Imperiled

Although it is not in the shape of Yemen (see this cool Cactus Tractor blog!) my trip to New York has certainly proved interesting.  To start things off right I missed my connecting flight in Phoenix—

 (I was uploading pictures to facebook)

—and therefore spent a good deal of time in the airport drawing and listening to the CNN news.  This was when I first heard the term "Frankenstorm." I joked with my new friend (an airport employee) about getting stuck on the East coast if I didn't miss my rescheduled flight to Newark, New Jersey.    We both laughed and I resumed drawing this (which airport friend totally didn't know what to say about):

Inspired by Brandon putting an apple seed in his pocket (knowingly) "for later."

Distracting as this was, I did manage to get on the plane to Newark.  Then I took the train to New York, learning as I did, that both New Jersey and New York have a Penn Station, which could be confusing, but luckily I am a suave and careful traveler who doesn't make these silly mistakes—multiple times in one day.  Finally I found David, my brother, in the city and ate a bunch of food after my fourteen hour fast (which really doesn't seem fast).

Yesterday David and I met up with Stephen Perry who enjoyed eating everyone's breakfast.

David, Stephen, Chiliquiles, French Toast, Pancakes (out of frame) and Syrup on Sunday Morning.

It's possible that Stephen was storing up calories for the impending storm.  That's right, Frankenstorm!  Due to Hurricane Sandy the metro's were closed last night, flights in and out were canceled (mine among them) and everyone bought toilet paper and water.  David, roommates and I hunkered down in their awesomely hobbity apartment and watched the Karate Kid.

Today we're still hunkering.  

Waiting with Legs

Aloha!

Waiting at the Kona open air airport. Me, flouner (found flower), and night.

What hour is this in the hours of travel? The eleventh? I have returned to the mainland, Mahalo U.S. Airways. But now but one-hour-flight-away from home the plane's rudder malfunctions and I find myself seated on the carpet of the Phoenix airport.

The carpet of the phoenix airport:

It looks like planes poised precariously in the midst of a thousand simultaneous tornadoes--- Or maybe the planes were hurled into a giant pond. The ripples in each of their wakes only block them briefly from smashing into each other.

So anyways, I'm seated here on disaster carpeting, drinking my Cinnabon coffee, hoping I get to Albuquerque in time to play a show. Is this how the Beatles felt? Did their plane rudder ever malfunction. I'm calling it a rudder, but maybe it's not called that.

In any case airplanes are a lot like boats. I was on a kayak yesterday in the pacific ocean. Green water everywhere, forever. Sometimes I got tired of rowing and watched the green hills of water lift me higher than the shore, then the hill would roll past and I'd be below it watching the shore retreat further every time. I panicked a little thinking I might be pulled out to sea. I would float, but I would be so thirsty and dizzy.

With this in mind I used the paddle again trying to pull a little in the direction I wanted to go. It seemed ridiculous pulling myself along the surface of the such a huge animal as the ocean. Like a mite making slow progress across the hairs of a running cat. But I did get to shore, and rode the last wave in like a roller coaster. Oh! Wahoo!

The sea near Waimanalo, O'ahu (renamed: Oh! Wahoo!) out of the car window. It was this turquoise sea that coaxed me silently out farther and farther from the shore.

I began this journey last night at 8 0'clock. I flew from Honolulu to Kona, and spent the next six hours sleeping fitfully between a soldier-type with a huge bull tattooed on his thigh, and a tiny coughing Japanese woman.

I woke up again and again: my head was rolling around in that horrible way it does on the plane or in a morning lecture. My knees felt like they'd been banging into things. My eyes closed compulsively. I had tiny dreams of my nephews' and niece's mouths. They have funny round mouths filling up with teeth and words. They were the most amazing funny thing in Hawaii for sure.

My mouth tries to be as funny.

An hour has passed since the last announcement. No news is good news, but in this case, no news is simply no news. New news would be nice. I'd like new nice news now, or nearly now. I'm negotiating finding another coffee shop. Negotiating with my legs.

Me: "Legs. If you stand up you can go look for coffee." said in a wheedling voice,

Legs: "But our knees hurt inexplicably and you don't even know where the sweet sweet coffee is!"

Me: "I'll give you two dollars!"

Legs: "That's a trick! It will still be your two dollars"

Me: "True true, clever legs..."

Legs: "yip."

Me: "You hear that legs? Yeah, that's right, another hour, at least. We might need that coffee."

Legs: "...or something a little stronger."

TO BE CONTINUED...

(2 minutes later)
Me: "Wait! Legs! oho! There's a new aircraft! Gate B5! Gate B5!"

Eating Oily Things In In-Between Spaces

Oh my gosh. I am eating the most disgusting mountain of onion rings at Gate C of the Denver airport. Didn't think I'd be back in Colorado so soon, but all of a sudden here I am. Fresh out of Chicago, a completely different person.

This is how I look in Chicago.

I have been having a few drinks. Bloody Mary's and Beers and things, you know. The overall effect is that I am greasily delighted with myself right now. Something rather sinister about my joy is that I've been reading Lolita for the last couple of hours and Humbert Humbert's salivating style has started to influence my innocence.
What do I mean by that? Let's leave it for now, and glory glory in the oil! ...and the bitter beer.


I am not sure, in fact I'm probably making this up (almost completely) but it seems that the drunk man sitting at the bar was the captain on my recent flight. He is talking about how the flight from Chicago to Denver was dangerously overweighted, and slurring every other word. Compatriot! I thank the jewel covered heavens (which may reside incidentally in Paradise--did you know!? See the following paragraph) that I am safe on the ground with my table of delights.

Oh speaking of delights (because I must!) There was an exceptionally delightful trip to a sweet shoppe last night (the second visit of my trip) whose menu taught me a whole new wing of poetry that is expressly based on the gorge-ousness of dessert. The menu was strewn with lines like "Heaven in Paradise (as if one is less than the other --but together they are pure exhalations of delicious ecstasy)" and "Whipped to your Fantasy and Bananas." An amazing fragment sentence describing the whipping cream topping a sundae --I guess --- but perhaps it's describing something else: a tropical island scene with frothy waves lashing sexy sun-drenched legs --"and Bananas!"( capitalized!).

Less sexy day at the beach, but utterly delightful

Our table collectively ordered two relatively modest sundaes (we forgo the George á la George $60, 70 scoops) entitled "Jumbo." The deserts came in large (and very plastic) white shells. It was as if some creamy and melting versions of the Venus de Milo had floated over to our table transforming us into the chubby Cherubs by association.

This whole meandering seems to deal exclusively with consumption, but there is yet an important element that must be mentioned. Each fabulous encounter with extra-necessary edibles takes place in a scene of the in-between.

The AIRPORT is Fantastically in between and Bananas!

People work here, but they work in a functioning nowhere. If a place is defined by the people interacting with it, the Airport is a face with features continually displaced, renegotiated, and confused. It's rough attempts to assert it's own identity through shops that summarize the city in which it sits (ex: the gift shop full of Obama and Mirrored Bean memorabilia in Chicago) are foiled at every turn. Every thing is too clean, too expensive, too expertly dressed. My beer is glaring at me ("Yes, you are too expensive, and much too well dressed even if you were brewed right here in Denver Colorado!").

I imply that dessert was also consumed in a non-space / in-between space. Which is untrue. But I was in something of an in-between space. Chicago exists more permanently for me than before, but only slightly. It is like a very nicely constructed movie set that might blow over now that I've gone. There's is more to this tipsy ramble. But I have a flight to catch.

To be continued...

Chicago as movie set, and all the actors.

Back in the Airport

The airport is one of the strangest environments I know of.  While I am in it I am only slightly aware that the airport I'm in is actually located somewhere.  There are little clues that indicate you are in Oregon (posters advertising Leatherman knives over the baggage claim) or Arizona (desert themed restauraunts) but in general you are always more in a nowhere-mall than anywhere else.  Right now I am at a "mall" in Sacramento.  I am watching the news, listening to elevator jazz, drinking starbucks, blogging on WiFi, eating trail mix, and waiting for my flight simultaneously.  I feel like an American.

At the beginning of my journey I posted a few photos of me at the airport watching CNN and sitting at the kiddie table.  Now at the other end of my journey I am posting a couple of new photos.  I look a little unkempt after my harrowing adventures in Oregon!  

The Input at the Airport

My corner of the airport.

My small red table and little green chair. 

Me watching CNN.

CNN is commenting on Obama's celebrity while zooming in on a picture of his perfectly sculpted abs.  Their hypothesis: Obama is a celebrity because he's hot.  My hypothesis: CNN is turning into Entertainment Tonight.

I am sitting at a toadstool height table with my most worldly possessions: my guitar and my  computer. I also have cowboy boots. Very worldly.  I am in Phoenix Arizona.  My flight is continually being pushed back and I am entertaining very entertaining dreams of small campfires built entirely of napkins, stolen magazines, toilet paper, and newspapers critiquing Obama's abs.  (VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: CNN is now talking about the wardrobe of their reporter who is wearing silly shorts).  I imagine that around my fire of airport kindling will gather the other stranded travelers lost in Phoenix on this the eve of Christmas eve.  I will whip my guitar out of its casings and begin to sing carols to the my new wayfaring friends.  Ah how romantic to be stranded in the airport.  

I am intrigued. I have never really been stranded before.  They haven't actually canceled my flight yet, but I may be strung along with promises of 11pm and 1am until it is actually morning and I find that I have spent all the night in Arizona.  Something truly amazing has begun to happen.  I am being surrounded by adorable children.  A small girl has plopped herself down with a ziplock bag full of crayons and a Mary Poppins-like bag of tricks.  Her sister has joined her and has been trying to read what I'm writing.  I keep trying to hide it from her, since I am writing about her.  In addition a very small orange headed baby keeps crawling over and making a grab for each of my few (and very worldly) possessions.  I like to imagine that these children are gathering around me because I am exuding wonderful art teacher joy but I also suspect that I am sitting at the kid's table.  Maybe they are exuding something that I want to be around.  

CNN is finally starting to report real news and unfortunately it looks like airports everywhere are experiencing the same kind of delays as my airport, right here.  Oh, and Portland Oregon can look forward to ten more inches of snow!  Even if my dreams of campfires fall through in Phoenix I may end up stranded in the snowy streets of Portland for Christmas, a raggedy waif adrift in the elements.  I am having a good time dramatizing my circumstances.  I've been reading Henry James and so far everything is really dramatic and dire, but I can't actually tell what is happening.  

I am now having a nice chat with the girl who has the never-ending bag.  She's asked me if I like flying, and has informed me that she likes getting off of the plane.  She is currently unpacking everything anyone could ever need to make a scrap book.  Her sister is jumping around like a monkey.  It's weird, I like kids more the more I work with them.  I think they are teaching me how to play again.  Yesterday I spent a half an hour as a zombie queen.  My scroungey little zombie helper clung tick-like to my neck as I chased the smaller children around the room saying things like "BRAASRISLIFN!!!" and "I'm going to eat you!" I instructed my tick to bite Bryan (my fellow teacher) but we never caught him.  I really enjoy being a teacher. 

"CNN Christmas eve.  Barack Obama will be REVEALED" Yeah whatever CNN. You're just going to show me his hot body again.  ("I can't wait for the airplane to yand!" -little sister).  Oh, wow, they are actually reporting real news, but their interspersing it with the topless photo.  

My small companion is really organized and awesome. "Yeah. I brought a lot of stuff to do because you can't just come to the airport and get on a plane, you know?" Well, I didn't know actually.  I am finding this out for the first time.  This girl seems really sweet, but now she is making fun of me because I don't watch TV. "You don't have cable? You don't have nuthin'?" she corrects herself a second later "nothing." Now she murmurs "Friends don't let friends watch cable." I laugh because she's contradicting herself, she says, "that's from a commercial!"

This is hilarious. 

I will write more later if I find myself huddled around a small illegal fire.  But for now, this is Christy, signing out.