Monday, March 19, 2012

What's your lettuce? And other airport adventures.

So it's been a while since I've posted.  Bad me.  For what it's worth, I've been running around a little crazy lately.  This week I was in Philadelphia for the Public Library Association meeting, where I had lots of meetings intended to solve the eBook issue in libraries (publishers afraid of lending electronically, etc).

While I was there, my parents came to see me, since Lancaster is only an hour away.  My stepmom couldn't make it, so it was just my mom and dad, probably the first time in 20 years that I was alone with the two of them together.  It was kind of weird - we fell into this strange familiar pattern, and I suddenly reverted to being a pre-teen.  Watching them drive away, my dad driving and my mom waving, I felt like they'd just dropped me off at camp. It was weird, and I needed to set things right by going to the Sephora on Chestnut Street near my hotel and buy some lipstick.  Because fresh lipstick is like a reset button and sets everything straight.

Friday morning I was due to fly back at 6:30am, arrive at 10:30, go to the doctor for my knee (which I hurt during a brief stint where I remembered how much I love running, and then realized that I haven't lost enough weight yet to make that something I can indulge in regularly...hey, I just used "indulge" and "run" in the same sentence.  I'm so weird).  Then Friday night I had dress rehearsal for our choir concert on Saturday.

But due to flights being cancelled, overbooked, bad weather, etc., I wound up on a 9am via Chicago, which was ok because they have this trendy overpriced salad place there where you make the salad to order, the way you would a drink at Starbucks.  When I heard the girl ask for your order by starting off, "Hi!  Welcome to Spring Greens!  What's your lettuce?"  I wanted to tell her "Taurus" and see what she said.  I mean, really?  What's your lettuce?  Isn't that kind of a personal question to be asking someone you don't even know?  I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.  The bad puns are endless.

Then the Southwest Bus stopped in Vegas, and since we were early, they let us out to go pee in non-airplane spacious comfort.  Because I change planes in Vegas at least 10 times a year, I know the airport really well.  I asked the flight attendant guy which gate we were at.  He responded that we were parked at C-14.  "Cool," I said, "that's close to Auntie Anne's."  I seriously spend too much time in the Vegas airport.  But an Auntie Anne's pretzel was procured and leisurely enjoyed, and then I was in Burbank, getting picked up at 3:30, way later than I was supposed to be there.

Dress rehearsal, sleep, concert blur, and man, am I glad this concert is over.  The title of the program was "Songs of Life and Death," but it was really just Songs of Death.  The Durufle Requiem.  Christina Rosetti's poems in a modern setting by James Hopkins.  I'm not even a fan of brain-drugs, but if anyone is an example of why people need Prozac, it's Christina Rosetti.  Barber's Adagio for Strings.  For the past two months I've been leaving choir rehearsal desperately depressed.  I'm glad that's done and we can start something fresh.

Then the snow came.  It started Saturday morning as crazy-hail that made the cats cry.  By the time we got home on Saturday evening, there were about 4 inches, and it kept going all night Saturday, and all day Sunday.  Two feet later, and we're starting to dig out.  Well, J is.  I keep the hot chocolate ready, though.

It has been a momentous week, and I seriously needed my afternoon of Skyrim yesterday.

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