Got Net?
I'm tellin' ya, net is *very* hard to find on this trip to Florida, but I have finally succeeded, at the cost of $10 an hour and a full week of searching. Sorry about not using cut tags. [Edit: just fixed that.] I'm... well, I'm sort of time challenged here. So, on to the trip updates.
2005.11.04 Acts Of God Tour
I’m finally in Florida, after a week of anxiety and prep for it. The first flight sucked, mainly because of the passengers. (Is it just me, or are people incredibly more rude on planes than they were 5 years ago. Sheesh.) The woman in the seat in front of me made a scene about me putting my bag under her seat. She said she couldn’t move her feet (wtf?) and bitched and bitched, and then finally said I’d have to put the bag in the overhead bin because "I’m not going to be uncomfortable for 3 hours." Oh, you think? Perhaps I have more to say about that than you suspect. (The location of my bag will have *nothing* to do with your discomfort level for the next 3 hours if I have to get up and move it, dear.) She continued to make a big fuss about it, and eventually the guy in the seat next to her also started complaining about having enough room and what could the flight attendants do about it. I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling them that maybe they ought to pony up for first class if they found the accommodations so unacceptable. So, tight seat, obnoxious neighbors, but the crew was hilarious. "New technology allows us to determine whose seatbelts are still fastened, so the 22 of you who have released yours, please put them back on until the aircraft reaches the gate." "Also, those in seats 2A and 2C." "In the immortal words of my mother, you don’t want me to come back there."
The second flight was much better. I got an exit row, for the first time ever, which was probably assigned to me to make up for the fact that when I requested a window seat, I got put next to an engine for the first flight. On this plane, though, I had plenty of room, and the flight wasn’t entirely full, so eventually the guys next to me moved. This was a great happiness, although slightly ironic because the wait staff ^W^W flight attendant came and discussed exit row responsibilities with both of them and completely avoided eye contact with me while she did. No matter. In the event of an emergency, I was going to be the one dealing, regardless of the latent sexism of the staff. (I always figure out all the doors the second I get into a plane, and also where all the medical shit is stored. Better to have it in my head before it’s needed, is the way I look at it.)
Florida is partially devastated. Some places still don’t have power, and the trees show heavy damage almost everywhere in this area. I’d say it looks like a war zone, except I’m not sure it would look this... random... if there was an actual war. I’m trying to get pictures.
The hotel we’re in right now is directly on the beach, technically in Miami, although not on South Beach this time. That means there’s theoretically parking here, but practically speaking, our vehicle’s down the block in an empty parking lot owned by this hotel, across from a hotel that doesn’t have power. (Please don’t rob us.) There are beautiful skyscraper hotels and buildings all around us, but we’re in one of the motels that is flat, squat, hilariously dated, packed with old people, and screams white trash. I love it. This place is Miami dreamland.
In the Surreal Department, Mean Johnny B stayed at this hotel with his family, when he was a little kid. He thought things seemed familiar when he walked in, but when he saw the pool knew for sure. No doubt it was odd to begin with, but it was also the anniversary of his father’s death, when we checked in, so even weirder. (John lost both of his parents when he was way young. I’m sure this whole hotel scenario was jarring as hell.)
It looks as though our plans this trip are at least two nights in each hotel, which is really nice and takes a lot of pressure off touring.
Oh, hey... my power supply just started sparking. Time to shut off the computer for a bit and find that soldering iron. And after that, time to touch the ocean.
2005.11.04 Acts Of God Tour
I’m finally in Florida, after a week of anxiety and prep for it. The first flight sucked, mainly because of the passengers. (Is it just me, or are people incredibly more rude on planes than they were 5 years ago. Sheesh.) The woman in the seat in front of me made a scene about me putting my bag under her seat. She said she couldn’t move her feet (wtf?) and bitched and bitched, and then finally said I’d have to put the bag in the overhead bin because "I’m not going to be uncomfortable for 3 hours." Oh, you think? Perhaps I have more to say about that than you suspect. (The location of my bag will have *nothing* to do with your discomfort level for the next 3 hours if I have to get up and move it, dear.) She continued to make a big fuss about it, and eventually the guy in the seat next to her also started complaining about having enough room and what could the flight attendants do about it. I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling them that maybe they ought to pony up for first class if they found the accommodations so unacceptable. So, tight seat, obnoxious neighbors, but the crew was hilarious. "New technology allows us to determine whose seatbelts are still fastened, so the 22 of you who have released yours, please put them back on until the aircraft reaches the gate." "Also, those in seats 2A and 2C." "In the immortal words of my mother, you don’t want me to come back there."
The second flight was much better. I got an exit row, for the first time ever, which was probably assigned to me to make up for the fact that when I requested a window seat, I got put next to an engine for the first flight. On this plane, though, I had plenty of room, and the flight wasn’t entirely full, so eventually the guys next to me moved. This was a great happiness, although slightly ironic because the wait staff ^W^W flight attendant came and discussed exit row responsibilities with both of them and completely avoided eye contact with me while she did. No matter. In the event of an emergency, I was going to be the one dealing, regardless of the latent sexism of the staff. (I always figure out all the doors the second I get into a plane, and also where all the medical shit is stored. Better to have it in my head before it’s needed, is the way I look at it.)
Florida is partially devastated. Some places still don’t have power, and the trees show heavy damage almost everywhere in this area. I’d say it looks like a war zone, except I’m not sure it would look this... random... if there was an actual war. I’m trying to get pictures.
The hotel we’re in right now is directly on the beach, technically in Miami, although not on South Beach this time. That means there’s theoretically parking here, but practically speaking, our vehicle’s down the block in an empty parking lot owned by this hotel, across from a hotel that doesn’t have power. (Please don’t rob us.) There are beautiful skyscraper hotels and buildings all around us, but we’re in one of the motels that is flat, squat, hilariously dated, packed with old people, and screams white trash. I love it. This place is Miami dreamland.
In the Surreal Department, Mean Johnny B stayed at this hotel with his family, when he was a little kid. He thought things seemed familiar when he walked in, but when he saw the pool knew for sure. No doubt it was odd to begin with, but it was also the anniversary of his father’s death, when we checked in, so even weirder. (John lost both of his parents when he was way young. I’m sure this whole hotel scenario was jarring as hell.)
It looks as though our plans this trip are at least two nights in each hotel, which is really nice and takes a lot of pressure off touring.
Oh, hey... my power supply just started sparking. Time to shut off the computer for a bit and find that soldering iron. And after that, time to touch the ocean.