Flashes of Panic

So, it turns out I wasn’t on an illicit connection from a sandwich store down the block; I was actually connected to the hotel network. A is doing fine with it, but my Powerbook hates it and drops the connection on a regular basis. I limp from website to website. Right now I’m at the track, where the network is actually pretty decent; I remember mentioning how nifty wireless would be to the facility manager two years ago, when the NCAA meet was in Sacramento, and here I am using it. (Of course, I remember the discussion because he said, “Yeah, we’re already on that.”)

Of course, the evening sun is full in front of me, up here atop the bleachers, and I can barely see my screen. You can’t have everything.

I did get buttonholed by the editor of a third-rank (by circulation, not necessarily quality) national magazine. He had an article he thought I’d be good for, a couple thousand words on one of the more incendiary long-term issues the sport is facing. I get the idea that he wants a well-researched flaying. Wonder when I’ll have time to research it.

There have been no finals yet, and won’t be for a few hours. Consequently, I’ve yet to do any real work. Things will start to get interesting right about the time of my EST bedtime (have I mentioned that I’m in, or at least near, LA? I am sitting in the Dominguez Hills, which are barely worthy of the name, and looking over at what I assume is Palos Verdes, which may be Palos but don’t look very Verde from here) and continue well past EST midnight. Hopefully I can stay sharp.