In the 70s, "pimping" meant: "procuring customers for a prostitute." Now it means: "doing an extreme car makeover on MTV."

Did you know: Fewer than 1 in 20 attending physicians have had any formal training in pimping. Neither did I.

I use to spend a-LOT of time in hotels, mostly for work.
I also spent much of this time in my room. Hiding from the people I worked with. Entertainment is lame so I usually brought a book, notebook, flask, J, music, and what ever else I thought I could fit in my bag. I am "that guy" who unpacks and actually uses the drawers in a hotel even if I'm only spending one night. So I'm into everything anyway and sometimes I was curious (and paranoid) so I've looked for the safe, camera or microphone a time or two but I've never noticed anything like these secrete wall tattoos imagine if I HAD found them.
R once found a dead mans shoes. He was in a hotel in NYC and the room was clean, spotless, except for a pair of shoes neatly tucked under the bed. He theorized that it was probably a hit and they didn't realize the guy was barefoot. He still wears those black Hushpuppies. That's gotta be bad luck, right? I mean a dead guys shoes?
I guess its better than if he had been at the Red Lion Hotel Columbia River he could have come home with Power Rangers sneakers .
Everybody eventually loses something, leaves something behind. I lost a notebook, that I was writing poetry in, when I was 16. I was out of town at some conference*. The girls I was sharing a room with were having a party so I sat on the floor of the elevator, riding it up and down with guests, all night writing. I called the hotel but it was never found. Seriously it was good stuff too. All angsty and deep. At 16 you hope someone will appreciate it like found art, but fear someone will publish it as their own.
* Heh, I had to look that up. Who knew it would actually be related to a job I have now. (no you may NOT call me a dork)
I've stayed in motels so bad that I bought bleach to pour in the corner of the room to kill the funky smell. I left the bleach in the bathroom for the cleaning crew, or next guest. Which ever actually looked in there. I left all kinds of stuff in the room when I left Amsterdam. I actually have a ton of hotel stories, but I'm no short story writer. I have huge respect for those who do it. How you: define character, include rising and falling action in the plot, dialogue, etc; all in 20 pages, HUH?!
I can't even do realistic dialogue. I would always hate it when professors thought the poets should write a story. That's totally not fair! I've spent my life learning how to say something in as few words as possible. Even though the days of professors and workshops are long past I still attempt to write now and then. R totally put me to shame with the last NaNoMo. Not only did he finish (ON TIME), it was good. But he's a writer. I'd link it but I think there's something almost a little Incestuous about linking someone's internet published nano or bloggery when you are both in the same household I'd love to be able to write the way, the writers I know, short stories make me feel. All excited and depressed. Jealous of their brilliance, chewing slowly over every word hoping it will last for ever, or to find something to critique so I can have something intelligent to say when I'm done besides "I love it, I hate you."
Whoa, I would say I'm totally off topic, but what topic would that be?
I just got a little carried away with all the writing going on around me. Someone feels that they maybe too dark, someone thinks they can't find a beginning, someone's quit writing, someone thinks they can't, someone thinks they can. And what is the important thing I take away? Aside from a moment in the shoes of someone else? I see people trying. I see brilliant minds that would go other wise wasted in our: workaholic, Nintendo, TV, Paris Hilton obsessing, *reality show watching, gapers delay - rubbernecking, society.
*Reality? Really?
I guess I could be writing too, but I'm way too busy web-crawling.
Notice intentional omission of internet in societal "drain" description.
See, sometimes I love you internet

Okay, I guess my rant is done. I must obey the call of the almighty dollar