Travel Log, March 10th and 11th
It was the night of March tenth that I had made it into Rochester with little pomp and circumstance. A quiet night of sitting at my father's house getting and giving plenty of attention to and from the dogs there was all that I really had to look forward to. Of course, the first thing I did when I got in was get online - I mean, in all fairness, I hadn't been able to read my political blogs and check my e-mail in over 6 hours. I was deprived. Nobody was there save the pups, and for some odd reason it was warmly comforting. To my father's credit, I wasn't supposed to be home for another hour.
The house was as I remembered from my trip back over Christmas Break. The Kitchen, also the primary family area of the house is the first room one encounters if they enter through the garage. The Kitchen Table, circular, had three faux Baroque chairs surrounding it with small, green cushions and tall, arching backs, only numbering three now because both Mike, my step brother, and I had made tracks to college. The newly redone marble countertop just a short reach from the table and also the main stage for preparation of dinner time delicacies was, as usual, adorned with a wide variety of letters, articles, and other assorted trash. My stomach was grumbling for not having eaten for about 8 hours time, so I reached for an orange (which was in plain view) and some tortilla chips (conveniently placed out of common view on the top of the refrigerator) and had a makeshift dinner. I soon thereafter came back to the recliner in the living room - set up with my father's prized home theater system along with several of my stepmother's articles of classic and modern art. The house was best described as an interior decorators nightmare - being that it was a house in confused flux, trying to accomodate the new along with the old, and surprisingly it all fit well together, though about as simply as a 3-D, 5000 piece puzzle. I was home.
Half an hour after arriving my step sister came home from what I could only at that time guess was a long afternoon of work. We had a short exchange of words before she left to prepare for whatever adventures awaited her that evening. To be perfectly honest, I didn't care one way or another really.
Just shy of nine (about an hour after I had arrived) in the evening my dad and his wife arrived home. Kia, my step mother, rushed for the bathroom, leaving the door open and from there let her flatulence be known throughout the household and following what one can only assume her dropping the kids off at the pool. My dad walked calmly over to the countertop, not even noticing me in the recliner of the relatively unlit living room. He began shuffling through the articles and it wasn't only until I gave a cough to illicit attention from him did he notice me sprawled out on the recliner, laptop at hand along with a plate of his tortilla chips. A pizza was ordered, conversation concerning school and pleasantries ensued, and soon both my father and Kia were off to bed. I was off to bed shortly myself after them, but not before watching an episode of "The Tick" on television - a show which I had not watched in some time. It was very funny.
I soon retired to the guest bedroom in the basement and allowed Keith Olbermann of MSNBC to lull me into a false sense of faith in our National Security and quickly drifted off to sleep.
I don't know if it was due to the disturbingly grand collection of "The Oprah Magazine" lying next to the bed or the simpler fact that I was not used to the bed, but I didn't sleep all to well that night. By the time I was able to drag my sorry self out of bed it was already 9:30, which, in all fairness, is about 4 hours earlier than I would normally drag my sorry self out of bed on any other Saturday. I showered, cleaned up, dressed for the day, made up my inhospitable bed, and went upstairs.
The area was surprisingly quiet for a Saturday morning, but I wasn't about to say anything. My dad was watching a PBS program about a glass artist which was actually quite intriguing. Blown and shaped glass has always been an interest of mine, not in the sense that I'd want to do it, but more that I've always found it incredibly gorgeous and intricate as opposed to other forms of art. I wasted the better part of the remainder of the morning surfing the web and preparing for my next trek eastward. I was going to visit my grandparents out in Dayton Ohio, but due to the strangely late itinerary I wasn't going to begin flying out that direction until about seven that evening. Plans were set that we'd leave Rochester at about four that afternoon to be able to make the Minneapolis flight, so I had plenty of time to just putz around and basically do whatever the hell I felt like. I was originally reading up on the increasing furvor over the supposed Bird Flu pandemic, but quickly grew tired of such fear mongering and decided to continue reading "Guns Germs and Steel" by Jared Diamond. I figured at the time that I really ought to have been reading more of "The Dharma Bums", but couldn't bring myself to read it. I didn't have the mental stamina to go through any more of that book, and likely wouldn't for a few more days.
The day went by as such, with spurs of feminine chatter about who's boobs were biggest amongst Maija and her friends, but soon enough the time came for departure to go up to the cities. Dad, Kia, and I all packed up into the SUV-ish car that Kia owns (funnily enough, manufactured by a car company sporting the same name) and we were off through the thawed, brown countryside.
The trip was ripe with conversation, ranging from the recent court cases between my father and mother concerning spousal support, to what my sister, Hannah, was up to, further on to how much of a Nazi our president is, and how it could be possible he is still in office, to finish up with interesting stories of childhood, all in the span of the hour and fifteen minutes, accompanied by odd smells of oil refineries and elk farms.
It was about five-thirty in the evening when I actually made it to the airport and gave my farewells to both father and Kia even though the trip was only going to be for several days. My ticket was e-printed, so I had no need of checking in. Cutting through security was a lot quicker than I had remembered of earlier trips, and left me rather surprised considering it was still the beginning of Spring Break, and speaking of which there was a sore lack of extreme "hotties" for me to ogle on the way to gate A13, service to Dayton Ohio. The one point worth noting was the Security dude working the metal detector. He was an older fellow with what was obviously a lot more enthusiasm than the rest of his co-workers. When he looked at my ticket he looked back up at me with a grin, asking...
"Are you Dayton?"
I, shocked by the fact anyone at all was talking to me, shook my head promptly saying, "No, I'm Benjamin."
The old man laughed and said, "No, are you (datin')?"
Finally having caught on I chuckled and exclaimed, "No. I have no such luck with women."
The old man gave a shrug and said, "Could've fooled me. You've got a glint in your eyes that would've belied that fact."
"That's obviously my zest for life sir. Have a good one sir." And so I went off to observe the terminal and meander towards my gate.
All I had to soothe my travel worries was a personal-pan cheese pizza courtesy of $4.87 and the swell folks at Godfather's Pizza, who, for whatever reason I cannot even begin to surmise, were rather disgruntled. Honestly, they should've been ecstatic with the line of 20 people I had waited through. Along with the obese woman harassing them, they should've been in a much merrier mood. Oh well - capitalism escapes me anyway so I promptly left the figuring of those folks to the philosophers and continued on my own merry way.
It wasn't long before I made it to my gate, and, to my despair, there were no more seats in the lobby to enjoy, so I took a seat by the moving walkway i had just been on to get over to the gate and began playing games on my computer. I ate my pizza somewhat contentedly, recognizing that it wasn't completely cooked, and waited patiently for the gate to open to let on the rest of us soon to be sardines.
Getting on the plane was easy enough. Hell, getting in my seat was even easier - all I had to do was flop down on it. The best part was that I looked around, and to everyone else's disgust I was one of the few passengers who did not have to sit next to someone. I gladly sprawled out in my new domain, lording over the space as any good large, white american male would, and relished in the room I was being provided. Just then finishing up on the level I was working on prior to boarding, I closed up my computer, stowing it along with my briefcase earnestly expecting takeoff. If only all had been so simple.
The plane rolled away from the gate and was preparing to taxi, getting all the way to the runway just waiting for run clearance, when one of the pilots came over the intercom saying that it would only be a matter of time before liftoff. 10 minutes later the same pilot came over the intercom, proclaiming that he and the co-pilot had been testing some of the devices onboard and found that a de-icer or some such rubbish was not functioning properly. I wasn't sure if it was all the good karma I had been working up or if it was Grandma more than likely fervently praying for my safe flight, but the entire group of passengers had just averted nearly certain peril. As much as I was thankful that I wasn't going to die that night, I was also rather perplexed why said mechanisms weren't tested earlier, and for that matter that I was still going to have to wait for the next available flight. It was turning out that it was going to be a long night, and I hadn't gotten a very good night's rest prior.
The flight was redirected to launch from gate C20, and during the transfer over I made a rather astute observation. I'm sure most are willing to attest to this, but when a flight is delayed the passengers of that flight tend to become more talkative and chummy amongst themselves. I've been on twenty or more flights in my life, and the only thing that manages to dispel this newfound bond between passengers is a loud, obnoxious, crying baby, which we also happened to have onboard. Things just sort of go to hell from there. To top it off the greater majority of the passengers had to wait for two overweight older women to get on board since they decided to go grab snacks. Interestingly enough, one of the two ladies was the same lady who was giving the employees at the Pizza shop a hard time. One of the male passengers behind me grumbled, "Goddamned fat bitch..." and I had no choice but to chuckle in agreement.
The only reassurance that we, the passengers of that flight, had for our understanding wait was that drinks that night would be free. Though, through my seemingly strengthening sense of observation all the drinks that were offered were ones that would normally be considered complimentary. You know the beverages I'm talking about - water, coffee, a few brands of pop, and various fruit juices. Not even some Bloody Mary mix. What a crock of shit that was.
The stewardess dolling out the goods was, likely during her "stewardessing" prime quite a looker, but now her failing skin and overly bleached hair weighed to tell that they had seen better days. Everyone accepted their "free" beverages well except for myself, in that I, being the ass that I was, had to give her a hard time. I demanded a glass of crisp cold water along with two glasses of hot water along with some tea. Adventurous, I know, but I had to fight back against the man somehow, and it was only an hour and a half long flight. We had left at about nine and were looking at an eleven-thirty arrival time, along with some serious chop along the way.
All in all, the flight ended well, arriving in muggy Dayton Ohio around eleven thirty their time, a whole hour and a half behind schedule. My grandpa was waiting at the exit for me with a grin that is very characteristic of him and his shrinking, elderly self, and with a cough to clear his throat said, "Welcome!"
Can I be done now? I've lost the will to write any further...
If I don't get a friggun "A" for this mess I am gunna be pissed.
The house was as I remembered from my trip back over Christmas Break. The Kitchen, also the primary family area of the house is the first room one encounters if they enter through the garage. The Kitchen Table, circular, had three faux Baroque chairs surrounding it with small, green cushions and tall, arching backs, only numbering three now because both Mike, my step brother, and I had made tracks to college. The newly redone marble countertop just a short reach from the table and also the main stage for preparation of dinner time delicacies was, as usual, adorned with a wide variety of letters, articles, and other assorted trash. My stomach was grumbling for not having eaten for about 8 hours time, so I reached for an orange (which was in plain view) and some tortilla chips (conveniently placed out of common view on the top of the refrigerator) and had a makeshift dinner. I soon thereafter came back to the recliner in the living room - set up with my father's prized home theater system along with several of my stepmother's articles of classic and modern art. The house was best described as an interior decorators nightmare - being that it was a house in confused flux, trying to accomodate the new along with the old, and surprisingly it all fit well together, though about as simply as a 3-D, 5000 piece puzzle. I was home.
Half an hour after arriving my step sister came home from what I could only at that time guess was a long afternoon of work. We had a short exchange of words before she left to prepare for whatever adventures awaited her that evening. To be perfectly honest, I didn't care one way or another really.
Just shy of nine (about an hour after I had arrived) in the evening my dad and his wife arrived home. Kia, my step mother, rushed for the bathroom, leaving the door open and from there let her flatulence be known throughout the household and following what one can only assume her dropping the kids off at the pool. My dad walked calmly over to the countertop, not even noticing me in the recliner of the relatively unlit living room. He began shuffling through the articles and it wasn't only until I gave a cough to illicit attention from him did he notice me sprawled out on the recliner, laptop at hand along with a plate of his tortilla chips. A pizza was ordered, conversation concerning school and pleasantries ensued, and soon both my father and Kia were off to bed. I was off to bed shortly myself after them, but not before watching an episode of "The Tick" on television - a show which I had not watched in some time. It was very funny.
I soon retired to the guest bedroom in the basement and allowed Keith Olbermann of MSNBC to lull me into a false sense of faith in our National Security and quickly drifted off to sleep.
I don't know if it was due to the disturbingly grand collection of "The Oprah Magazine" lying next to the bed or the simpler fact that I was not used to the bed, but I didn't sleep all to well that night. By the time I was able to drag my sorry self out of bed it was already 9:30, which, in all fairness, is about 4 hours earlier than I would normally drag my sorry self out of bed on any other Saturday. I showered, cleaned up, dressed for the day, made up my inhospitable bed, and went upstairs.
The area was surprisingly quiet for a Saturday morning, but I wasn't about to say anything. My dad was watching a PBS program about a glass artist which was actually quite intriguing. Blown and shaped glass has always been an interest of mine, not in the sense that I'd want to do it, but more that I've always found it incredibly gorgeous and intricate as opposed to other forms of art. I wasted the better part of the remainder of the morning surfing the web and preparing for my next trek eastward. I was going to visit my grandparents out in Dayton Ohio, but due to the strangely late itinerary I wasn't going to begin flying out that direction until about seven that evening. Plans were set that we'd leave Rochester at about four that afternoon to be able to make the Minneapolis flight, so I had plenty of time to just putz around and basically do whatever the hell I felt like. I was originally reading up on the increasing furvor over the supposed Bird Flu pandemic, but quickly grew tired of such fear mongering and decided to continue reading "Guns Germs and Steel" by Jared Diamond. I figured at the time that I really ought to have been reading more of "The Dharma Bums", but couldn't bring myself to read it. I didn't have the mental stamina to go through any more of that book, and likely wouldn't for a few more days.
The day went by as such, with spurs of feminine chatter about who's boobs were biggest amongst Maija and her friends, but soon enough the time came for departure to go up to the cities. Dad, Kia, and I all packed up into the SUV-ish car that Kia owns (funnily enough, manufactured by a car company sporting the same name) and we were off through the thawed, brown countryside.
The trip was ripe with conversation, ranging from the recent court cases between my father and mother concerning spousal support, to what my sister, Hannah, was up to, further on to how much of a Nazi our president is, and how it could be possible he is still in office, to finish up with interesting stories of childhood, all in the span of the hour and fifteen minutes, accompanied by odd smells of oil refineries and elk farms.
It was about five-thirty in the evening when I actually made it to the airport and gave my farewells to both father and Kia even though the trip was only going to be for several days. My ticket was e-printed, so I had no need of checking in. Cutting through security was a lot quicker than I had remembered of earlier trips, and left me rather surprised considering it was still the beginning of Spring Break, and speaking of which there was a sore lack of extreme "hotties" for me to ogle on the way to gate A13, service to Dayton Ohio. The one point worth noting was the Security dude working the metal detector. He was an older fellow with what was obviously a lot more enthusiasm than the rest of his co-workers. When he looked at my ticket he looked back up at me with a grin, asking...
"Are you Dayton?"
I, shocked by the fact anyone at all was talking to me, shook my head promptly saying, "No, I'm Benjamin."
The old man laughed and said, "No, are you (datin')?"
Finally having caught on I chuckled and exclaimed, "No. I have no such luck with women."
The old man gave a shrug and said, "Could've fooled me. You've got a glint in your eyes that would've belied that fact."
"That's obviously my zest for life sir. Have a good one sir." And so I went off to observe the terminal and meander towards my gate.
All I had to soothe my travel worries was a personal-pan cheese pizza courtesy of $4.87 and the swell folks at Godfather's Pizza, who, for whatever reason I cannot even begin to surmise, were rather disgruntled. Honestly, they should've been ecstatic with the line of 20 people I had waited through. Along with the obese woman harassing them, they should've been in a much merrier mood. Oh well - capitalism escapes me anyway so I promptly left the figuring of those folks to the philosophers and continued on my own merry way.
It wasn't long before I made it to my gate, and, to my despair, there were no more seats in the lobby to enjoy, so I took a seat by the moving walkway i had just been on to get over to the gate and began playing games on my computer. I ate my pizza somewhat contentedly, recognizing that it wasn't completely cooked, and waited patiently for the gate to open to let on the rest of us soon to be sardines.
Getting on the plane was easy enough. Hell, getting in my seat was even easier - all I had to do was flop down on it. The best part was that I looked around, and to everyone else's disgust I was one of the few passengers who did not have to sit next to someone. I gladly sprawled out in my new domain, lording over the space as any good large, white american male would, and relished in the room I was being provided. Just then finishing up on the level I was working on prior to boarding, I closed up my computer, stowing it along with my briefcase earnestly expecting takeoff. If only all had been so simple.
The plane rolled away from the gate and was preparing to taxi, getting all the way to the runway just waiting for run clearance, when one of the pilots came over the intercom saying that it would only be a matter of time before liftoff. 10 minutes later the same pilot came over the intercom, proclaiming that he and the co-pilot had been testing some of the devices onboard and found that a de-icer or some such rubbish was not functioning properly. I wasn't sure if it was all the good karma I had been working up or if it was Grandma more than likely fervently praying for my safe flight, but the entire group of passengers had just averted nearly certain peril. As much as I was thankful that I wasn't going to die that night, I was also rather perplexed why said mechanisms weren't tested earlier, and for that matter that I was still going to have to wait for the next available flight. It was turning out that it was going to be a long night, and I hadn't gotten a very good night's rest prior.
The flight was redirected to launch from gate C20, and during the transfer over I made a rather astute observation. I'm sure most are willing to attest to this, but when a flight is delayed the passengers of that flight tend to become more talkative and chummy amongst themselves. I've been on twenty or more flights in my life, and the only thing that manages to dispel this newfound bond between passengers is a loud, obnoxious, crying baby, which we also happened to have onboard. Things just sort of go to hell from there. To top it off the greater majority of the passengers had to wait for two overweight older women to get on board since they decided to go grab snacks. Interestingly enough, one of the two ladies was the same lady who was giving the employees at the Pizza shop a hard time. One of the male passengers behind me grumbled, "Goddamned fat bitch..." and I had no choice but to chuckle in agreement.
The only reassurance that we, the passengers of that flight, had for our understanding wait was that drinks that night would be free. Though, through my seemingly strengthening sense of observation all the drinks that were offered were ones that would normally be considered complimentary. You know the beverages I'm talking about - water, coffee, a few brands of pop, and various fruit juices. Not even some Bloody Mary mix. What a crock of shit that was.
The stewardess dolling out the goods was, likely during her "stewardessing" prime quite a looker, but now her failing skin and overly bleached hair weighed to tell that they had seen better days. Everyone accepted their "free" beverages well except for myself, in that I, being the ass that I was, had to give her a hard time. I demanded a glass of crisp cold water along with two glasses of hot water along with some tea. Adventurous, I know, but I had to fight back against the man somehow, and it was only an hour and a half long flight. We had left at about nine and were looking at an eleven-thirty arrival time, along with some serious chop along the way.
All in all, the flight ended well, arriving in muggy Dayton Ohio around eleven thirty their time, a whole hour and a half behind schedule. My grandpa was waiting at the exit for me with a grin that is very characteristic of him and his shrinking, elderly self, and with a cough to clear his throat said, "Welcome!"
Can I be done now? I've lost the will to write any further...
If I don't get a friggun "A" for this mess I am gunna be pissed.