I do not think it is a coincidence

that Continental upgrades me to Elite status and in that same year I develop an inexplicable urge to visit the West Coast more often.

Nosir.

In the Weeds

I don't understand why no one wants to go on vacation with me.

I am fun. And I travel light.

Vomit Bags, Bluetooth, La Quinta

On travel:

1. The fastest way to freak out a flight attendent is to hand him or her the bag located conveniently in your seat pocket. Nevermind that it may contain innocent trash for collecting, or a dozen used tissues. Your flight attendent will inevitably assume it contains DRIPPY BODILY FLUIDS and immediately recoil and then ask you if you are ok. You are fine. You just have a head cold. (This has now happened to me twice.)

2. This makes me want to ask flight attendent neighbor how many people actually vomit on planes. I have never witnessed this; but I am sure it happens. Ewww.

3. People who sit in public spaces talking on their bluetooth headsets look ridiculous. Seriously. WHO are you talking to?

4. There are at least four La Quintas in Austin, TX, and I have been to all of them this week, and one is only a mile away from another one. I do not understand how this is a sustainable business, especially when 1) the address does not appear correctly on google maps; and 2) people can never find their way back to their luggage.

Going Places

Places I have been for work-related purposes, not in chronological order:

Dallas, TX
Provo, UT
Denver, CO
St. Louis, MO
New York, NY
Philadelphia, PA
Columbus, OH
Washington, DC
Memphis, TN (soon)
Phoenix, AZ (soon)

Cat Blogging, and Travel

Tonight, we ran out of cat food.

At 8:03 pm, I left my home to buy cat food. Because I was afraid my cat might perish. By my own hands.

She's persuasive, that one. She'll never starve if I'm around and conscious.

This alone does not make a whole blog entry, so here's some other stuff:

I have become an expert in the Houston - Denton commute. I know where the Starbucks are (Huntsville and Italy), I know where to stay in the left lane to avoid slow-accelerating on-rampers (Huntsville), I know where the traffic jams live (Conroe, 35N) and how far I can travel out of each city and still pick up NPR. I know where to find a Sonic or a Wendy's on the way up and the way back, or a Jack-in-the-Box breakfast sandwich or mint milkshake. I have a special stretch that's just for singing. I drive really friendly, for 4.5 hours. I know how to drive under a big Texas sky, and I know how to drive in the rain. I always wave to Sam. The more I do it, the more I wish that this were a marketable skill. See also: crossword puzzles.

In two weeks, I'm headed to Columbus, OH for a week. I chose my flight based on miles, and a non-stop flight. I'll never do a stop-over again, if I can help it. I fear take-offs and landings just as I fear on-ramps. Certain on-ramps in the state of Texas are crazy suicide missions: you have to get up to speed immediately, in a sharp turn, because there's no merge lane and the rest of the traffic is going 70. I turn off the AC, gun it, and cross my fingers--or else I find an alternate route. (Nobody tell my insurance company I said this.)

So what's there to do in Columbus, OH? Who wants to watch my cat?

(Do you see how I tied those two topics together? A+ in blogging, friends.)

Photo Update

Txt Me L8r is full speed ahead!

See our pictures here.

I just returned from Denver, CO, where all things may be blamed upon "the altitude."

I would like to go back, when I don't have a work agenda. Would you like to go with me?

Also, I have the best job in the whole world.

Quit Hating on My Choice Seating

Me: Great news! I just signed in to my flight online and I got the BEST SEATS. The whole airplane is full, but for some reason the row by the emergency exit is empty. You know, the seat with no seat in front of it? With the leg room? So I got them.
Co-worker: Oh God, I hate that seat.
Me: What!?
Co-worker: I'm always afraid I'll flip out and try to open the door.
Me: You can't open the door, actually, but I was thinking more along the lines of leg room...
Co-worker: I'm just sayin'.

Later:
Me: Hey baby--great news! I got us awesome seats on the plane tomorrow.
J: Ok.
Me: You know the seat by the door with no seat in front of it? That's where you're sitting.
J: ...
J: I don't think I understand. Is it near the front or the back?
Me: It's in the middle.
J: Am I next to you?
Me: Of course, you're next to me,
J: I really think I'd prefer an aisle seat.
Me: No, you want this seat. Everyone wants this seat. It's the best seat in coach. It has the most legroom.
J: I guess I'll have to see it. I sort of had a plan. I--no, it's fine.
Me: I guess you'll be thanking me tomorrow, then.

Hey readers! I got these awesome seats! The whole PLANE was full except for the bestest, most choice seating on the plane. And this is from someone who flies A LOT. I know all about the seats in the back that don't recline and smell like toilet, I know about the seats in front of the emergency doors that don't recline, and I know about the short emergency row and the lucky bastard who gets to take advantage of it. Which should be Jason, tomorrow. Unless I kick his ass first.

Y'all!

Look where I am staying in Dallas:




Before you get any crazy ideas that my non-profit pimps out all our business trips, let me first explain that 1. I am sharing a room with a co-worker, and 2. somehow this ocassionally happens due to the miracle of Priceline.

Nevertheless, I am bringing an extra bag to abscond with all the Kiehl's. That's right. All your hand lotion is belong to MEEEE.

airport poem

Ok. Help, please. My writing class is asking me to, of all things, write, and I haven't done it in so long that I could use some input on this draft--yes, DRAFT, meaning work in progress--(we are not allowed, in the class, to apologize for a poem being "so bad" before we read it, but nevertheless) so anyway my chosen theme is "airports" because I've seen too damn many of them in the past 2.5 years and this is the beginning of the first of what will become three pieces centered around chosen theme.

So have at.

Orange Alert

“The FBI is warning police nationwide to be alert for people carrying almanacs, cautioning that the popular reference books covering everything from abbreviations to weather trends could be used for terrorist planning.” –Associated Press, 12-29-03

“FBI Warns Officials To Look for People Wearing Bulky Jackets on Warm Days; Smell of Chemicals; Trailing Wires from Jackets; Bombers May Disguise Selves As Pregnant Women” -FBI bullitan, May 20 2004

The risk of terrorism today is orange,
elevated, with a 20% chance of rain
as I fly out of Ronald Regan Washington National Airport
to George Bush Intercontinental Airport
thinking
there are too many presidents involved in my trip and
I wonder if they flew coach, you know,
before Airforce One and all and
did they have to remove their shoes, too?
But I do it—walk shoeless through the metal gate
hoping not to beep,
hoping the woman behind the belt won’t think
my blowdryer is a gun or that
my cell phone charger holds explosives
hoping I removed my teacher scissors this time.

By the time I reach my gate
(gateway to what? to air? a window?)
my driver’s license has been checked three times
so I’m pretty sure I’m me
but not entirely convinced
I’m not a threat to society—nor them, for that matter,
that family with the crying child or
the businessman with a suit and a cell phone
typing away at his laptop
(perhaps documenting suspicious looking activity)
so I buy a Starbucks grande mocha latte, skim,
and open my novel and read, trying
not to look suspicious to anyone,

after all—the papers tell me to beware
of pregnant women and
people carrying almanacs
(no advice on dictionaries)
and and this is my favorite:
unpatriotic dress and speech.

So I keep my bag close by, stay alert, and
yes I ask God with what little sway I have to please
bless this country, this airport,
that child over there, cell phone man, my parents
who drop me off every time, shipping me back
to Houston, Texas, please
bless the Starbucks employee and Mister Yann Martel
who wrote my book
(even though I think he’s Canadian)
and help us all, shoeless, vulnerable,
to look past red white blue orange
alerts,
to see only news-weary travelers
flying to cities we just left,
children playing Mad Libs, flight attendants
with tight buns and squeaky shoes
trotting briskly across the terminal
and outside
the tail lights of planes winking at each other,
fireflies flirting in the night.

Austin, Reloaded

Pictures from 24 hours in Austin this weekend.

round trip

origin: houston; destination: maryland =

five airports and three planes.

(you figure it out, I dare you)

More to say about this later. Meanwhile, much love and thanks go out to the MacBrides. You are beautiful and we had a fabulous time.











See? Fabulous!

souvenirs

Things I am bringing back from Maryland:

-knitting needles
-yarn
-2 containers of vitamins
-12 old issues of Cricket magazine
-assorted City Papers
-Wilco, Jonathan Richmond, Crooked Fingers

And books. It's good to know that even when I finish my book on the airplane, I'm guaranteed to find something interesting for the flight back from my dad's bookshelves.

And pictures. Sooo many pictures. I've commissioned eriC for a new webpage design (you can, too! He's looking for freelance work) based on "still life with scissors" and I'm actually looking forward to getting fruitcakebrigade off the ground again with three new sets of photos: 1. artcars; 2. Austin Ladyfest; 3. Jessie's wedding

This summer, I am also looking forward to the Greater Houston Area Writing Project, making a trip to California to visit Mindy and Jess, and catching up on past-due projects, like those guitar lessons and learning to knit (I have 7 inches of scarf, so far).

There are some new, secret projects, too, and I can't help but reflect that it's good, good, good to be a teacher in June.

six hours on the airplane...

...and I didn't even wind up in Europe.

Hi, I'm in Maryland for Jessie and Devin's wedding. Be back in Houston on Sunday.

Cicada spotting: 0.

(Where are they hiding? I want to take one home as a pet!)