The Boston Diaries

The ongoing saga of a programmer who doesn't live in Boston, nor does he even like Boston, but yet named his weblog/journal “The Boston Diaries.”

Go figure.

Thursday, September 19, 2002

“Just sign on the dotted line … ”

1. Name. Likeness, etc., Promotional Activities. I hereby consent to Producer's filming, taping and/or recording of me for use in and in connection with the Series (including, without limitation, whether I am aware or unaware of the photographing, videotaping, filming or recording of same, and by requiring me to wear a microphone at all reasonable times, at Producer's discretion) and agree to cooperate fully with Producer in such activities. I acknowledge and agree that Producer will be the sole and exclusive owner of all rights and material filmed, taped, and/or recorded pursuant to this Agreement. In addition. I hereby grant to Producer the unconditional right throughout the universe in perpetuity to use, simulate or portray (and to authorize others to do so) or to refrain from using, simulating or portraying, my name, likeness (whether photographic or otherwise), voice, singing voice, personality, personal identification or personal experiences, my life story, biographical data, incidents, situations and events which heretofore occurred or hereafter occur, including without limitation the right to use, or to authorize others to use any of the foregoing in or in connection with the Series (or any episode or portion thereof) and the advertising, promoting or publicizing of the Series or any Series episode by Producer, the Network, its operations, activities or programming services and with any merchandise, tie-in, sponsor, product, or service of any kind by Producer, the Network, or any of its programming services, and in any other manner whatsoever as Producer may elect in its sole discretion. I understand that, in and in connection with the Series, I may reveal and/or relate, and other parties (including, without limitation, other contestants, the judges, Producer and the host and/or co-host of the Series) may reveal and/or relate information about me of a personal, private, intimate. surprising, defamatory, disparaging, embarrassing or unfavorable nature, that may be factual and/or fictional. I further understand that my appearance, depiction and/or portrayal in the Series and my actions and the actions of others displayed in the Series, may be disparaging, defamatory, embarrassing or of an otherwise unfavorable nature and may expose me to public ridicule, humiliation or condemnation. I acknowledge and agree that Producer shall have the right to (a) include any such information and any such appearance, depiction, portrayal, actions, and statements in the Series as edited by Producer in its sole discretion, (b) broadcast and otherwise exploit the Series containing any such information and any such appearance, depiction, portrayal or actions, and (c) use such information, appearance, depiction, portrayal, actions and/or statements in any manner whatsoever, in Producer's sole discretion. The waivers, release and indemnities in this Agreement expressly apply to any such inclusion and exploitation.

Via randomly ever after, Kelly Wins Idol—Now What? (emphasis in text added)

It's hard to be satirical when reality beats you to it.

I certainly hope that Kelly's career is worth the price she paid. And the sad thing is, if she didn't sign it, there were 9,999 other people willing to sign that contract for a shot to stardom.

Just one more reason not to trust your life's work to a corporation.


Captain Napalm vs. Airport Security

With a flurry of last minute panicing and packing and Lake Lumina (the car) nearly empty of gasoline, Spring, her kids and I drove to the Ft. Lauderdale/Hollywood International Airport.

Spring was freaking out due to the late start and having to navigate both the ticket counter (for her two boys were flying alone back to Colorado) and the security checkpoints. I was freaking out because the gas guage was hovering on the red line marked “E” the entire way with no time left to refill the car.

The car managed to make it there, and to a gas station.

Spring was able to navigate the ticket counter and with the help of the ticket agent was able to avert a crisis at the last minute (that would have prevented the kids from flying today). So, with tickets and special badges (so we adults could accompany the kids to the gate) in hand, we started the long arduous process of clearing the security checkpoint.

At one end of this corridor is a security guard who sits there, making sure everyone that passes has either a ticket, or a special badge. Then you walk down this byzantine maze of ropes that snakes its way to the other end of the corridor where the security checkpoint lies. There, another security guard will direct you to a particular x-ray station.

Spring, with bright green hair and two small boys, went through without a problem; they were through in minutes.

Me, white Anglo-Saxon Protestent who on a good day, looks like a Cuban refugee, had a slight issue walking through the scanner, with hand in pocket, which I learned is a real big no-no around airport security.

Whisked to one side I was scanned. Shoes … beep. Take them off to be x-rayed. Pants … beep. Remove keys to have them x-rayed, pants tried again … beep. Remove wallet to have that x-rayed, pants attempted yet again … beep. Pants removed to have that x-rayed. Shirt … clean. Head … beep. Glasses removed to have that x-rayed. Second attempt on head … clean. By this time the shoes come back clean (“Must have been the eyelets for the laces that trigger the sensor”), then the keys (“Just ordinary keys, thank you very much”). Followed by the wallet (“Spare house key I see, and on, by the way, the magnetic strip on your bank card is now wiped out, just for your protection”), then glasses (“Clean from a security standpoint, but could use a cleaning themselves, and they're somewhat beat up”) and finally the pants (“It's the zipper. Sorry about that”).

By the time I got through, the boys were already boarding the plane.

Spring and I had to stick around until the plane took off. While there, we watched as a few late stragglers where searched at the gate, even more intrusively than I was. It took something like six security guards to scan the three late passengers. One poor passenger had everything removed from her carry-on luggage, unwrapped, scanned and x-rayed.

Even with all that, the plane left the gate within 10 minutes of its scheduled departure time. Amazing.

After some twenty minutes or so hanging around, we assumed the plane took off without incident, since we didn't have a good view of the main runway.

Obligatory Picture

[It's the most wonderful time of the year!]

Obligatory Contact Info

Obligatory Feeds

Obligatory Links

Obligatory Miscellaneous

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