Between DFW and LAS
I'm on my way to Las Vegas, after having made the connection in Dallas. ANd guess what they're playing on the overhead monitors? An episode of Good Morning, Miami. No, seriously. The only rationale I can come up with is that they wanted to pick programming that no one's seen before. I mean, I've watched my share of bad post-Friends time slot sitcoms (only The Single Guy and Union Square come to mind at the moment), but I couldn't even stand an entire episode of Good Morning, Miami.

Yes, folks, it's time for another one of those "why doesn't he just take a nap instead of bothering us from his plane seat?" entries. It's because a) I love you, and b) my life is just so much more interesting than yours.

My day started before dawn, though I could conceivably start from Friday, or even earlier. At some point mid-week, it became apparent I was going to be ugly this weekend. Worse, this stressed me out even more, which made my skin even unhappier. Anyway, that doesn't really add to the story except to point out that I was getting insecure, as well as a little moody.

Speaking of moods, today's soundtrack is Norah Jones' "Feels Like Home." I listened to Sarah McLachlan's "Fumbling Towards Ecstasy" going into Dallas. I decided, however, that I was in a better mood now, so I switched to Norah. Not that Sarah McLachlan's especially depressing, but the music's a bit broody, whereas Norah's new album feels like "y'all just have a good time and relax."

The only important plot point of Friday was that my first flight was cancelled. I had called the airline to make sure I had confirmed seating. The woman on the phone assured me I did, although "one of [my] flights [was] cancelled." What? When were you going to tell me? What? In the end, it turned out the flight had been cancelled about 20 minutes before my call, so they just hadn't had a chance yet. I was able to get a confirmed seat on the 5:20am to Dallas.

I realized it'd be difficult to pull this off, but I did the best I could. After work, I immediately started a load of laundry. Then I cleaned on of Phineas' bins. Then I watched TV. That was honestly part of the plan, because I needed to clear off an 8-hour tape, to use for this coming week. It's sad, but I've got stuff that's over a full week old that I haven't had a chance to get to yet; I'm turning into my mom. My mom is typically two to three weeks behind scheduled programming at any point in time. When she gets the chance, she clears out a lot of stuff at once. A couple weeks ago, she even left me a frantic message asking me tape stuff for her, since she was in Denver on business, and she hadn't set her own VCR. When she didn't get a hold of me (I happened to be taping the shows anyway), she panicked and watched the shows, deciding it was better watching them out of order than missing them completely.

What the hell was I talking about?

Oh yeah, so I did tons of errands, including watching TV, and I got done around 11:30pm. I was pretty worried that I'd miss my ridiculously timed flight, but Janet was actually staying up late and could wake-up call me. Fortunately, I got up on the second alarm snooze, around 2:30am. It was particularly fortunate, because I had accidentally left AOL open on my computer, which would've prevented Janet's waking me up. I had left my computer on, since I had made a checklist of things left to do that morning. I was out the door a minute or two past 3:30.

I got to the airport an hour later, and I found the long-term parking area (I'm expecting a gross, nearly $100 fee). A few minutes before 5am, I was at my gate. And everything except a newstand was closed. I fucking wanted a coffee. I felt like shit, like I might suddenly pass out, and no one was selling coffee. I wasn't very pleasant right then. After we got on the flight and took off, I got my coffee a little after 6am. And then I spilled it on my shorts.

The timing was such that the flight attendant was walking past me as I spilled it, so I could've blamed her. But I knew that my elbow had simply slid off the armrest due to turbulence. I sat and looked at my dark-spotted khakis, feeling sort of stupid. I considered changing shorts in the bathroom once we landed at Dallas. Ultimately, I decided that I was just the sort of person who occasionally spilled coffee on himself, and i shouldn't bother hiding that fact. Plus, the coffee had dried colorlessly after I sponged most of it out with napkins.

In Dallas, I got breakfast with someone whom I'll refer to as CB. And honestly, do you think I'd just use initials? It's an acronym. If you think about it, you could probably figure out who it is. Or, I just said that to throw you off. However, I'll throw you this bone: after breakfast, the letters RCB or CIRLTB might've been more appropriate. And you could even try CBFM.

While breakfast was generally good, I realized my inability to banter wittily. I'm good for 10, 15 minutes, tops. I think part of the problem is that I haven't accumulated any good stories in recent years. Everything is mundane and generic. This may occasionally pass muster here, but not so much in person.

Ooh, mountains with snow, outside my window! Yes, I realize that was on the same level as "ooh, shiny!"

Anyway, after breakfast, I made the final boarding call for my flight. Turns out I booked an exit row seat, which seems vaguely familiar. A flight attendant, before they closed the cabin doors, came to speak to the people in the exit row area. She said, "you all are aware that you're sitting in an exit row, and that it may require you to lift 40 to 50 pounds." As she said this last part, she motioned toward the emergency exit door, to complete here meaning. Then she sort of looked at me as if she were expecting me to disqualify myself. When I didn't, she tentatively continued. "And you need to be at least 15 years of age." Pause. She turns to me, "you are 15, right?" She says it in a totally benign, non-offensive manner, but it was a little shocking. Whether good or bad, it supports my claim that I haven't really changed since I was 15.
- posted by roger @ 12:34 PM