I’D never seen a Punjabi car, but I did today – just in the parking area of the Marriott San Francisco*, that testament to the wickedness of window cleaners.
The word Punjab – the state in India – comes from two words meaning five rivers – panch or pancha (Skt) being the number five and giving rise to our own word for a bunch of fives – punch.
Shouldn’t the owner of this vehicle do something about the wheel nuts that have gone missing on this super duper car? ♦
* I hear my reader ask why the Marriott San Francisco is a testament to the wickedness of window cleaners. Well, because it has a super viewing area on the top floor but the windows don’t seem to get cleaned that often. They’re grubby. I guess I wouldn’t want the job of climbing to the top with my chamois leather, but the Marriott Group should maybe have thought of that before they built the glass tower.
** See Also – Bangalore is a crazy drive.
HOW STRANGE life can be. We were listening to Intel geezers and geezerettes “keynoting” in the Marriott today, and noticed that we had a total lack of what is apparently called connectivity.
I chatted to an Intel lass. She summoned an Intel technician from the vastness that is the Marriott, who checked out this Panasonic PC and tried everything I’d already tried.
The Intel technician then summoned two Ibahn engineers from the vastness of San Francisco, and they puzzled over the enigma that was my non connection.
Nonplussed, they all shook their heads and clucked like plumbers but couldn’t find anything on my laptop that would prevent me connecting. I had tried everything before they tried.
Andy Grove, he said, only the paranoid survive. Could it be that perhaps any PC that belongs to yours truly is blocked from Internet access at an Intel gig? Surely not? ♣
IT IS THE MARRIOTT where most of the journalists at the Intel Developer Forum are staying.
Those include Eastern European journos, who are not used to being in hotel rooms where you can’t smoke under a penalty of $250 a day.
One of said hacks explained to me this morning how he satisfied his nicotine cravings. He went behind the desk, opened the window the tiniest bit, and puffed his smoke out of that crack.
What a palaver! Don’t these people realise that if you are a nicotine addict you can buy a small device, bung a nicotine capsule into it, and inhale with the drug satisfying even the most desperate cravings? You can buy these devices at Boots the Chemist in London, for about six quid. Many capsules are included in this price, and a packet of fags costs about six quid anyway.
They don’t smell of smoke, and you don’t face the risk of paying a $250 fine per day for contaminating the sacred Marriott chain of hotels.
We will see tomorrow if the first levy of $250 has been inflicted on the hacks in pain. ♦