Really?

Liza is a celebrity!

I thought I'd just dump out a sampling of my brain right now. My mantra is not 'ohm,' or some self-encouraging statement; I consistently find myself saying, whether internally or audibly, "Really?" Life is just too weird on all fronts to go unquestioned.

There is a reason that I asked for, and received (thank you, Greg's family!), a digital camera for Christmas. OK, two reasons: one is that I refuse to succumb to popular thinking and utilize a person-to-person speaking device (read 'phone') as an image recording device (read 'camera'). Sure, it's handy, but I like to keep my electronica separate. Two is that I see and am amazed by/appalled at so many things these days, I simply must document and rave about them in such a forum as this.


The first photo is a truck that Greg and I saw on a recent trip to Memphis. The owner thereof, or a personage somehow connected to him/her, has so kindly explained the reason for the ridiculously lowered bed by writing in the dust on the back window. I expect that the owner has had no recent good luck drag racing, or he/she would have made a multitude of upgrades to this vehicle, or replaced it entirely.


Moving on. The item pictured above was recently discovered in the home of a man who is keeping his 19-year-old cats alive longer than nature intended. Who knew that such products existed, and who would really want to make use of them? My final and most pressing question is - did the marketing department of Pfizer Industries think that using a faux-French name made this concoction more acceptable or less gross? Come on.


I'm staying in Providence, Rhode Island, at the moment. As I was making coffee in the room, I discovered an interesting and uniquely compelling advertising technique. On the back of the sugar packets were picturesque scenes, complete with the no-nonsense marketing slogan, "Visit Scenic New England." Now if only these were available in, say, truck stops across the Mid-West, I'm sure people would flock here in droves. Alas, they seemed to be preaching to the choir.


Lastly, the boom of the spring was a book called 'The Secret.' I heard Oprah tell Larry King about it, heard that friends of friends were reading it, even saw an article in People saying how it had changed lives. It's mantra? "Ask, believe, receive." According to the author, who is pictured above, one must think positive thoughts to will goodness and prosperity into being. My thoughts? She should definitely ask for, and hopefully receive, some fashion and cosmetic surgical advice. Unless she's claiming to have recently returned from the underworld to write her book, I cannot take her seriously.

View from the Top

I just watched the movie of the same name and it made my job seem so glamorous! Unfortunately, the only flying I've been doing in the last three weeks has been in a passenger seat, looking like a poser - in uniform, but reading a magazine. Still, they pay me to do this, so I'm not complaining.

Since my last six-day reserve block, Greg and I 'did' the Baltimore/D.C. area for a fun, whirlwind weekend. On Friday, at Baltimore's Inner Harbor, we visited the U.S.S. Constellation, a working replica of the last all-sail naval vessel, and one that was used to hunt down slaving ships. I will say that it is true to history, as I hit my head not once, not twice, but three times on the low support beams. People of yore were mighty short. Also, one's peripheral vision is somewhat obscured when wearing a hat with a brim. We also toured the World War II submarine U.S.S. Torsk, which sunk the last German vessel of the war. You and 29 friends can spend the night aboard for the low, low price of $900 if you wish to subject yourself to inhumanely small bunks and no working toilets (that I saw; I could be wrong). It was also quite warm. Here is Greg, trying unsuccessfully to gain entrance to a side door at the National Archives. That was the theme of the day; since it was a Saturday, all the fun stuff was packed or closed, and the gaggles of children woefully under-chaperoned made even navigating the sidewalks difficult.

That night, we dined on Kobe beef steak at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse in Arlington, overlooking the Reagan International Airport and pretending to be much more important than we actually are. I always remind myself when visiting such places that rich people are not always well mannered or well dressed (Pretty Woman, anyone?) and that as long as I am polite, I need not feel out of place. Sunday, we toured the Fairfax IKEA (sidenote: it was pretty much the same as the IKEAs we've visited in in Burbank, Chicago, Dallas, and Atlanta. Nevertheless, Greg intends to personally investigate every one in the continental U.S.) and had Baja Fresh! Thanks to Greg's former co-worker Brian and his wife Tracy for hosting us and sharing their Metro passes. Speaking of the Metro, I was a bit unsettled at an ad campaign I noticed. Pictured at left is one of many signs I saw; it is a thinly-veiled attempt to encourage people to have inflatable bicycles in their metro-satchels in the inevitable event of another 9/11. As I prefer to ignore future disasters, this did not appeal to me.

On a lighter note, pictured below is Greg's boss Charlie, who has a Harley. Comin' atcha fast!


I'm still sitting in Baltimore, now having fulfilled my monthly requirement (5) of sitting in the airport lounge for five consecutive hours and then returning to my crashpad to unpack again. What does everyone else have planned for their summers?

All This Time

Someone please buy me this t-shirt. I'm sure if I had paid more attention in twelfth-grade calculus with the wonderful Mrs. Wayland, I would understand the algorithmic process that dictates the manner in which reserve crew members are called to work a trip, sit at the airport in hopes of a no show/sick person/delayed flight, or are not contacted at all. Alas, I am utterly baffled at having been on call for nearly a week and having received no assignments.

In response to Liza's question, I pull out the entire bag of Oreos and begin dipping them into my 2% milk by halves, then quarters, until the milk is gone. My stomach protests in the morning, so I salve it with oatmeal. And Lyd, HAPPY ANNIVERSARY a few days late and HAPPY BIRTHDAY a few days later than that. I am a terrible friend who has packed up my all-knowing calendar so much in the last year that important dates are biting me from behind, and they hurt. My apologies to all my peeps.

It's the last day of my six-day block of reserve; I have sat at the airport until closing time (between 10 and 10.30) on four different evenings, which is only one less than my contractual obligation for the entire month. Let me clarify, however, that I am not annoyed/disillusioned/angry. I am very thankful to have a job.

Might I recommend to the world in general that you (and I mean YOU) should watch every short movie in the Thumb series by Steve Oedekerk? Most of them are searchable on YouTube or Google Video, but for quick reference, I've posted Bat Thumb below. It is about 28 minutes long, but you'll not want to stop once you start!

Waiting...

I have eaten more Oreos in the last 24 hours than I care to admit; I must learn that my new job is not a weird extended vacation during which I can behave immaturely with no regard for my health or well-being.

Upon arriving in Baltimore yesterday evening, I walked nearly a mile to the farmer's market to purchase a cantaloupe for a fellow commuter. As I did left bicep curls using said melon upon walking back, I passed an early-90's model Ford Escort hatchback that was utilizing The Club in a lovely shade of camouflage. Did the owner think this made his anti-theft device invisible? That would seem to defeat its purpose altogether.

I also passed a church preschool sign that was written in those kid-like letters, a la those For Dummies books. It made me think for a second that it read instead 'Preschool for Dummies' and I wondered how many parents would sign their kids up for such a thing.

My yesterday:
6.30 a.m. - wake up, pack, and drive to St. Louis.
10.45 a.m. - arrive at gate to learn that the last jumpseat on the plane had been taken only minutes before; immediately secure the last available jumpseat on a flight to Chicago.
12.00 p.m. - arrive Chicago, get sandwich from Potbelly, board flight to Baltimore.
4ish p.m. - arrive Baltimore, talk to multiple classmates in the crew lounge, catch train to crashpad.
6 p.m. - walk to farmer's market, have illuminating, hilarious revelations chronicled above.
10 p.m. - get in bed anticipating a 3 a.m. wake-up call from crew scheduling.


My today (first day of Ready Reserve, a 24-hour on-call schedule):
9.30 a.m. - awaken, glad that it was natural and not via ringer.
9.31 a.m. until 3.30 p.m. - sit around crashpad eliminating spam from inbox, eating too much (including Oreos) and watching back-to-back episodes of True Hollywood Stories on E!
while battling intense feelings of self-loathing for not being 'productive.'
3.30 p.m. - receive call from crew scheduling requesting that I sit airport standby; dress and schlep all my stuff to train; sit in lounge until 10.30. Watch Outbreak with fellow crew, update blog.

I keep reminding myself that I am getting paid to sit around and do 'nothing' and am therefore still a contributing member of society. I just hope no one finds out...