphone pic...

Dinner in SLO

Stopped by Pancho Villa's on the way home tonight, and I'd definitely recommend it to anyone who loves the authentic taco-stand-style food you find in Mexico. The carne asada tacos and carnitas burrito are excellent!

On the road with the Troubs

Just finished a show with Antsy McClain and the Trailer Park Troubadours at the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco. The show was a blast--Antsy and his guys are all great musicians, and they've got a very loyal following of "Flamingo Heads" who were all very appreciative. "Loose" Bruce Wandmayer, who plays both tenor sax and slide guitar (how's that for doubling?) got in touch with us a few weeks ago about this show, and it was a lot of fun to play with the band once again. Horns seem to work really well on a lot of their tunes, and it seems like the band likes the added punch. Cool.

Came up I-5 today, and we (all the out-of-town band members) are staying at the Phoenix hotel, a campy little inn in the downtown area. Very hip little place, and a perfect fit for musicians. The Great American Music Hall, by the way, is gorgeous--definitely check it out if you're in town.

There's an after-show party a couple doors down, so I'm going to wake myself up long enough to hang out a bit. Pretty exhausting day...

Montreux Jazz Festival: Day two

Day two of the Montreux Jazz Festival, and we had a busy agenda. First stop was a workshop with one of the jazz greats, Quincy Jones. These workshops were free events put on by the festival, and since Quincy didn’t appear to have a particular outline planned for his session, it became more of a question and answer period, facilitated by Claude Nobs, the festival organizer. Audience questions tended to be all over the map; some having to do with breaking into the music (and particularly film scoring) business, and others concerning Jones’ experiences with the “who’s who” of jazz and pop music. Two things in particular resonated with me. The first was that jazz was really a musician’s genre (that is, musicians also make up the core of its audience), and that jazz was a “gumbo” that tended to consume—and be changed by—everything in its path. His other observation—something I need to take more to heart at this stage in my learning curve—was that there was nothing worse than an opportunity you aren’t prepared for. His prescription, of course, was to prepare like mad, and when you’re ready, the opportunities will come. I think I’m gonna write this out and tape it to my music stand at home.

After the workshop, we had a little time before the evening concert began. First up was a duo performance of Chick Corea and Gary Burton, and it would have been great had we not found out upon arriving to the auditorium that the seats we bought (pretty much all that was left at the time) were standing-room-only at the back of the auditorium. That is, behind all the stadium-style seats—and the only real view of the performers were glimpses of them on two large monitor screens up front. It was a big disappointment, mostly because although both Corea and Burton regularly tour in the U.S. and we can see them at home, the same couldn’t be said for the late show—the George Gruntz Concert Jazz Band—who we had really made the trip to see. Fortunately, since the big band wasn’t nearly as familiar to the audience as Corea and Burton, at least a third of the people left and we were able to score fourth-row tickets from a sympathetic English couple who wasn’t staying (and if they ever read this, we just can’t thank them enough).

At this point, everything changed for the better, because the George Gruntz band was spectacular. Gruntz is a Swedish composer who writes these unbelievably rich and textured arrangements of his own tunes, band members’ compositions, and a few standards. The band was made up of jazz heavyweights from all over the world; guys like Marvin Stamm and Jack Walrath on trumpet; Dave Bargeron and Earl McIntyre on trombone, Sal Giorgianni and Chris Hunter on sax, Howard Johnson on baritone sax/tuba, Danny Gottlieb on drums… all monsters. They played nearly two hours of the most intense big band jazz I think I’ve ever seen—right up there with the Mingus and Vanguard bands in New York. Some highlights: a killer alto solo from Chris Hunter on So: What (Serious Fun), great trombone solos by Gary Valente and Earl Mc Intyre, and a surprise sit-in by Adam Nussbaum, who happened to be in the audience.

We were so wound up afterward that it was a few hours before we were able to sleep—just a total, life-altering experience.

Just, wow.

At the Montreux Jazz Festival

Hello from Montreux!

It's a rather soggy city at the moment, but we're here and it's great. Took a cab into Geneva this morning, caught a tram from there back to the main train station, and took a train from there into Montreux, arriving at about 1pm. The hotel is great--right on the water--and includes FAST in-room Wifi access, so I can actually update my iPod and do a bit of rainy-weather web-surfing. Cool.

Spent a little time at the festival today, and I have to admit that I was a little taken aback by something that, apparently, everyone but us already knows: there is precious little Jazz to be heard at the Montreux Jazz Festival. A quick sample of the playbill includes The Chemical Brothers, Placebo, the Beastie Boys, Tori Amos, Jeff Beck, Ricky Lee Jones, the Wu Tang Clan, Sly and the Family Stone... etc., etc. The "surprise" jazz show, announced on the 6th, was Prince. Granted, I would have gone to see him if the show hadn't sold out within minutes, but it's still a little odd to have expected, well.... jazz... and then find out that nine out of ten acts are pop/rap/blues. Clearly this has been the case for years--I don't know why it took me so much by surprise.

Getting over this small prejudice, however, means I can accept the event on its own terms and get back to digging it. Today, we stopped by one of the outdoor venues to see a high school band from Apple Valley, Minnesota, as we had run into the parents of one of the players in the hotel lobby. The band played very well, and it was a kick to hear that their tour would also include performances in Paris and at the North Sea Jazz festival. Kudos to their director for being so ambitious, and to the parents of these kids who apparently served beer at innumerable Vikings games to raise the funds. Those kids are having an experience none of them are likely to forget.

After lunch of a doner kebab (food is shockingly expensive here, which makes fast food WAY more attractive than usual), we wandered around a bit and then came back to the hotel for a nap. Striking out again at about 9pm, we hit the Montreux Jazz Cafe, which is really a pop venue/bar. The lighting was cool, though, and they allowed cameras so I had a lot of fun taking pictures. Some of the early results are posted here; I'm going to have to give a few of these more post-processing attention, but I'll get to it when I'm home.

Tomorrow's agenda includes a workshop with Quincy Jones, the evening concert with Chick Corea and Gary Burton, and a midnight concert with the George Gruntz Concert Jazz Band. Can't wait!

More later....

Well, I was *supposed* to have something exciting to report...

But as it turns out, today wasn't that kind of day. One problem with the way this whole trip came together is that we didn't have time to assemble an agenda for our days in Geneva. You know the deal... museums, historic sites... crap like that. We never even got around to getting a guidebook. We had fun, but it's probably not going to be anything worth reading about.

What *did* we do, you ask? (Probably nobody asks that except my mom, but she's also my most avid reader so I might as well cover her imaginary questions.) Well, after managing to sleep a couple more hours, we got up, had breakfast, then went shopping for a short while. I should explain that the hotel we're staying in these two nights is quite a bit off the beaten path to Geneva, but that comes with the excellent trade off of being right across the street from a supermarket and a little Wal-Mart-like place called GiFi. After acquiring staples such as shavers (for me... duh) and water, we deposited everything at the hotel and struck out for town. This involved a walk back to the border, a stop along the way at the fruit stand up the road to satisfy my recent "I-have-to-eat-healthier" needs with some fruit, then on into Geneva by way of the tram. Once we arrived, we did more of what we did last night: hung around the lakeside, peered into shops, had a meal, listened to the music coming from the riverboats... but nothing earth-shattering. Took a short nap in the park (my first picture was actually taken from that spot), fed the sparrows, and just generally enjoyed the great weather. Who says we have to run around at breakneck speed ALL the time?

For those who haven't been to Geneva before (like me, prior to this trip), and who imagine it as a mountainous place where Bavarian-style milkmaids wearing pointy hats carry their produce to the chocolate factories, let me set you straight right now. Geneva is French. As in, France might as well annex the place... just extend that southern border northwest by a hundred miles or so, and you'll get a much more accurate picture of the culture here. Mind you, I don't have any particular problem with it being French, but it's a little odd to think that you're coming someplace different and then discover that you can't tell the two countries apart except by their currency. And the ironic thing about THAT is that Switzerland is still on the Franc, where France is in the E.U. common area and uses the Euro. Go figure.

Of all the productive things we might have accomplished today but didn't, I did learn one thing that I'll share with my fellow Mac addicts: You know those travel power adapters you buy for trips like this so you can run all the electronic crap you can't live without? Well, if you actually bother to read the instructions, you'll find dire warnings against using those things with computers or other electronic equipment that draw more than 50 watts. Since I'm still in the honeymoon phase with my MacBook Pro (not bad, since I've had it over a year now), I was somewhat reticent to test the veracity of that warning, and I was moping a bit this morning about not being able to use the computer I had just carried halfway across the globe. Well, it turns out there was a better solution: at a department stored in Geneva called "Manor," we discovered that Apple makes and sells a "World Power Adapter Kit" that converts standard Apple power adapters, simply by swapping the plugs on the ugly white brick in the power cord. So now, my computer runs on 220 power as though it was designed that way, and as a bonus... they include TWO of each plug, so my iPod power adapter got one too. How totally, utterly cool.

We didn't feel like another trek into town for dinner, nor did we feel up to foie gras or whatever else they were serving in the hotel restaurant tonight, so dinner turned out to be supermarket fare in the hotel room. Specifically, we had salami, tabbouleh, a couple of carrots, bread, and some cheap-but-decent red wine. And it came to about a third of what lunch cost. I wouldn't do this every night... but it was just fine for now.

Off to post this blog and see what's in my e-mail. Bon sois!

On the road again...

Hello from Annemasse, France! We got here at about 2:00 this afternoon, arriving by way of New York, then Geneva, and then by train and tram to the Swiss/French border, which is just about a mile and a half away.

This journey was *almost* uneventful, but as other sojourners can attest, any trip of this length is just, well... literally, a pain in the ass. Connecting in New York helps, since it cuts down on the length of the flights themselves; you end up with about five and a hours to New York, and then another seven or so to Europe. But tack on a couple of ATC-imposed delays: one coming in to JFK that set us back a half hour, then one as we attempted to leave that stranded us on a taxiway for another 2 1/2, and you end up spending one hell of a long time in that cramped little coach-class seat. It's one of those things I conveniently forget a few days after I return home from one of these trips... good thing, too, or else I might never go.

But we made it at last to Geneva airport, and then to our hotel, courtesy of a kindly English gent who volunteered directions when he saw us staring dumbly at the ticket machine in the airport train station. A short train trip into central Geneva and a 40-minute tram ride got us to the border crossing, then a taxi got us the rest of the way.

Immediately after checking we were faced with a difficult decision; when one is hungry, tired, and sticky from travel, which gets satisfied first? Exhaustion won this time; a four-hour nap, followed by a shower, put us back on our feet, and we decided to walk back to the border in search of food. A corner shop we found along the way got us a baguette (my favorite oh-my-god-I'm-starving food while in France), and some soft drinks, and an Italian restaurant just this side of the French border took care of the rest. Afterward, we took the tram back into town, and spent the rest of the evening tiring walking along Lake Leman and peering into shop windows. The weather is absolutely perfect, and flowers are blooming everywhere, perfuming the parks and acting as sort of a olafactory "backdrop" to the swans that were cruising the lake at sunset.

And with that, I think I'll wrap up this post and scrounge around for something to read. It's 5am--gotta love jet lag--and I need something to distract me from wanting breakfast already. Argh.