4 July 1999

It's not really the 4th of July. I mean, somewhere on the planet, it is. Just not here. I'm onboard a United Airlines flight from Los Angeles, bound for Sydney, Australia. We left LAX late on the 3rd of July (just a little while ago) and since we're traveling west, midnight won't catch us for at least another hour or two. But by the time midnight does catch up with us, we should be just about close enough to the International Date Line such as to qualify for the 5th of July, which is when we land; the morning of the 5th in Sydney. So I won't actually experience this 4th of July this year, this final 4th of July of the 20th Century. But I'm calling this entry the 4th of July anyway, because I'm an American, I suppose, and it's my prerogative. It is rather strange to lose a day like that -- especially one that may, in retrospect at least, have some significance. But on the way back, I'll actually land before I leave on the 7th of July, so maybe it all balances out in the end.
Brazil was nice but I finished my business earlier than I'd anticipated and opted to take a flight to L.A. a day earlier than planned and spent two nights at a small hotel near LAX. Los Angeles isn't my favorite part of the world, but I thought it best to simply stay with my planned itinerary rather than get too adventurous and travel to say, the SF Bay area for the extra day. Besides, it had been a while since I'd spent any time to speak of in L.A. It was kind of nice to take an unplanned day and revisit some old memories.
My actual destination was the CyberJava Cafe on the corner of La Brea Ave. and Hollywood Blvd. I had little luck finding an internet cafe any closer to the airport the night before, so yesterday morning I took the map the concierge at the hotel had drawn for me and ventured into the heart of Hollywood in my rented Toyota for my online fix. I wasn't disappointed. The cafe itself was pleasant enough -- an excellent assortment of herbal teas, boutique sandwiches and the obligatory stylish coffee selections. The T1 link served ample bandwidth to the dozen Wintel Pentium II systems even though the place was filled -- I got the last free seat -- and I was able to satisfy my browse-news-email Jones in just under two hours. So...since it was Hollywood, I thought I might as well have a look around.
The last time I was in that particular neighborhood was the summer of 1970 -- a very long time ago. I turned 18 earlier that year and in my wisdom thought a hitchhiking trip to Alaska by way of San Diego was just the thing I needed to broaden my horizons, as it were. Those were very different times -- lots of people went on hitchhiking adventures adventures in those days -- but I digress.   I do remember Hollywood of those days. It was Grauman's Chinese Theater that brought back the strongest memories.   Al Jolson's footprints were still there (his hand and knee prints as well) just as I had remembered. I was a huge Al Jolson fan as a child -- don't ask me why -- and I distinctly remember the feeling of awe I experienced that first time I saw the evidence of his life there in the pavement in front of Grauman's, along with the other Hollywood luminary cement landmarks. I hadn't made the pilgrimage back to that Mecca in all those years -- a lifetime by many measures. But there they were -- the physical snapshots from a moment in time, from a time when Al Jolson was a massive star and people gathered and gawked and gossiped as the world's greatest minstrel singer left his prints from which future generations could measure their own stature. Clark Gable, John Wayne, Marilyn Monroe -- these and many others have been similarly celebrated. And Al Jolson. I so loved Al Jolson.
On the way back to my car, which was parked in the lot adjacent to the CyberJava, I noticed a star on the sidewalk there on Hollywood Blvd., next to so many other stars. This one had a special meaning to me. It was for Cleavon Little, an actor probably best known for starring in the Mel Brooks classic "Blazing Saddles".   This in an of itself wouldn't have made a significant difference to me. But he was a dear friend of a dear friend of mine, and I noticed his star there, just outside the CyberJava cafe. Cleavon died too young. For some reason, the proximity of his star there by the CyberJava seemed -- appropriate.
I'll sleep now. I seem to have mastered the art of actually sleeping on long flights.   I awoke in Sao Paulo quite well rested and ready to go after an all night flight. But Brazil isn't that far from Eastern Daylight Time, which I'm sure had something to do with my rapid adjustment. Sydney is something like 14 hours away from California, both in flight time and clock adjustment. So I'm sure it's not simply a matter of getting 7 or 8 hours of sleep. But no matter. I land at 6 am Sydney time, and speak that afternoon. And even though it may be 3 o'clock in the morning in New York, I will speak. And with any luck, it will get better -- I will get better -- better at speaking, better at adjusting quickly to time zone changes, better at delivering the messages I feel so compelled to deliver. I guess it's become a calling for me -- evangelism. Preaching technology. Java technology. And Jini. It's sure not something I do for the money. I mean, if it was just about the money, I'd probably take a less travel intensive assignment. No, it's about delivering the messages. It's about speaking; bearing witness to the ideas and to the fine engineering behind the ideas. And it's about becoming the best, most influential speaker I can be. I'm devoted to the idea of continual improvement. So, to that end, in the words of Al Jolson, and in the spirit of technology evangelism, "You ain't heard nothin' yet!" I'll sleep now for Sydney.