Weblog Sin Pies

By Charley Daniels

GRANTS PASS, Ore. — A few quick notes from vacation day No. 4 (No. 5? something like that):

> I should not be allowed to plan vacations. Is there someone you can hire for that? Like, a trip broker? Or a vacation mastermind? Some sort of agent, perhaps?

> That last point has a lot to do with wishing I spent more time in Portland and is only slightly related to the frequency with which Fox News is on here, blaring away at my face.

> Grants Pass is a charming little town, and photographs combined with long-distance phone calls get that point across remarkably well.

> Sharks aren’t just mindless maneaters.

> The closer my reunion gets, the less exciting it seems, which is the opposite of what I was hoping. By the time it actually happens Saturday, combined with the regression that comes along with living in my parents’ house for more than a week, I’ll probably refuse to get out of the car and shout tearily about how I didn’t ask to graduate in ’98.

> I still love beer, but I’m beginning to wonder how much it loves me.

By Charley Daniels

Update from the road: The rich, full-bodied ale kicked my ass last night, as did waiting for cabs and Rock Band Wii at 2:30 in the morning. Dave is super awesome and so are his roommates and their couch. Kiala and Dane are also super awesome, and their friends are too.

Weather update: Sunny, warm, lots of pollen-like stuff floating about. It’s pollen, is my guess.

Hangover update: Doing its thing, but a little less painfully than before.

Food update: I’ve had only two meals since I got here, so I’m woefully behind on my eating. Not sure how I can catch up except by eating a lot, so bring it on.

I’m posting quite a bit on Twitter, and tonight I’m totally going to remember to bring my camera with me.

More substantive updates later. Maybe.

By Charley Daniels

LOS ANGELES, Still — Well, this is it. I’m leaving for Oregon tomorrow. Back to visit the places where all my formative experiences occurred, if you know what I mean. It’s a simpler world than the big, glitzy metropolis of L.A. I’ll be taking some crucial knowledge back to my people, things I’ve learned in the fast-paced, fancy world that I’ve become accustomed to. I’ll be able to explain, without making it up this time, why there’s sometimes an extra fork at dinner. I’ll be able to speak with authority about things like valets and dry cleaning. I’ll be able to show Oregon men what that hole in the front of boxer shorts is for and, more importantly, what it isn’t for.

It’s so great to be able to give back to the people who gave so much to me. Do you know what I mean?

So I’m officially on vacation. Before I left the office this evening I had a few pre-vacation things that I had to take care of. Like doing a mediocre job on my work, because by the time I come back all will be forgotten. And more specific tasks, like changing my voicemail so that people who call know that I won’t be calling them back. My initial attempt was, “You’ve reached Charley Daniels on the dot-com news desk. I’m on vacation until August fifth, so please don’t leave a message, because what would be the point?” But I couldn’t manage it without sounding like an asshole, which isn’t generally the vibe I try to give off at work, especially since I do a pretty good job of that by accident. But I hate recording the greeting for my voicemail, so my other tries really sucked.

“This is Charley … no”

“You’ve reached the voicemail of … Shit, paused too long and now it sounds like I don’t know my own name”

“Charley Daniels is out of the office seeking help because he speaks in the third person”

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Darley Chaniels …”

This shouldn’t be so hard. I’ve always hated recording myself, which is why I almost never leave messages when I call someone. And now this. It took me at least 10 tries to get my outgoing message to the level of passable, and I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a large newsroom, but lemme tell you this: There’s no privacy. Picture your typical cubicle setup, but the cubicles are waist-high, rather than three-quarter walls. Sitting at my desk, I can have a conversation with at least eight people without standing up or even raising my voice. It’s all very cozy, which makes recording voicemail messages that much more painful. And guess what? I have to do it all over again when I get back.

Luckily that’s a whole other month, so I’m not sweating it. Tons of fun ahead! My next post will be from the wilds of Oregon.

By Charley Daniels

As people in Southern Texas and Northern Mexico girded themselves for weather, almost every news organization that ran a story about Hurricane Dolly avoided the obvious headline. Almost.

MarketWatch: Hello Dolly!

Global Surf News: Hello Dolly, Cristobal cruises nor’east, Genvieve forms

The National Guard: Hello, Dolly: Texas Guard gears up for storm

Wall Street Journal MarketBeat blog: Four at Four: Hello, Dolly

The Examiner Online: Hello Dolly!

The Globe and Mail Market Blog: The close: Hello Dolly

The Oil Drum: Well, Hello Dolly! (Aw C’mon, Someone Had to Say It)

Yes, indeed The Oil Drum. Someone had to say it.

By Charley Daniels

I’m off to Oregon this week, for all sorts of adventures, including my 10-year high school reunion on Aug. 2. Yes, I decided to do this thing. Well, I’ve technically decided to go, inasmuch as I sent in the $60 that was required. The truth is, if anything — anything — better comes up, I might just have to do that instead. I’m open to suggestions for that weekend, is all I’m saying.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think I’m too cool for my reunion, or anything like that. I guess I’m just worried it will be excruciating. I barely had anything to say to these people 10 years ago. What will I say now?

The thing I’m most worried about is conversations like this:

Former classmate who’s now a supermodel: Charley! I’m so glad you’re here. Between you and me, the only reason I came to this damn thing from my home in Europe was the chance that you might be here. I … I have something I’ve always wanted to say to you …

Me: Okay! What’s your name again?

Awkward. And isn’t it those awkward moments that you try your whole life to avoid? I do, because I’m just a little antisocial. I spend a good deal of my time trying to steer clear of small talk and other similar boring-ass conversations with people I don’t know. I go out of my way to avoid it, in fact. At work, I may be getting up to go to the bathroom, but then I’ll see a co-worker getting up too, and I’m like, “Oh man, I really don’t want to talk to that guy. Is he going to the bathroom too?” And then I’ll do some reconnaissance to make sure we don’t end up at adjacent urinals (which is the only choice, as there are but two urinals). If he’s going to the bathroom, I have to wait a bit to avoid conversation with him. This is how bladder infections are made, I’m told.

Then I purposely go to my high school reunion. Makes no sense.

And why do we want to go to reunions, anyway? To help us feel old, in case there isn’t anything else in our lives reminding us of that? In Grosse Pointe Blank, Joan Cusack’s character talks about going to her high school reunion. “It was just as if everyone had swelled,” she says. I anticipate a similar experience, although mine will probably be more like, “It was just as if everyone had swelled, had several illegitimate children, and lost a few teeth.”

Of course you can bet your ass I’ll be live Twittering that mutha, so that others can share in the experience. If I have to be there, so do you, people who read my Twitter feed.

So anyway, I’m doing all that starting Friday. I’m taking 11 days off of work for this trip, a couple of which will be in Portland, where I plan on hanging with Dave and Kiala and Dane, at the very least. That should be drunken. I may not hang out with anyone else in Portland, because I planned that part really well and I’m there for not even 48 hours. I may not hang out with anyone at all, actually, because my main plan is to eat and drink, which don’t require companions.