The year in review: a troubled travel log

I've done a fair amount of traveling in the last 6 months. Somehow, it seems I'm managed to acquire some really rotten airport karma. Here's a run-down of all my recent air-related fun and games:

Last April:
Went to Phoenix for my cousin Steve's wedding. No big deal. Very smooth trip, all things considered. A good time was had by all.

Last May:
Went to Baltimore for work for two weeks. Flying out was no problem. Returning to Nashville, I had about a 4 hour delay. At the time, I thought that was horrible. Little did I know what was in store for me... I think this was a Southwest flight.

End of June:
Flew to Reagan National for a job interview. Flying out was no problem. Returning to Nashville, I got to the airport really early because AIR booked my flight for, like, 7:30 at night and my interview was over at 2 pm. By the time 7:30 rolls around, my flight is already delayed until 10:15. When the plane finally arrives at the gate, I'd been in the airport for about 6 hours already... and then they cheerfully announce that they're canceling the flight due to "crew exhaustion." They put me up in a Hilton in Crystal City (a very lovely establishment, really) though they refuse to give me my suitcase. At the time, I couldn't imagine anything worse than this. But luckily, the hotel was across the street from a CVS where I could buy contact solution and deodorant. Yay!. Of course, in my short walk to the drugstore, no less that two low-slung vehicles sidled up next to me and propositioned me (I was not aware that my appearance was so whore-like). Generally, Crystal City isn't such a bad neighborhood in Arlington... but at 1 in the morning, well... I don't recommend walking to CVS in holey jeans and sassy high-healed sandals. The next morning, I went back to Reagan and my flight was delayed another 2 hours but I eventually made it home. I'd found some mascara and a lipgloss (this was pre-lipgloss-confiscation-era) and looked only slightly fuzzy about the head when I got there! I think this was a Continental flight.

Mid August:
I'd found out I'd gotten the job in DC and my mom and I decided to fly back out there so I could spend a couple of days hunting for an apartment. Again, flying out was no problem. We were scheduled to leave the DC area and return to Nashville, but the day before our departure, we got a call from my brother in Tucson that my sister-in-law had gone into labor. Mom and I dropped everything and changed the tickets so we could go to Tucson. We get into the air, leaving from the BWI airport, and we could feel the plane slowing down. That's certainly a strange sensation! The pilot then announced that there was a mysterious light on. So, he diverted us to Dulles. We stayed on the ground for another 2 1/2 hours. We missed our connector in Dallas. This time, the airline puts us up in the worst rathole I could ever have imagined. May I suggest to you, my reader(s?), that you avoid all Homestead Suites at all costs. This hotel was way out in a desolate hotel park quasi-near the DFW airport. There were no drugstores nearby this time. Not even a gas station. And, as the regularly scheduled feminine event befell me about 5 days early that month, I was, let's say, under-prepared. I found myself pleading with a cranky desk attendant for a tampon, saying something along the lines of, "Well, they're YOUR sheets, buddy!" When Mom and I made it up to the room (on a supposedly non-smoking floor) we were less than impressed. It reeked of cigarettes... and yep, I'm miserably allergic (and occasionally enjoy making my smoker friends feel guilty about it). The pillows felt something like day-old polenta. And this flophouse provided one sad little bar of soap... no toothbrush, no shampoo... no tampons, certainly. And obviously, no contact solution or deodorant. And, as they'd recently instituted the fear-o-liquids rule at the airport, I didn't even have a lipgloss-- and no, they didn't give us our suitcases this time either. And it was August. And we'd been trundling about DC looking for a place for me to live all day prior to this misbegotten flight. When we awoke the following morning, I was completely congested due to the smoke and my eyes were swollen shut (from sleeping in contacts, compounding the smoke allergy issue), we both stank like some sad little refugees, I had a pretty good frizz-halo going on, and I was haphazardly shedding my uterine lining. We left the shithole as early as possible and went to the airport where my mom was able to find a delightful Dale Evans t-shirt (we were in Texas afterall) and I finally found a tampon and our re-scheduled flight to Tucson left on time and we finally got to meet my new little nephew (please visit old posts if you need photographic evidence of his enduring cuteness). I know this flight was via American Fucking Airlines. Our return flight was relatively smooth.

Thanksgiving:
Back and forth to Nashville. Everything came and went as planned, thank old Jimmy in heaven. It even worked out that my fabulous friend Bob could pick me up at the airport and hang out at my place for a night... as a little detour on his way back to Nashville from Pennsylvania. Saved me cab fare, even! What a champ, that Bob!

Early-mid December:
Flew to Honolulu for work. The trip out was really long but un-eventful for the most part. The first leg landed me at O'Hare... and,on that flight, I sat next to a curious fellow who kept hinting that he and I should get together and "go clubbing" whenever he visits DC. I found his persistent interest in me a little baffling as I'm pretty sure he was gay. Every time I picked up my book, he'd interrupt to chat. Every time I tried to dose off, he's poke me for some more great chatting. Fortunately, I managed to avoid giving him my email at the end of the flight. On the 9-hour flight from O'Hare to Honolulu, I sat next to a 10-year-old girl from someplace near Toronto. She asked me a lot a questions about American geography as she didn't understand that we had to fly over a whole lotta land between Chicago and the California coast. Then, she and I played cards for a while--Crazy 8s, then War. Then, she made me take all the quizzes in her "Tiger Beat." As it turns out, I should not date my best guy friend, my BFF Style is "supportive" and the right guy for me is the "sweet, sensitive" sort (as opposed to a "Sporty" or an "Artsy"... teen magazines are clearly very nuanced). Obviously, I learned much in my 9 hours trapped with a preteen. The return flight was a red-eye-- what a joy! I left Honolulu last Sunday around 1:30 pm. I got to LAX around 9:30 pm. I left LAX around 11:30 and arrived at O'Hare at 5am--*yawn*. Generally, I prefer sitting on the aisle so I can get off the plane quicker but I highly recommend window seats if you've gotta fly overnight. At some point in the middle of that night, I began thinking that I'd be so much more comfortable if I could just take my very heavy head off and rest it in my lap. My neck had become a real, um, pain in the neck. Quite literally. When I arrived in Chicago, I discovered (oh, tell me that you haven't seen this one coming) my last leg--from O'Hare back to Reagan-- had been canceled. Fortunately, the holiday season had not yet begun in earnest and I was able to get on another flight that left 4 hours later. I finally made it home by about 1 pm on Monday. I took the day off and slept and did laundry to prepare for my Christmas venture, which was scheduled to begin three days later. That was a relatively smooth United flight.

Christmas (the most ill-fated of them all):
On Thursday afternoon, I left work early and went to Reagan airport, with high hopes of reaching Tucson by late that night. When I got there, I learned that my flight to O'Hare was delayed 4 hours (no big deal at this point) due to weather in Chicago. I was thinking, "Hey! At least it's not Denver!" My connector to Tucson was also delayed, so I still had hope that I wouldn't miss it. Roughly 3 hours after the flight had been originally scheduled to leave, the poor bedraggled woman behind the counter announced that all planes heading west of the Mississippi from O'Hare were canceled. I got on my cellphone with an American Airlines dude and he tells me that, if I get on the Chicago flight, I'll be stuck in Chicago for 2 days as there's not another empty seat anywhere until late on Saturday. He says that I can go home and he'd reschedule me to leave from Dulles, go to DFW, then on to Tucson on Friday night... and I agree to this with some misgivings about getting stuck in Dallas again. So, I go home, somewhat furious, have a beer and fire off one nasty-ass blue streak of an email to the American Airlines customer service center. Friday morning, I sleep late (because I'd already told my supervisor at work that I was going to be out of town), did a long yoga practice so as to engender calmness and mindfulness in my upcoming evening of travels, re-packed, took a long cab ride out to Dulles and arrived at the airport good and early for my 7:25 flight. But oh, yes, I soon learned that it, too, was delayed and the dude at the ticket counter assured me that I would miss my connector. By this point, I was really fighting tears and called me mom to ask whether or not I should give up and just skip Christmas this year. She verbally slapped me around and convinced me to forge ahead. When I got to the gate, I spent a long while, first swearing, then crying, then flirting with the gate counter guy while he looked around for another connector to Tucson for me. He kept telling me that I could get to Dallas but that the next available flight wasn't until Christmas Eve afternoon. Ridiculous! According to some news reports I've been listening to lately, the airlines all had this brilliant idea to retire some perfectly functional airplanes, thus thinning out some travel routes, in order to reduce empty seats and increase their earnings. Now, that's great for stock-holders, especially as they've been able to jack up ticket prices by 30+% this holiday season, but what ends up happening is that, if there's any weather issues or other sorts of delays, there's no way to re-book people on other flights. There's just no room for error. And this gate counter guy was telling me that American in particular retired a bunch of brand new TWA planes because the only people who could fly them were former TWA pilots... and so, I've been led to believe that stupid industry politics are responsible for my getting stranded in Dallas for the second time in 4 months. I did, in fact, make it to Dallas last night--- around 1 am--but my ticket got upgraded to first class. And shortly before I boarded, Lawrence, the gate counter dude, came and whispered in my ear that he found an empty seat on a 1:45 pm flight from Dallas to Tucson-- also first class! And this time, when I got to Dallas, however, they put me up in a Westin, bless their little airline hearts! And, because I'd done this a few times, I managed to talk Lawrence into having my suitcase tagged so I could get it off the carousel in Dallas. Oh, how my fellow stranded travelers envied me! So, I got about 5 hours of sleep --with my contacts out-- and was even able to wash my hair with my own shampoo this morning. And I had clean clothes to put on! Imagine! And so, I finally made it to Tucson on Saturday afternoon, as opposed to Thursday night--- I've wasted the lion's share of 3 days in airports, instead of hanging out with my family. But I'm here. And it's Christmas. And I've got loads of wrapping to do before I rest. And loads of wrapping before I rest...

The moral of this story is: Boycott American Airlines. They blow goats. I have photographic proof.

why I'm not posting

Welcome to the North Shore of O'ahu. There were, indeed, surfers, but my camera phone is not so great when it comes to details in the distance. They were remarkable to watch, though.



I hate that this shot is so blurry but it was taken leaning out of the window of our rental Ford Focus. These ripply mountains along the northern side of the island are just incredible. I can't imagine living up there and seeing that every day.


Here's me, looking dorky, but proving that I was here!


Outside my hotel, the city of Honolulu crawls up the mountainsides with its talons. Really, it looks more like a city in Southeast Asia than someplace in my own country.



This was the view off my lanai in my hotel room yesterday afternoon after work. I know it's hard to see but that little streak was a really beautiful rainbow. All the locals told me it's very de rigeur to see them daily. Regardless, I was impressed. By the way, that lumpy business in the background is Diamond Head.

On my Christmas wish list is a real camera. Sorry the pictures suck so badly but they're the best I can do, given all I had was my l'il pink cellphone.

Aloha!

look at that!

My Blogger profile now correctly states that I am 30. So long, decade of financial struggle. So long, post adolescent wasteland.

Now what?

Shades of Frida

When I was home for Thanksgiving, I managed to squeeze in one movie in an actual theatre with Jon. We went to go see Fur, this thing about Diane Arbus, starring Nicole Kidman. It's directed by Steven Shainberg, who also did the adaptation of Mary Gaitskill's short story Secretary. And Secretary is a movie that I really love. It's one of the warmest, yet least sentimental love stories I can remember seeing on film. And it's quirky and tortured and deadpan in a way that makes me happy. Fur, however, takes on the very curious subject matter of ye olde circus freak photographer, Diane Arbus-- and should have been another good, solidly weird movie, especially because it makes a big show of how it's not just another biopic, how it's an imaginary portrait of Arbus' inner life. But I'm convinced that some of the spirit of films like this leaks out when the lead role is filled by someone who is just too damn famous--and famous for being gorgeous. I have nothing against Nicole Kidman... over the years, I have enjoyed several of her movies. However, I remember reading somewhere (the New Yorker, maybe?) when Closer came out that Natalie Portman presented a unique challenge to any director as she was really just growing into her beauty and her womanhood at that moment of the article. The challenge is that, when you're that beautiful, it's hard to keep the movie-- and every shot, every camera angle therein-- from being only about how beautiful the star is. It's like physical attractiveness is so distracting that it's hard for a director, camera and/or audience to focus on anything else. And perhaps the problem is that Kidman never lost her statuesque, willowy Kidman-ness in this part... she's just Nicole in '50s circle skirts and ballet flats. She's just not weird enough to be Arbus! And Shainberg didn't find the same kind of weirdness in her that he did in Maggie Gyllenhaal in Secretary, either, and so, the whole movie suffers.

I think I noted a similar problem in Frida, the Julie Taymor venture with Salma Hayek about Frida Kahlo. I REALLY wanted to like this movie. I think Taymor is a friggin' genius-- her painterly landscape alone in Titus was enough to win me over. I mean, this woman is a professional puppeteer who's got a real oddball sensibility. And, likewise, Frida herself was not exactly mundane or average in any way. And yet, because Hayek was the driving (financial) force behind getting the movie made int he first place, she was cast in the part... and her acting was simply not adequate to pull off anything but a spry, sexy cheerleader version of the limping, unibrowed artist! And so, that movie, too, was a big bore.

All this said, I really do want to see a pretty woman play a good weirdo. I think Cameron Diaz did a bang-up job in Being John Malkovich but, that character hardly had a historical source. And they really had to ugly her up to do it. So, readers, I offer a challenge: Can anyone help me think of a really hot woman playing a convincing freak? A movie in which the camera's problematically male gaze doesn't linger on the candlelit glow of the pretty girl's face for just a little too long? A movie in which the actress can be both pretty and a misfit at the same time... but have the movie not be about the prettiness? I'm sure it exists... but somehow I'm only thinking of more and more examples like Fur and Frida. I feel like I'm running a risk here of sounding like I begrudge these women their beauty.. but that's not really what I'm after. In fact, I think the notion of a drop dead gorgeous, completely loony, idiosyncratic character would be the sort of thing I'd stay up all night thinking about. The idea of a character having a very normal (even an exceptionally appealing) outward persona that is in drastic contrast with said character's inner life... well, I gotta see that movie! And I'm not talking about the beautiful, mysterious, tortured woman. I mean, where's a beautiful freak--perhaps one who enjoys her freakishness, even? Surely... surely it exists.

I wonder if Parker Posey counts?