Rest of day one travel blog...

Location : Durham-Durham, NH

OK, I dozed for most of the rest of the PDX-MDW ride. Now I'm in New Hampshire. Here's the recap of the rest of the travel...

Well, if you didn't know what city you were in, you might be able to guess by the obscene amount of Bears gear on display. Damn. It was certainly never like this when I lived there. It'll be interesting to root for them on Sunday, because I'm still bitter about Super Bowl XX (All throughout New England are people who were traumatized by the Bears and Mets within a three-month span. It's amazing, even though both the Sox and Pats have won titles since then, I'm still upset about it). My earlier thought about having more fun at the Midway than Portland? Totally wrong. No one wants to talk about anything but the Bears, and frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.

I ordered a veggie burger at a bar and washed it down with some Sam Adams. I would have liked a Chicago beer, but now that I can get Goose Island in Portland, it's not as big of a deal. I've forgotten how Chicago loads their Burgers/Dogs. It recalls a famous line "What I lack in hot dog mass, I make up in condiment mass". My veggie burger had sauteed onions, mushrooms, cheese, pickles, and some other crap. Jesus. The SNL Superfans sketch? Totally realistic. A guy who didn't really look like he needed any food ambled up next to me and asked "if (he) could get another burger". Then he proceeded to add bacon and cheddar to said burger. Christ.

Brief conversation with my mother reveals that New Hampshire is "getting dumped on". Five-twelve unexpected inches. Sweet.

There's a really cute blonde girl at the gate who looks to be reading some sort of science/medical lecture notes. Since it's Southwest, and the flight is underbooked, there's not really any chance I'll actually sit next to her. But it brings to mind a story. Every flight has one cute girl traveling by herself. You get to the gate, scope around, find her, and hope that fate lands you in the seat next to her. Never happens. ONCE I pulled the coveted seat, on a flight to Chicago from either Manch-Vegas or Boston (I think MHT, but can't be positive). Girl pulls out a book on "reading and intepreting ECG's". So she's a med student. Little does she know, but I've JUST taken an engineering class in pulmonary and cardiovascular systems. I know my way around and ECG like there's no tomorrow (that's no longer true). We chat for a while, and then she asks me some ridiculous question about why something is named the way it is. I have no idea. I can draw an ECG in vector form, but I can't answer her question. I'm reminded why I hate the mentality of medical students, she goes off to Colorado, and the story ends.

(Present) Plane is empty again. Dude with some serious dreads sits right in front of me and looks like he's going to recline and pass out, which would kind of piss me off, seeing as he also has a row to himself, and I'll be forced to switch seats in my empty row (oh, the horror). He doesn't, and later we have a conversation in the MHT men's room. Cute blonde girl sits about ten rows in front of me, to the right. As we descend, it's obviously snowing. A lot.

Manchester has such a quaint little airport. I can see why my parents strongly prefer to fly in and out of here. Logan it ain't. Though at 11:30 at night, there aren't many shops open, and when the first men's room I see is taped off, I worry briefly. I found one (see above).

Rental counter. Good god. I figure I can get my car keys before my bags arrive, but it's a particularly long two person line ahead of me. The session is interrupted by some guy cutting through line to scream at the girl who rented him his car, because he can't find it in the garage. Because it's her fault. At the adjacent rental counter, another guy storms off swearing that he'll be sending an email to someone about the guy who just helped him. I have so much respect for people who are in this line of work. If something goes wrong, whatever the reason, it's the person at the kiosk (or on the phone) who gets screamed at. It's rarely their fault. The guy in line in front of me seems to be in a decent mood (he has a cowboy hat, a Tennessee accent and prefers a Highlander over a Blazer), but his wife (who has an undiscernable accent, and is blocking the entrance to the counter) is pissed at how long it's taking. Good god.

I'm in a good mood, since my flights have gotten in early, and I've had my own row on both legs of my flight, so the rental guy is enthused. He offers me an SUV for $8 dollars a day more than my mid-size. I decline. I select a grey Pontiac G6 (over a Chevy something), pick up my bag, and head out to the garage. It's quite convenient. The guy who complained about not being able to find his car is a fucking moron. It's right there. (Plus, the cars all have remote entry. Sound the horn, asshole.)

Problem #1 with the car - power seats. I can't figure out how to move the seat back, and I'm kind of tall. Every time I touch the seat button, it seems to get worse. I'm certain the steering wheel can be moved, but I can't figure this out, either. (I'll discover the next morning how this works and feel slightly idiotic, but at this point in the night I'm cold and exhausted) So I'll be a bit scrunched up, and can't reach both the gas and brakes without an interesting leg maneuver.

Problem #2 with the car - As I'm pulling out of the garage, I tap the brakes and nearly give myself whiplash. Racing brakes. Perfect for snow driving. Fortunately, the roads seem to have been plowed (somewhat) and the snow isn't completely white-out. (My brother made the same drive 3 hours earlier. The roads were not plowed) Despite the fact that no one seems to be driving at a reasonable speed (either too fast or too slow. Seriously, do you think tailgating someone in a snow storm is going to make them drive faster? Relax.) I arrive at the folks' place, where I complete some blogging and enjoy a few Shipyard brews before retiring for the evening.

We're back

2-2-07; Somewhere between Oregon and Illinois.

OK, I've been slacking. At blogging. I know. I intended to do a huge write up of my trip to Europe, but it never happened. I still have notes from it; maybe pieces will surface as appropriate.

So, now I'm on a mini-vacation. I hate to be self-satisfied and say that it's "much-deserved", but honestly, I've been working my ass off. (ie no Christmas time off) When I return, I'll have 2-3 months of constant shit to deal with, but I'm hoping if I get into a routine, I'll keep up with this. I like the idea of posting a "column" every Sunday, with random notes in between. I'm working on a new script that will make that easier. I've also been applying my 10 pm email curfew to my blogging. This will be lifted, so many of th random notes will be fueled by drugs, alcohol and exhaustion. So take them with a salt-rimmed margarita.

For the month of February, I'll be blogging on another site as well. I've been writing more music lately, and decided to sign up to the rpm challenge (http://www.rpmchallenge.com) where artists attempt to record an entire album during the month of February. I think it will provide a much needed kick in the ass, and if something cool comes out of it, that's almost a bonus. I may cross-post a bit, but you can check on progress and get exclusives at the aforementioned web site. The name of the band/project is "Tree Bites Man". We'll see what happens.

So far today...

I had a classic "Whitey" moment about two weeks ago where I wiped out on the sidewalk randomly. Ripped some skin off the heels of my hands. Not cool. Also not cool is the fact that my iPod was in my pocket at the time. Cracked the screen. Found a cool repair site on-line (iPodresq.com), so I sent it in. Pretty sweet turnaround, but I fucked up and got it in a day later than I expected. Then yesterday I tried to get them to ship it to NH, but they had already sent it to Portland. It was supposed to be delivered this morning, but I waited as long as I could before I had to call a cab and go to the airport. So now, it's presumably sitting on the porch. I need to find someone to hide it until I get back. And no iPod for the trip. I even bought a car adaptor/transmitter for use with my rental. Oh well. We'll see how long I can listen to WEEI without wanting to kill someone.

Cab to the airport. Uneventful. Talkative driver, but he was kind of quiet, and I couldn't understand him. So I stopped responding, and he shut up till we got there.

Airport security makes me feel like I'm getting mugged.

Empty your pockets!

Cell phone? Lap top? Let's see 'em!

Keys? Change? Come on, let's go! Move!

No funny stuff, you hear me?

And if that's not enough, you have to take off your shoes and belt and jacket. Then they let you go, but you have to walk around for five minutes with all your belongings in your hands and your pants falling off, because there's nowhere to sit anywhere near the checkpoint station.

And no liquids!

So that sucks, but once you're in, you're in. It's like an exclusive club. And it leads to my favorite part of the airport. The airport bar. If you can't have a good conversation over a beer while bellied up to an airport bar, you suck. If it weren't for the security gate, I think I'd hang out there more often. (yes, you can go to the bars outside the gates, but it's not the same) Chicago will be even better, because you get a mix of people coming and going from all corners. Portland, well, you're either from here, or going home. Less exciting. But today I chatted up a dude who designs interiors for private commission helicopters. He was flying standby to Vegas. I sucked down a pair of Tecate drafts, had a quesadilla, and caught my plane.

The flight's empty. It's awesome. Full row to myself. I get the window seat, plus I can keep my bag next to me without losing any leg room, and I don't have to feel bad about getting up to use the bathroom. (which I just did)

No meal on this jaunt, but they did hand out a snack-pack, including some dried fruit, funky graham cracker things, and...
wait for it...
Handi-Snacks!

Dude! It's been years. They're the stick ones, not the crackers with the little red plastic spreader, but still. Sweet.

Actually, this "cheese" is pretty nasty. Nevermind.

There's also a Sudoku in the box. I haven't done one of these for 6 months or so. Time me...

Seven minutes and forty seconds. I'm rusty.

That's all for now.