Tonight I’m far far away

Tonight I’m far far away, sitting at a table alone, on a deck on the waterway somewhere in Miami on a late summer day. There’s an umbrella over my head, and the sun is bright but not too hot. An occasional breeze wanders by, strokes my hair and for a moment eases the loneliness.

It’s not too crowded, and I catch snatches of conversations, lovers making plans, friends laughing at jokes, old people remembering absent companions. I’m with them, but then again I’m not. I’m in the moment but not of it.

There’s a musician entertaining the crowd, with a guitar and a Spanish song about a simpler life. I don’t understand all the words, but I hear the emotions and I understand enough: life and love and family in a world where things are just a little more permanent than they really are.

And if anyone notices me I’m just a man sitting alone having a drink and soaking in a beautiful day. Maybe I’m waiting for someone, or maybe I’m really alone. Or maybe I’m not really here, I’m far away, in a future time, merely looking back and remembering one snippet of a moment that has no name, no label… and can’t be recreated except in the smoke of a dream.

Another breeze happens by, and I lean my head back and close my eyes, and for the briefest of times I breathe all of this in, everything, everyone… but then I have to exhale and the moment is gone.

But before it fades completely I feel the road that leads here, and the road that leads away, and maybe I’m thinking of who I’d like to bring with me when I visit again, and the miles won’t seem so long, and the distance won’t seem so far, and the moment won’t seem so brief.


Alright… this morning there has been a MAJOR disaster at Chez Heck. (That’s what I’m calling my place right now.)

The coffeemaker is not working anymore.

The coffeemaker is dead.

I cannot make coffee in the morning.

Just in case you’ve missed how important this disaster is, I CANNOT MAKE COFFEE IN THE MORNING.

This means, for those of you who cannot fathom the full import, I have to drink work coffee. Mind you, it’s not bad. Well, not too bad. Okay, it’s digestible, but that’s about it.

Would it make me a bad person if I misused my blog to ask any moderately wealthy friend to think about giving me a super-duper, bells and whistles coffeemaker for Xmas so that I don’t have to kill myself?

Yes, my morning joe is that important.

Never mind, I can’t wait until Xmas. Love ya, Santa, but I ain’t waiting for you to come down my chimney with a java machine. I’ll get one on my own. I’ve got mad man-whore skillz. I’ll be brewin’ again in no time.

Look out world, I’ll do god-knows-what for coffee!

Writers and producers will talk again

There’s light at the end of the tunnel.

That light is a long way off, and we can only hope it’s not merely illuminating a sign that says, “Wrong way.”

The writers and producers will be sitting back down for formal talks on November 26.

At the core of the contract dispute is compensation for shows offered on the Internet — a medium that appeals to a number of tech-savvy, young assistants who aspire to create their own online programming and want a piece of the profits.

The producers group has said it’s offering writers a share of licensing fees paid by Web sites to stream shows.

However, the union rejected the offer, saying the payments wouldn’t begin until six weeks after a show goes online and viewer interest is nearly exhausted.

Writers also want a cut of revenue from non-skippable ads contained in many shows streamed free online. The alliance slammed the door on that demand.