I had a very frustrating morning. I got up at about 20 minutes to 5:00 with full intention ofgoing to the gym before my flight to Denver (en route to Columbus). I dinked around a bit with updating my iPod, then went to burn some raw .wav files to DVD so I could edit them on the plane. (Mike the Audio Guy is still away on his honeymoon.)
The files were not where I had copied them onto my ThinkPad, and so the only copies were down in Provo an hour away. (Why, oh, why didn’t I put them on a server?) That would be just so much spilled milk, except that the interview was with David Reveman about the Compiz-Beryl fork, so it was pretty relevant to get out there. Ugh. So I decided to stitch together the episode for the GNU Toolchain interview from Nuremberg, only to find out that Audacity really doesn’t read DigitalPerformer files. Ugh2.
In the panicked haste of discovering this catastrophe, I managed to burn away too much time, so the “go to the gym to stay in shape” plan got aborted.
I don’t usually fly United, for good reason. But since the conference leads took a while to deliberate whether my presentation at Ohio Linux Fest would be too corporate (actually, that was what they told me, but I think they had an outside-shot candidate in mind for the final speaking slot, and that didn’t come through), I ended up on United anyway. That means going through Denver.
One rather tasty burrito later, I was using the sole power outlet at the gate when Google’s Chris DiBona shows up at the gate. So, we chatted for a bit about Summer of Code, FLOSS Weekly, why Miguel de Icaza is annoying (okay, maybe I inserted that opinion), and sundry other topics. Chris is a very likeable guy.
Post flight, Chris gave me a ride–thanks, Google–into town, targeting his hotel from where I would get a cab over to my own. But when my hotel appeared on a corner we were passing, Chis saw the opportunity to correct his mistake. Slamming the brakes rather abruptly, Chris shoved me out onto the curb with a well placed shoulder. My backside hit the curb rather awkwardly as tires screeched and Chris drove away. After re-composing my senses, I spotted Chris a block and a half away, dumping my luggage out onto the street. Last I saw of him, he shook his fist and scowled before tearing away around the corner. Presently, I retreived my luggage–less my dignity–to the scent of burnt rubber, then adjourned to my hotel room. I suppose that finding of likeability is not reciprocated.
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