Home Sweet Home
Back in SF.
Nice Christmas, albeit a bit trying.
An example: We had dinner with my cousin last night (she turns 60 next year, mom’s sis was 11 years older and I came late)… anyway, I had to listen to my Dad rant the entire time as I drove us to downtown Summerville, SC about how much it irritated him that people couldn’t pronounce words correctly such as “foyer” (it’s “foi-yeh”, not “for-your”), then not 30 seconds after getting out of the car he used the term “usetacud” twice. (As in, “used to could.”) “Usatacud drive yer car down this here street.” Natch, that raised an eyebrow, yet my opposition was unacceptable. “Winder,” “sammich,” “yonder,” and “usetacud”: fine; “for-your”: bad. Gotcha.
Oh, and dude on UA flight 1229 today, seat 1D: keep your snot rags off our shared armrest. You managed to gross out the flight attendant who had to collect your bugger napkins 3 times and then come over with a microwaved towel and attempt to sanitize the arm rest. (And I loved her for it.) Did you not notice the pile of napkins she used to guard my drink from yours? Get a clue.
Spain
Come February or March, I think I’m going to take two weeks in southern Spain, probably not far from Barcelona. Anyone else interested? Airfare seems about $100 more than it cost me to come out to South Carolina. Nutty.
Probably somewhere around here or as close to Barcelona as I can get. My mother needs me to use up one of her condo exchanges, and who am I to turn up free lodging?
[UPDATE: Map was bugging me, so I removed it.. was the wrong location anyway. I’ve opted for a secret bunker instead.
White Guilt
I somehow got suckered into making dinner tonight for my parents, which actually turned out quite well — shrimp burritos with chipotle adobo and seasoned rice — but that wasn’t the highlight of the evening.
Earlier I trotted off to Publix for ingredients. It’s the grocery store which usually has the slightly better merchandise, but of course lacks the charming name of say a “Piggly Wiggly” or the obviousness of a “Bi-Lo.” It was an irritating experience, but I blame myself, because obviously the Mexican specialties are next to the brownie mix, cooking oil and Folger’s. I mean, um, duh!
So, anyway, I’ve got my stuff and head for checkout. The nice girl is scanning through the various merchanise then picks up a bag and with a thick southern drawl asks “Hehe. Can ya, uh, teller me what’ha got he’re?” (Scout’s honor, I’m not embellishing)
“It’s a habanero pepper,” I say. “They’re used to abort Christian babies.” (perhaps I made that last part up)
Simple enough.
I’m all finished and the bag boy, a nice 15ish black guy lacking at least 3 inches and 50 lbs on me, says “Can I carry these out to your car for you?”
I’m used to this question. It’s a stable of the lowly paid bagger contingent in grocery stores these days — those in SF are required to ask even if entirely unnecessary. It’s actually nice, and I see some use this courtesy who would probably struggle otherwise. But I’m at least 30 years this side of osteoporosis.
“Ah, naw, that’s okay,” I say, “it’s only 3 bags. Thanks!”
“Eh, I got to. I need to look busy,” bag-boy retorts keeping a firm grip on my bags.
Long pause. I’m in the South, I’m a healthy guy, I can carry 3 bags… but he insists. Christ.
“Um, okay, knock yourself out.”
So, there we are, walking out to the car, bag-boy having a light load and getting needlessly wet in the pouring rain.
And in toe of whitey doing his bidding. It just feels terribly wrong.
I turn around and snark, “You’ve got 3 bags and I’ve got 3 hundred years of guilt. I really should of just carried those bags myself.”
Bags safely in the trunk, he says “You have a nice day sir.”
“You too,” I say.
I’m quite sure he’s long forgot about it. Why haven’t I?
Personal Log: 19-Dec-2006
12:15a: become quite annoyed can’t sleep. ponder Unisom, but probably not a good idea considering…
4:15a: wake up! kick ass!
4:20a: coffee, no upgrade yet on flight, decide to checkin online… which later proved somewhat smart
4:30a-5:30a: run around frantically trying to finish packing. for fun, place each of two bags in separate rooms furtherest from likely source of needed contents… I’m just not smart
5:35a: call Luxor. have needless argument over previous “order.” listen, if I call twice over 45 minutes and still I don’t get a cab, and it’s not Friday or Saturday night, I really don’t owe you a courtesy call to ‘cancel.’ 45 minutes is a de-facto cancel, and who the hell are you, you phone-answering at 5 o’clock in the morning piece of shit? how DARE you! I will pull your ass out through your throat!
5:36a: deep breaths. um, why did I call Luxor in the first place?
5:40a: cab arrived promptly. heh. there’s a weird smell in here. It’s not curry, but it’s some Mediterranean spice, and it’s not necessarily gross like this dude just took a bath in a tub of seasoned 3rd world gym socks… decide it’s best not to think about this any further less I discover the need for expensive therapy
5:59a: “United. Domestic. Terminal 3. Door 6, please.” Done this entirely too many times.
6:00a: um, wow. sea of humanity. just, um, fucking wow. most tense and frazzled. wonder if energy can be harvested as some sort of renewable resource.
6:10a: woman in front of me’s bag is too heavy. mind you, I’m already checked in and need one of these two precious machines which are dedicated to two simple tasks: check ID and stick tag on luggage. so, max weight per bag is 50lbs, and exhibit A needs to drop 13. no fear, she’s brought half a dozen bags! she explodes suitcase at my feet and begins to redistribute weight amongst her Samsonite home-away-from-home. amazed at contents: 3 bags of Starbucks coffee w/ 2 travel mugs, giant terry-cloth bathrobe, Costco-sized bottles of hair products, a bath ‘sheet’ (oh, no, no simple towel for this traveldiva), something I can only surmise is a shrine or monument to either a deity or belief… I guess they’re gifts. perhaps gifts for rogue Amish who keep a secret stash of things readily available every 5 feet anywhere else in America.
6:20a: decide to be an asshole and cutely mention the postal service will even come to you now
7:25a: finally seated, flight attendant comes over and nearly ready to launch into a cheer explains that Mr. So-and-So next to me has been upgraded to First Class! Cue the music and fireworks…
7:35a: taxing towards take-off there’s an announcement that there’s apparently unusually strong tailwinds which will propel me eastward an hour earlier than scheduled. Praise Jesus.
8:10a: for $5, this cheese/yogurt/fruit thing ain’t half bad. girl next to me asks what’s available food-wise. attendant, obviously annoyed after it’d been announced 3 times that the selection can be found on page 193 of Hemispheres magazine, yanks said mag from seatback, flips to page 193, drops on tray table and stomps off.
8:55a: realize I’ve been watching between the seats the kid in front of me picking his nose for the last 15 minutes
10:08a: nose picker reaches his little snot hand around the seat and steals pillow I’ve placed against the wall at my feet
10:15a: This film has been modified from its original format. It has been edited to fit this screen and for content. ‘Invincible’ with Mark Walberg. Oh, Marky Mark! Better yet, a football movie! Just pinch me now!
10:45a: Not hating movie. Oddly drawn to Marky Mark’s jiggling stomach during slo-mo field runs in full pads. Typical against-all-odds Disney plot both endearing and insultingly simple.
12:05p: (3:05 Eastern) — Touchdown! Unfortunately, that’s only flight 1…
12:15p: at my next gate, having gone to Terminal “A” which is where my “United Express” flight is, I feel fully humbled. Just in case you weren’t aware that flying regional means you’re not playing with the big boys anymore (like the 777 I flew in on), not only is Terminal A a throw-back to the 70s and poorly lit, it’s at a physically lower level just to seal the psychological deal… it’s oddly effective, but then again, the caliber of customer doesn’t help. No live poultry running around or anything… but…
12:40p: Holy crap, this guy on the phone next to me needs to die. I mean, seriously, seriously die. Him, volume level 11: “Diane! Dan here! Now, listen, I’m telling you, I don’t want to go into management, even though I know I’m the best! I can make a lot lot more money as the top sales guy! And I am the top sales guy! I have SOOOOO many offers because I went through the best training in St. Paul! DIANE! DIANE!”
12:41p: Sooooooo thirsty… gotta be blood lust. DIANE! DIANE!
12:52p: shamed by group of 15 year olds who all have newer iPods than I do. note that my shoes are much, much nicer, but lost on them… and my shirt’s pretty cool too, and a nice designer steal I got cheap… again, lost.
12:53p: start hating Apple for not having my widescreen iPod out yet, because then I’d somehow not be uncool to these meatheaded 15 year olds…
1:05p: 15 year olds produce a highlighter marker and begin to use each other as white boards (and white they are)… Frosty, 2006 Highlight Girl of the Year, writes “I (heart) dick” on guys arm, much laughter follows…
1:06p: shamed no more, I ponder death
1:10p: DAN! DIANE! DAN! gets distracted by something shiny and leaves…
1:11p: ponder existence of God and why he inflicted Dan on me… wonder if I should jump on my cellphone and behave similarly to maintain balance in my immediate world
1:45p: Brazilians don’t make terrible jets, but ponder weight balance issues in a jet that’s (seat | aisle | seat-seat)… I am an engineer, afterall
2:00p: at 32k feet, old guy next to me, who I’ve been trying REALLY hard to ignore strikes up conversation. This doesn’t stop until I’m on the ground and out of the jetway. He’s from Chicago and thinks the crime in Charleston is just terrible, terrible, terrible… I don’t think he’s a “it was better when the darkies were in the fields” type, but it’s equally as mind-numbing
3:35p: having just come in over the much ballyhooed (at least within 2 WHOLE MILES of downtown Charleston) Ravenel bridge, we’re down… (bridge at night: a solid 8.5/10. it’s purty, I’ll give it that)
4:00p: very tired, got my bag, in the car, have a phone meeting w/work. no one can get their shit together, lines are crossed, and the confcall # is double-booked… this takes 3 times longer than the actual meeting to figure out… remind myself I’m thankful that I barely work, have tried to quit 3 times, and still collect a full salary because I’m not “allowed” to quit or some such non-sense…
4:20p: thankful to have subsidized time-off despite occasional annoyances… swallow disdain, buck up, and SMILE!
5:00p-7p: at parents house, the next 2 hours involve attempts to feed me grilled cheese sandwiches (white bread/individually sliced ‘cheddar-flavored cheese product’), miso soup (just mix with water!), and freezer taquitos. begin missing SF, but realize it’s the right thing that I’m here since I missed both birthdays and their 40th anniversary…
9:30p: (12:30a eastern) — learn that Lifetime: Television for Women has been added to iTunes. With that news, my day is complete and I can finally sleep… good night my chickens!
…um, so, now you can add “x-x:30: schmeeve took 30 minutes of my life I can never regain” to your own personal log…
schmeeveTips
If I like you, and you’re expecting some sort of gift (those of you not expecting babies on my birthday^), send me a wishlist link. It’ll help me out. It’s about a week and a day away from the glorious remembrance of His birth and I have yet to move one finger towards said glorious remembrance presents.* (Seriously, I saw a Foreigner Best Of CD on sale and I lack shame.)
I leave for my Slightly-East-of-Deliverance Christmas on Tuesday, complete with dinner with my cousin who is the ex-wife of this winner.
Pray for me.
* Lori, Carolyn, Mason: gotcha covered.
^ yes, on my birthday or there abouts little baby Jake is due. Granted, his name should of been schmeeve, but I’m not splitting hairs
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