(no subject)
Here's a tip for curious travelling types: Some locales deserve their reputation. If people repeatedly say, "You're going WHERE?! WHYYYY?!?!" you shouldn't think that they simply haven't any sense of adventure and/or a knack for digging out the quirky like you, of course, have in natural abundance.
Case in point: Buffalo, New York. A more sad, decrepit, stuck-in-the-80s town I have never seen. Frighteningly enough, I saw it at it's best weather-wise; I can't imagine how horrendous it must be in the midst of their infamous winters. Even the "luxury" hotel wherein I stowed myself and my luggage seemed plucked out of 1982 -- polyester burgundy floral print comforters and all.
So why would I subject myself to such aesthetic torture for three days? The New York Library Association conference. Which I went to full of pep and enthusiasm, hoping to wake up the long-dormant public librarian portion of my brain. In all, however, I have to say that the conference sorely disappointed me, or perhaps I just selected the wrong sessions to attend. Either way, I'm consoling myself with two facts: 1) the travel/hotel/etc. are tax-deductable; and 2) I met a bigwig from my system who, apparently, had just been talking about me to some colleagues in a very enthusiastic manner. Go me.
To Buffalo's credit, the folks who live there are inexplicably friendly and outgoing. You will never have a better Buffalo wing than those served at place that invented them: Anchor Bar. And if you can squeeze in a rental car sidetrip to cross the border into Canada, Niagara Falls will not disappoint, though the surrounding tourist area will make you feel like you've been dropped into Hillbilly Vegas.
(N.B.: What is it with Canadian border patrol!? For all my love of those minxy Canadians, I cannot wrap my head around why their border and customs folks have no other questioning option than Spanish Inquisition mode. This latest gem asked where I was going in Canada and when I said, "The Falls" he asked where in the falls as it was a big place. I just looked back at him and said, "Just The Falls. Where the water goes over the edge, sir. I don't know how else to answer your question." He also wondered why I would come up to Buffalo (of all places!) for two days. I did my best to suppress that giggle. On the flip side, U.S. border patrol simply swiped my passport, asked how long I had been in Canada, and was I bringing back anything into the U.S. In and out in 20 seconds. Hooray Homeland Security!)
All the same, I know I could should have been in New Orleans at the queenhell of all housewarming parties (not to mention helping good friends in their hour of need). I could have truly been here for Steven and my's first anniversary instead of stumbling in around 3pm, crashing out from 5-8pm, eating pasta for dinner, and stumbling to bed at midnight. No champagne, no nooky, no nothing. I am a horrible, no-good wife.
Tonight, I shall attempt to redeem the anniversary weekend as we are going to Gramercy Tavern for cocktails and dinner. And I'm having my hair did for the occasion. Ooh la la!
Case in point: Buffalo, New York. A more sad, decrepit, stuck-in-the-80s town I have never seen. Frighteningly enough, I saw it at it's best weather-wise; I can't imagine how horrendous it must be in the midst of their infamous winters. Even the "luxury" hotel wherein I stowed myself and my luggage seemed plucked out of 1982 -- polyester burgundy floral print comforters and all.
So why would I subject myself to such aesthetic torture for three days? The New York Library Association conference. Which I went to full of pep and enthusiasm, hoping to wake up the long-dormant public librarian portion of my brain. In all, however, I have to say that the conference sorely disappointed me, or perhaps I just selected the wrong sessions to attend. Either way, I'm consoling myself with two facts: 1) the travel/hotel/etc. are tax-deductable; and 2) I met a bigwig from my system who, apparently, had just been talking about me to some colleagues in a very enthusiastic manner. Go me.
To Buffalo's credit, the folks who live there are inexplicably friendly and outgoing. You will never have a better Buffalo wing than those served at place that invented them: Anchor Bar. And if you can squeeze in a rental car sidetrip to cross the border into Canada, Niagara Falls will not disappoint, though the surrounding tourist area will make you feel like you've been dropped into Hillbilly Vegas.
(N.B.: What is it with Canadian border patrol!? For all my love of those minxy Canadians, I cannot wrap my head around why their border and customs folks have no other questioning option than Spanish Inquisition mode. This latest gem asked where I was going in Canada and when I said, "The Falls" he asked where in the falls as it was a big place. I just looked back at him and said, "Just The Falls. Where the water goes over the edge, sir. I don't know how else to answer your question." He also wondered why I would come up to Buffalo (of all places!) for two days. I did my best to suppress that giggle. On the flip side, U.S. border patrol simply swiped my passport, asked how long I had been in Canada, and was I bringing back anything into the U.S. In and out in 20 seconds. Hooray Homeland Security!)
All the same, I know I could should have been in New Orleans at the queenhell of all housewarming parties (not to mention helping good friends in their hour of need). I could have truly been here for Steven and my's first anniversary instead of stumbling in around 3pm, crashing out from 5-8pm, eating pasta for dinner, and stumbling to bed at midnight. No champagne, no nooky, no nothing. I am a horrible, no-good wife.
Tonight, I shall attempt to redeem the anniversary weekend as we are going to Gramercy Tavern for cocktails and dinner. And I'm having my hair did for the occasion. Ooh la la!