It is said that Einstein defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. So, after the fiasco getting to the airport in St. Louis, Ed and I have decided to be Responsible Adults- we have set up a plan that will get us to the airport a full hour before our flight is scheduled to take off. We are eager to feel the glorious feeling of walking slowly through the airport, not caring if they want to open our bags at security, and arriving at the gate so early that the boredom eventually builds up to such a maddening level that we finally break down, and, out of sheer desperation, buy Dean Koontz books. We are looking forward to this.
730 a.m.: the plan is working perfectly. We are like Special Ops soldiers, ruthlessly executing the mission plan. We are bathed, packed, and in the car. We are on the correct freeway, heading in the correct direction. All we have to do now is watch for the airport signs.
Since we've still got a bit of a drive (we're on the southernmost outskirts of Salt Lake City), I pop in today's road trip mix. Called 'Wistfulness', it continues the theme of the past few days, of reflection and self-examination, today with a 'path not taken' flavor. It's funny how much difference a year can make- one year ago today I was in LA, serving as a groomsman in JOC's wedding, certain I would be in NYC for another few years, and wondering if I'd ever get back to CA. And now I'm moving to CA to build a business. Oh, and the other groomsman at JOC's wedding: Grossman, whom we'll be seeing tonight in Dallas.
8/26/07: Wistfulness
1) The Fall Guy - Original TV Theme
2) Different Drum - Linda Ronstadt
3) I'm Like a Bird - Nelly Furtado
4) What Have I Done to Deserve This? - The Pet Shop Boys
5) How to Save a Life - The Fray
6) California Dream - Dream Warriors
7) Lost Cause - Beck
8) The Trapeze Swinger - Iron & Wine
9) 1972 - Josh Rouse
10) Eye of the Hurricane - David Wilcox
11) Unwritten - Natasha Bedingfield
12) Losing My Way - Justin Timberlake
13) The Reason - Hoobastank
14) Trenches - Caitlin Canty
15) Mercury - Counting Crows
16) Hey There Delilah - Plain White T's
17) The Last Farewell - Roger Whitaker
18) Aubrey - Bread
19) That Day (Cinema Paradiso) - Karyn Allison
815 a.m.: The signs seem to be indicating that we're on our way to Provo, which is north of Salt Lake. In fact, the downtown is behind us. I ask Ed to consult the atlas and verify the exit number we just passed is still before the airport.
It isn't.
In fact, we seem to have overshot it by a hefty margin. But we were watching the signs the whole way! I get off at the first available exit, and commence doubling back. This time Ed and I are both watching exit numbers, using the atlas as a guide. We get off at the exit that the map seems to indicate will lead us to the airport. We still haven't seen a SINGLE sign for the airport on the highway.
[Flashback:
Salt Lake City airport has always been something of an unexpected headache for me to get to. The summer after sophomore year in college, I attended a ballroom dance camp at BYU, in Provo, Utah. Now, for all you readers out there who are sniggering right now, especially the male ones, especially MK, at the thought of attending a dance camp, let me just say that competitive ballroom dancing requires an incredible level of fitness, and in the case of the Latin dances, an incredibly minuscule amount of clothing. There were hot women all over the place. It was like heaven- only run by Mormons, so you're not allowed to have any of what normal people would consider fun, and you have to be really happy all the time. Only the Jews have more complicated rules for how to live day-to-day than the Mormons do. But, as compensation, Jews are allowed to be miserable.
Anyway, I was in St. Louis for the summer, so I asked my dad, for my birthday, to buy my ticket to and from Salt Lake, which he did. It so happened that Laszlo had come out to St. Louis for a visit, and we were flying out at almost the same time, so my mom dropped us off at the airport in St. Louis together.
Now, I had never been to Salt Lake City before, so that morning when I looked at my ticket closely for the first time, to verify my departure time, and it said "St. Paul" on it, I just assumed that's what they called the airport in Salt Lake. Like we call ours Lambert St. Louis International Airport, maybe they call theirs St. Paul airport in Salt Lake. I mean, who knows what kooky things those Mormons do.
So when Laszlo and I walked up to the ticket counter to check in, I had the following exchange with the ticket agent:
Agent: "Hi. Where are you headed today?"
Me (handing ticket): "Salt Lake City."
Agent (frowning): "Your ticket says you're going to St. Paul."
Me: "Yeah. Uh, that's not what they call the airport in Salt Lake City, Utah?"
Agent: "No, that's what they call the airport in St. Paul, Minnesota."
Me: "Uh oh."
At this point, I'm thinking, WTF?!?! I mean, why the hell did my dad buy me a ticket to St. Paul? WHO GOES TO ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA????? Answer: NO ONE. I bet half the population of Minneapolis has never been to St. Paul. And it's not like "St. Paul" and "Salt Lake" sound that much alike. (Oh, you wanted to go to Columbia? I thought you said, Colombia!)
This being 1991, it was still 4 years before I would have my first credit card, and 12 years before I would have my first cell phone, so I was screwed. Fortunately, Laszlo was there and had a credit card, so he bought me a ticket right there at the counter, at whatever price they were asking, presumably somewhere between 2 and 3 million dollars. It was pre-9/11, so brown people like me could still buy a same-day ticket while looking nervous and stressed out, all without having to undergo a body cavity search and preemptive waterboarding.
In the end, thanks to Laszlo, I did manage to make a flight, and arrive safely into Salt Lake City airport. But not without a lot of stress. So I probably should have seen all this coming...]
The exit puts us on a road which seems to be circumnavigating the airport. But we can at least see the airport now, so we figure the road should get us in eventually. We continue to follow the road around the perimeter of the airport.
845 a.m.: The road has terminated at a checkpoint with an armed guard. He informs us that we cannot enter the airport complex from here; in fact, we must backtrack ALL THE WAY back to the highway, and then take a different exit.
846 a.m.: I am doing 95 mph on the surface streets back to the highway. Our flight takes off in 44 minutes.
900 a.m.: we have dropped off the rental car and are hightailing it for the terminal.
910 a.m.: we are in the line for security.
912 a.m.: they have stopped Ed and are searching his bag. Really, I should not be surprised by this at this point.
918 a.m.: We are at the gate. The last few people are still filing onto the plane, so although we're going to be last to board _again_, we won't be noticeably last, and there's still 12 minutes until takeoff, so Ed and I congratulate each other on improving our airport arrival performance over St. Louis.
Baby steps, people. It's all about baby steps.
922 a.m.: this just in! Two other people just got on the plane, so we're _not_ the last ones after all. This prompts an additional round of high-fiving and mutual congratulations.
We are scheduled to fly to Denver, and then catch a connecting flight into Dallas. The flight to Denver goes smoothly, but then the connecting flight to Dallas is delayed an hour. We had a pretty long layover as it was, and it's looking like we will be damned to another Dean Koontz hell, but then we are granted a reprieve, in the form of the UCLA women's volleyball team. You know how they put mirrors by elevators, so that you're distracted and don't notice how much time the elevator is taking? Placing a women's volleyball team at the adjacent gate in the airport accomplishes a similar effect.
Well, okay, it accomplishes a slightly different effect...
But we do finally get to Dallas, get our rental car, and head off to see Chris and Grossman. We have a good time chatting with them for a couple hours, before heading out to the Rangers game. Originally, they were scheduled to come with us, but in the intervening time Chris has developed a case of pregnancy that has rendered her unable to drink any beer, which for her is a key component of enjoying baseball. And Grossman, in an act of stunning empathy that I make a mental note to mock him for mercilessly at some point in the future when there aren't any women around, decides to stay home with his pregnant wife rather than come to the game with us.
[And that, friends, is why Grossman, who is the same age as I am, has a beautiful house, a beautiful wife, and a (presumably) beautiful baby girl on the way, while I will later tonight go downstairs to sleep alone on my air mattress (borrowed from Laura), that sits on box springs (donated by Laszlo). But not until I finish writing this post, on the glass tabletop (given to me by Cara), while sitting in the comfy leather chair (borrowed from JOC) wrapped in my nifty Geometric Blanket (knit by Chris), and also not until I eat my dinner on this dining table (that belongs to my landlord). And by "dinner", what I mean is, whatever I can concoct using the current contents of my refrigerator, which are, in no particular order, water, slowly curdling milk, margarine, 3 limes, a handful of shallots, bacon, raspberry jam, half a jar of maraschino cherries, and a coconut. Oh, and in an unexpected surprise, at the back of the bottom shelf a little to-go box with two pieces of beer-battered fried fish- from two weeks ago. But back to the story...]
It is, once again, a beautiful day for a ballgame, and the Rangers do win, though not before the Mariners score in the top of the ninth, to make it interesting...
The view from outside...
...and inside.
Our seats are once again awesome- we're right behind the first base dugout. That gives us some great views of:
Ichiro! He's so good. And they named a sushi restaurant after him, right around the corner from my old apt. in NYC.
Sammy Sosa! He hit career homer #605 tonight, 430 ft. into the left field stands.
It was an enjoyable game. Chris and Grossman offered to let us crash with them tonight, but I've got an Idea. This from Ed: "After the game, we head north to Oklahoma even though our next destination is New Orleans.
Rejected ideas for the state sign include: "Oklahoma- Your Trail of Tears Ends Here."
You see, Gus has agreed to go through Oklahoma, to Arkansas, and down through Mississippi because I haven't been to any of those states (nor have I been to Louisiana). The plan is to get to Graceland in Memphis tomorrow, and then drive hard to get to New Orleans by nightfall so we can go out. We stop in Oklahoma for the night."
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