...somewhere along interstate 80 and every mile takes me further away and closer to a dream. I left early in the morning from my parent's home, well actually the Au pair's residence of my parent's 'home' in Concord, Massachusetts where I had been staying the previous couple of weeks. I had moved out of my friend Spencer's 10,000 square foot loft space located in the Fort Point Channel area of South Boston the day after I quit working at the club, if that is what one calls the trendy, Euro/Middle-Eastern-trash hellhole and Boston University student haunt where I had been working, often shirtless and more often than not covered in oil or glitter depending on the night's theme of "Lubricated" or "World's End". The latter, some goth girl tells me, is a throwback reference to a once "hot" wunderkind author from L.A. who had recently been experiencing a renaissance because J.D. Salinger had come out of hiding to officially hold a press conference sponsored by Lucidcom and streamed live over Facebook to tell this author, "I like your book." The goth girl tells me she swears her older sister was the basis for one of the L.A. author's characters and that she may or may not have slept with the author...but that the sister is not sure because she blacked out that night with him at a small, grossly liberal college in Vermont.

"I can't deal with this scene anymore and there is this thing near Lake Tahoe, California I've got to take care of," I screamed at the club manager over the obnoxious volume of The Cult's "Fire Woman" pouring out of Bang & Olufsen's newest outdoor stadium public addressing surround system complete with Lucidcom REM version 2.2 audio (which had recently become the new standard amongst the high-fidelity neophytes and featured in an Audiophile magazine extensive article titled "Dolby is Oldie"). I don't think it registered with him because he yelled back at me, "Yeah dude, the scenery in Lake Tahoe is beautiful. You definitely should check it out. I have some friends at Squaw Valley, I'll give you their number." I'm not sure if it's the music or possibly the regular use of cocaine that would be keeping him from understanding me, but he then pointed to the ceiling and screamed at me, barking out his confusion, "I don't get it. Did you read this dude's book and did they really listen to this shit?"

When I phone mom and dad in Milan and told them of my plans, my father suggested that I stay in the guest house -"briefly"-before leaving for Tahoe and then added, "Archer...trust funds aren't really intended for taking ski vacations."

I told him that this wasn't a vacation and that I didn't know when I'd be back and he added, "Don't get used to living in the guest house when you come back. We're fond of Zara (the Au pair) and you know she returns from Berlin in another months time."

"Yeah, sure dad, but I'm not coming back, like...ever," I said to him and thought to myself, the youngest of three, why do they still have an Au pair 10 out of 12 months of the year anyway?

My father, Michael F. O'Connor, the founder of, and CEO, of Lucidcom, and whose liquid net worth is greater than that of most small foreign countries, mentioned again for the umpteenth time that my uncle Robert has that executive position at Google primed for me and that experience like that is just what I need if I wanted to join the family business and someday be CFO of Lucidcom. "Black Irish" is how my father was most often described...especially by his staff of executive assistants whom were often young, college-age, pretty, blond, and curiously always of Nordic decent. In high school, I would visit my father's office during the summer and flirt with these girls, some just interning, and take them to lunch on Newbury Street or join them for weekends on far points of Cape Cod. They would tell me that I had my father's looks and that some day I would be "handsome" just like him. "Cool," I would tell them before usually fucking them. My father was pretty much a sealed deal pick-up line. However, it was always hard to handle their comments, you know, after fucking them, that I really was just like my father. So when my father tells me again of my set future, I decide to just agree with him and when I mentioned my new charge card at Brooks Brothers, he seems genuinely encouraged.

We're saying our goodbyes and I'm relieved the conversation is ending when he says to me, "Hold on, your mother would like to speak with you" and I know he's passing his soon-to-be-released Apple Iphone Platinum edition loaded with the newest satellite audio clarity "Dreamstate" software from Lucidcom. I'm trying to tell him, "No, wait, dad, I'll call her later on her cell phone...I've got to run," but its too late, I've been handed off.

My father, when he had first showed me his phone at the Colonial Inn over a couple of high-balls, told me that the release of the phone was being held up by the Federal Technology Administration because initial software studies by the TA had indicated, aside from the durable, light-weight platinum casing and new finger-point touchless screen that simply recognizes your finger and prevents disgusting smudge marks, that the audio clarity was quite possibly, "too clear". In a clinical study conducted by MIT, there were consistent examples of persons beginning to cry spontaneously. Granted, considering the field, it was often that subjects were speaking with family members far off in the Middle East and that the distance of caller to "call-ee" only enhanced the effect, but it was the Lucidcom software that made up for quality and clarity intuitively. Even if the person on the other end was using an ancient Nokia Star-Tac via an analog signal, Lucidcom would adjust and edit a digital spectrum of sonic and sub-sonic tones to metaphorically paint a brilliant museum quality painting from a paint-by-numbers base. When further studies of "Dreamstate" examined subjects under hypnosis, 3 out of every 4 users had indicated to the effect that when speaking with their biological mothers an emotion was triggered that could only be described as "returning to the womb." My father tells me all of this and finishes this thought before reaching out a pointed manicured hand that seems to model an heirloom Patek Phillipe watch, catching the bartenders attention for another round, "'Can you hear me now?' Fuck that, we're talking about a, 'Can you feel me now?' breakthrough in technology."

As one of my father's scientists tried to relate to me once over a B.L.T. lunch during a charity golf event at the Nashawtuc Country Club, "Simply put, at the nut of this and all future Lucidcom software, your father somehow figured out that a series of 1's and 0's were no longer sufficient. What I mean is...binary code, as you probably know, interweaves the numbers 1 and 0, to create at a very base level a series of yes and no commands...this is very confining. You could say that somewhere between 1 and 0, there is a maybe or possibly that some scientists have understood to be a key to developing EMIR...sorry, that's an acronym in our field...it's a key to what many have identified as the Emotional Model for Intelligent Response. Well, Archer...your father and Lucidcom now have that key."

My mother, Alexis Watkins-O'Connor, with a clarity of sound so clear I can hear a Tiffany bracelet clinking and in a voice too relaxed she almost sighs, "Archer please be careful."

I wasn't sure if she meant my well-being or while I was staying at their estate, but I pictured a cocktail in her hand no matter the meaning. Oddly enough, my eyes began to well up slightly just before I look at my Blackberry, end the call, complete the conversation, and realize Blackberry has not yet partnered with Lucidcom.