Vindicated!

I have long held that Jonathan Franzen is an asshole.
I read The Corrections when it came out. (I'd like to take a moment to note, here, that as of this posting, one could buy a used hardcover from Amazon marketplace for $0.01.)
I've read a lot of his stuff in the New Yorker. I'm not going to argue that he knows how to write.

My point, rather, is that he is an ASSHOLE. This impression comes both from his public antics (ahem, Oprah) and from the occasions when I've been lucky enough to meet him and to listen to the way he answers questions from audience members. It's bad form to get up on stage when you're being paid several thousand dollars to talk for half an hour and mumble, "I wrote this on the train on the way up here." It's silly to cultivate the two-day stubble in all your publicity photos and public appearances. And it's just not nice to interrupt people when they're speaking.

People tend to argue with me. "What did he do to you?" they might ask.
But now, finally, someone agrees with me. I might have to read this book.

GO SEE SNAKES ON A PLANE RIGHT NOW.

Aloe? Anybody home?

When my parents were here, my mom bought me a bunch of plants for the patio. Because she's cool like that. One of them was a mosaic aloe. Nice, because you can basically ignore them, and they're happy.

When I left for Boston, it was just a cute, spiky aloe plant. Low to the ground. Unassuming.

When I came back, it had grown this spike. (see photo.) It wasn't there at all when I left. Not even a hint of a sprout or a shoot. Nothing.

I left on Thursday afternoon and came back on Tuesday evening. The spike, as you can see, is almost two feet tall. All this happened in 5 days.
I asked J if he fertilized my plant while I was gone, and he denied it. So I guess nature is just amazing.
The spike has grown a couple of inches since then, and has buds on it. It's gonna have flowers!

So, not to get all hippy-dippy-earth mothery on you, but I find this to be really beautiful and amazing. It's just a plant, in a pot on my patio, and it made this HUGE spike all by itself in a matter of days. Kinda blows my mind a little.

Boston wins.

Pro:
Scrabble, Trivial Pursiut Booklovers Edition, Monopoly.
Paris Creperie. so good. sooooooo good.
Toscanini's
Cold Stone Creamery Milkshakes
Boston Common
The Silver Line -- I thought I'd hate it, but it worked really well.
Max is an amazing cook.
The Thirsty Scholar. Cause... Curry Fries.
Still remembering where things are in Harvard Square.
Bob Slate Stationers, for carrying Claire Fontaine notebooks in all varieties.
Dunkin Donuts Coffee. (Matt in fact lives in throwing distance of a Dunkie's and a Starbucks.)
Baptiste Yoga -- the original.
Max's sparkly mermaid tattoo.
Matt, Max, and Betsy. And Elana. Good folks.

Con:

Charlie Tickets. I miss tokens. Or at least if they have to go all NYC on us, they could make them so you can use them at all the stations.
Betsy's chemistry test, for stressing her out even though she aced the shit out of it.
The Red Sox losing all the rest of the games they played while I was there. LAME AND A HALF.
Leaving. So sad.





Though leaving did go better than expected. My flight was overbooked, and they called me by name to the podium. Hey, they said, we have an idea for you. Take this flight to LA that's leaving RIGHT NOW, then we'll get you on this flight to phoenix, and you'll get home 2 hours after your original plan. And you can stand by for an earlier flight to phoenix. And here, have a free round-trip ticket anywhere in the US with no blackouts.
I accepted, got on the earlier flight, and got home in decent time, free ticket in hand. I got to watch 2 movies on the plane (since Boston to LA is a 6 hour flight). Mission: Impossible III... bad but in a good way. And Inside Man.
And now I have a free ticket! Woot!

Ask me about my aloe plant... update coming.

Ask them about how to prevent a hangover!

After we drop off the car, we catch a bus to the T station and take the T to Davis Square, where Betsy and Max are meeting some friends from Oberlin at the bar under Redbones BBQ. We get there almost an hour early, but it's not enough time to go home, so we check it out.
It is... extremely crowded. As they apparently serve good food, and its' still arguably dinner time. So after a quick conference, we decide to hit another bar we used to hang in, known for being a bit of a dive, not terribly popular or expensive and hence, unlikely to be crowded. Sligo Pub, ladies and gentlemen. Cash only. They never check IDs. And I don't think I've ever gone there without being hit on.

Sligo has one major advantage, besides cheap beer: the Sox game is on TV. So we grab a table and some beers, and watch. I explain it all to Matt, who is a baseball virgin. We drink up. Good fun.

When the time is right, we head back to Redbones, where we locate the friend in question and order some very tasty margaritas. We manage to stake out some standing room, and chat away. Did I mention that the margaritas are tasty? They're tasy.

Nearly an hour goes by, along with another margarita, when I decide that I'm feeling baseball deprived, so I leave my drink with Betsy and run back across the street to Sligo to check the score. I watch a few minutes, confirm that we're ahead, get hit on, and leave. I report back to the Redbones crew on the status of the game; it's the 7th inning, so I'm gonna have to go back again soon to check in, but it's kind of fun to be hanging out in two bars at the same time. Time to polish off that margarita. Matt discovers that he is a BIG fan of the margarita. Which we agree is a rare fruity drink that isn't girly, because they will knock you on your ass.

When I go back to Sligo for the end of the game, I actually get a beer this time. I'm all about the $2 PBRs, especially if I've already got a few in me. And the Sox win!!! I report to the fam in Philly, then we run back to Redbones and high-five the crowd. Go Sox! (As of this writing, that was the last game the Sox won. Which is pretty tragic.)

One awesome tequila later, we realize that it's getting late-ish, and since we're married to the T to get home, we head out.

I'll spare everyone the details, but suffice to say that by the time we exited the T station, Matt was stumbling, Betsy and their friend Elana were.... no longer digesting the things they had consumed, and Max and I were doing our best to drag/guide/carry them home.

And the bastards woke up all bright and cheery in the morning. All of them.

Note: I sure am glad that all my airline trouble was as minor as it was. Because what's a few hours in a bar compared to not being able to bring a bottle of water and some toothpaste on the plane?

This part involves actual road, not just sky.

My wonderful Daddy picked me up at the airport at 5:30 am. What a guy. He drove me home, and I told him the funny stories of my journey thus far, and we chatted for a while at home, and I ate one of the blueberry muffins that just happened to be around, and then I went to sleep for a little over an hour. He woke me up as he was getting ready to leave for work, and I said goodbye and started to get up myself. I had some breakfast. I packed up stuff that Betsy wanted from home into the car. And I hit the road.
Note: when you cross the line into New Jersey, gas is instantly 30 cents cheaper. 30 cents. I'm not exagerating at all.
After about an hour, I was starting to feel a little groggy, and putting on sing-along music didn't help, so I stopped at the Joyce Kilmer service plaza (it's a good one!) to walk around and get a coffee. I ordered a double tall skim latte -- and then the girl called out "skim latte!" and I was like, "this is double, right?" and she was like "um.... I'm pretty sure I put it in. Not positive. Want me to add another shot?" and I said hell yeah. So I had what I'm pretty sure turned out to be a triple latte, and got back in the car with my yummy audiobook.

Then I made it to Greenwich and had lunch and a swim with Mom and Boz! (Mom goes to Boz, my grandmother/her mother, 's house pretty often to visit and see her favorite hairstylist!) It was a fun little drop-in surprise visit. They suggested I see if Matt wanted to come down on the train for the night and go out to dinner, but after some logistical investigation, that didn't seem feasible. So I took a powernap (25 sweet minutes,) and hit the road again.

Yeah, I know, all this road stuff is a lot less exciting when I'm traveling alone. All I have to say is thank goodness for audible.com and EZpass. And Starbucks. Yeah. That too.

So I made it to Boston with very little trouble. I got off the Mass Pike and onto Storrow drive, no problem. I got off Storrow drive. No problem. I was right in front of the T stop closest to Betsy's house. And then.... somehow... I was in a tunnel on the way to the airport. If you've ever driven in Boston, you will realize that this kind of thing is easy to do, due to the lack of street signs and the proliferation of construction. After a few loops and some cell phone coaching from Max, I finally pulled up in front of their apartment.
Where, it turns out, Matt was waiting on a street corner for me to pick him up.
Betsy ran her stuff and my luggage inside, and then we had to drive to Lexington, where Max's mother lives, and where the car is going to live. Because you can't park it in Boston. On Beacon Hill. Nooooo way.
The four of us start on the drive -- which we actually remember how to do from our moving-in days when we did it all several times in the rented van (the one that Betsy named Vincent. Vincent Van. Go, Vincent Van. Haha. Ha.)
As we're driving through my old neighborhood, we realize how hungry we are, and stop at Anna's for burritoes. Damn that's good.

Hear about the rest of the trip -- including patronizing two bars at the same time, fancy tequila, milkshakes, and lots of board games -- soon!

Back where I belong.

On the road, that is. I went to Boston for a super-weekend (thursday-tuesday) to visit Zabby, Max, and Matt. And had a blast.

Once I finally got there, that is.
So here's what was supposed to happen: walk about 25 minutes to the place where the shuttle van picks up, ride 2 hours on the shuttle van, make it in slightly tight but reasonable timing to the phoenix airport, fly to denver, make a tight but reasonable connection to boston, arrive in boston at midnight, possibly in time to catch the last train/bus on the T back to Matt's place.

Steps 1 and 2 went as planned. I got to the airport, went through security, and found that the flight was slightly delayed. By like, 20 minutes. Which was still probably okay, though they verified that there was a later flight to Boston I could take. That would get in at 5 am. (woo, redeye.)
So then.... that delay is taken care of, and they announce that now there's a weather hold on all traffic to and from Denver.
Then they decide it's going to be lifted very soon, so we board the plane. Then they're like, hmm, nevermind... we can't take off. But here. We'll show you a movie.
Which was Starsky and Hutch.... wonderful dance-off scene involved. I'd seen the last half hour or so already, on the elliptical at the gym, but I didn't see the rest of it, so it was cool.
Only 20 minutes in, we take off. And land in Denver... when there's half an hour of movie left. We literally just got to the part I'd already seen, and then they shut it off. WOOO!
And I get off to discover that.... my plane to Boston JUST left. So I get in this line.
The customer service line. There's a creepy guy from wyoming in front of me who's all like "if we're stuck here... wanna do something?"
The line is moving VERY slowly. I discover that the man behind me in the line is also Boston-bound, and has been informed that that redeye is full. Sold the heck out. They offered to fly him on a redeye to Philly, and then to Boston in the late morning. Um?
So I call my Pop, who's home in Philly, and ask what he'd think about my coming to visit, very briefly. He's like, "Yeah! Oh, and the Sox are winning!" So I start talking to him about the Sox, and then finally, we hang up so I can try to make plans. The man behind me in line wants to hear all about the game, so we chat.
I call Betsy. Because she has a car that's in Philly, but she's interested in having it in Boston.
A plan is born! I can take the redeye to Philly, see Dad for a bit, drive to Greenwich (on the way) to see Mom and Grandmom for a bit, then continue on to Boston. I have a good audiobook (The Heart is a Lonely Hunter). So there we have it. I get them to change my ticket to that arrangement (after over an hour in line) and I'm set. I've got almost 3 hours to kill.

I have to go out to the ticket counter and then back in to get a boarding pass. The chick at the counter is like, "nope, we only have center seats. In the ASS of the plane." and I'm like. hmmm. and she's like "OH. And this exit-row aisle seat near the front." I say, gimmie. And then I go through security.
Where they decide I'm sketchy, apparently, because I just got a ticket for a flight that's soonish. So they make me go in the air puff machine to check for explosives. It's a big booth. And you go in, and they puff air on you. Really hard. It also... closes. So you're in a big phone booth type thing. It scared the crap outta me. And then they took everything out of my bags, and put it back in. Thanks, guys.

Finally make it through... so...
I hit the airport bar.

I notice that there are lots of men and no women. And lots of Red Sox fans. A middle-aged man beside me strikes up conversation. Turns out he lived in Tucson for 20 years! He gives me a coupon for a free appetizer at the restaurant he used to manage. Sweet. I'm finding that this is really FUN. Chatting with people you'll never see again.... just hearing their take on things, wondering where they're going and where they've been... I'm legitimately enjoying myself and being fascinated anew with people in general. Seriously. It's kind of unique.... the odds of seeing these people again are much lower than going to regular bars. And people have built-in excuses to leave, and no chance of actually hooking up, so it's just talk. And I like talk.

And... 4 beers later, I hear over the intercom:
"FRONTEIR AIRLINES PAGING PASSENGER AMY KNIGHT, PLEASE REPORT TO GATE C3 FOR IMMEDIATE DEPARTURE! THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE TO BOARD THE AIRCRAFT!"
I'd never been paged in an airport before. In fact, I'd always kind of wondered... who are these bozos who've already checked in and still almost miss their flights? Me, apparently!
Shit, I think! So I run. And get on. And the already seated passengers applaud. Nice work, Amy. Nice work.

Get on plane, go to sleep, wake up as we're landing in Philly.
I'll tell you about the next leg of the trip when I am more well-rested!