Closer than usual to the vast emptiness of space
I am posting to say that I am on another road trip. This one is not as long or dramatic. I am traveling from Fort Collins, CO to San Francisco, CA, with stopovers in Las Vegas, NV, and San Diego, CA. I flew out of San Francisco at 9 AM.
I had finished packing by one o'clock in the morning. I woke up every hour, as I do before a trip because I am worried about missing my flight. To my fevered mind the day before a trip, nothing is worse than the prospect of not getting to the airport not just on time, but early, plenty early for whatever is going to transpire. I did not do so much traveling between September 11th, you see, so I have really internalized the fact that some kind of security problem can completely paralyze an airport. I will be prepared, you see, for when someone uses a paper clip and a very small bottle of moisturizer to menace an entire terminal. I will do so by arriving so early that it won't happen until after my plane has left.
I understand that this doesn't make any sense, but whatever, it's my defense mechanism against the stresses of travel and I'm sticking to it. So anyway, I slept poorly. I got there with plenty of time to spare, which guarantees that my trip is going to be great. Bizarrely, it actually did this time! My plane left early and arrived early. There were no screaming children. I sat next to a fellow nerd person who was also playing DS, and didn't have to do any more conversation than give and receive the Man Nod. It was the best flight I ever had.
My first impressions of Colorado, in no particular order: It's hot here. Everyone here is white. That is a lot of sweat pants. How can you wear sweat pants when the airport is so hot. Where do these people shop. I have never seen so many jorts. Ugh. Jorts.
I am so thankful things looked up from there. I was met by the lovely Camelia. She drove me away from Denver via its bowels, or maybe its armpit. There is a Purina puppy chow factory right off the highway there, across from some tract housing. I think living there, inhaling the dog food fumes might be my personal hell.
But it was all worth it, because I got to go to Casa effin Bonita! Yes, that Casa Bonita. This is what Casa Bonita looks like:
Their promotional material states that their restaurant employs over 300 people. I can see why. What follows when you enter the palatial pink chapel is less restaurant and more theme park. To both patrons and staff, the food is almost incidental. You get it out of the way when you enter. You state what you're going to order, then wait in line for it cafeteria style.
There are no good options. They are all terrible. I went with some kind of Beef Lovers Special, on the grounds that no ingredient would kill me if improperly cooked. I also ordered a Margarita/Sangria swirl, on the grounds that some things are so creatively terrible that the only response can be to try them. When confronted with things like jaeger bombs or double fried chicken, the only thing I can do is try them.
The food was awful, as expected. The best thing I can say is that it was over quickly. Ordering the sangriarita was actually a good idea, though. Casa Bonita is normally just for eight year olds, but with the combination of sleep deprivation, the stresses of traveling, and a surprisingly strong drink, you too can regress to a childlike state where tandem cliff diving, a piñata, and a haunted cave the blasts you with compressed air becomes as awesome as it should be!
It was fucking worth it. Due to the aforementioned factors, I really enjoyed the man wandering around in the gorilla suit, and the cliff divers, and the arcade full of games old enough to be from my childhood. And the skiball! And the waterfall inside the building! The only response to CaBo is to vent the excitement of its existence through exclamations.
The waiters don't bother you unless you put up a flag, signalling that you need something. I wish every restaurant had flags like that; it prevents unnecessary communication that only serves to frustrate both of us. Also, the sopapaillas were fresh and smelled amazing. I don't understand how one restaurant can be responsible for cheez whiz nachos, then turn around and give me something so beautiful. Casa Bonita will remain in the seedy part of Denver's suburbs, ever a mystery.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in a post-CaBo coma. Thankfully, I was able to recover in time to go out to Elliot's, an excellent martini bar in Fort Collins. It is a fancy place for fancy people, which made me glad I was not paying for drinks.
I was introduced to Camelia's wonderful friends, got a bit inappropriate on fanciful drinks with matching names, and went home to Camelia's bizarrely comfortable bed, where I got to watch episodes of 30 Rock until I was too tired to think. That was the end of Fort Collins!
Tomorrow: Fort Collins and stuff. I was too tired to form much of an impression of it, so yeah.
I had finished packing by one o'clock in the morning. I woke up every hour, as I do before a trip because I am worried about missing my flight. To my fevered mind the day before a trip, nothing is worse than the prospect of not getting to the airport not just on time, but early, plenty early for whatever is going to transpire. I did not do so much traveling between September 11th, you see, so I have really internalized the fact that some kind of security problem can completely paralyze an airport. I will be prepared, you see, for when someone uses a paper clip and a very small bottle of moisturizer to menace an entire terminal. I will do so by arriving so early that it won't happen until after my plane has left.
I understand that this doesn't make any sense, but whatever, it's my defense mechanism against the stresses of travel and I'm sticking to it. So anyway, I slept poorly. I got there with plenty of time to spare, which guarantees that my trip is going to be great. Bizarrely, it actually did this time! My plane left early and arrived early. There were no screaming children. I sat next to a fellow nerd person who was also playing DS, and didn't have to do any more conversation than give and receive the Man Nod. It was the best flight I ever had.
My first impressions of Colorado, in no particular order: It's hot here. Everyone here is white. That is a lot of sweat pants. How can you wear sweat pants when the airport is so hot. Where do these people shop. I have never seen so many jorts. Ugh. Jorts.
I am so thankful things looked up from there. I was met by the lovely Camelia. She drove me away from Denver via its bowels, or maybe its armpit. There is a Purina puppy chow factory right off the highway there, across from some tract housing. I think living there, inhaling the dog food fumes might be my personal hell.
But it was all worth it, because I got to go to Casa effin Bonita! Yes, that Casa Bonita. This is what Casa Bonita looks like:
Their promotional material states that their restaurant employs over 300 people. I can see why. What follows when you enter the palatial pink chapel is less restaurant and more theme park. To both patrons and staff, the food is almost incidental. You get it out of the way when you enter. You state what you're going to order, then wait in line for it cafeteria style.
There are no good options. They are all terrible. I went with some kind of Beef Lovers Special, on the grounds that no ingredient would kill me if improperly cooked. I also ordered a Margarita/Sangria swirl, on the grounds that some things are so creatively terrible that the only response can be to try them. When confronted with things like jaeger bombs or double fried chicken, the only thing I can do is try them.
The food was awful, as expected. The best thing I can say is that it was over quickly. Ordering the sangriarita was actually a good idea, though. Casa Bonita is normally just for eight year olds, but with the combination of sleep deprivation, the stresses of traveling, and a surprisingly strong drink, you too can regress to a childlike state where tandem cliff diving, a piñata, and a haunted cave the blasts you with compressed air becomes as awesome as it should be!
It was fucking worth it. Due to the aforementioned factors, I really enjoyed the man wandering around in the gorilla suit, and the cliff divers, and the arcade full of games old enough to be from my childhood. And the skiball! And the waterfall inside the building! The only response to CaBo is to vent the excitement of its existence through exclamations.
The waiters don't bother you unless you put up a flag, signalling that you need something. I wish every restaurant had flags like that; it prevents unnecessary communication that only serves to frustrate both of us. Also, the sopapaillas were fresh and smelled amazing. I don't understand how one restaurant can be responsible for cheez whiz nachos, then turn around and give me something so beautiful. Casa Bonita will remain in the seedy part of Denver's suburbs, ever a mystery.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in a post-CaBo coma. Thankfully, I was able to recover in time to go out to Elliot's, an excellent martini bar in Fort Collins. It is a fancy place for fancy people, which made me glad I was not paying for drinks.
I was introduced to Camelia's wonderful friends, got a bit inappropriate on fanciful drinks with matching names, and went home to Camelia's bizarrely comfortable bed, where I got to watch episodes of 30 Rock until I was too tired to think. That was the end of Fort Collins!
Tomorrow: Fort Collins and stuff. I was too tired to form much of an impression of it, so yeah.