Shall We Talk About the Weather?

In a word, it's obscene.

The east coast snowstorm got us dead eye center. We had a night of heavy blowing snow and a slow warm up such that my garage doors at eleven am still had snow splattered across their face like a seasonal flaky sneeze.

It was heavy snow too and there was a lot of it. Like somebody had dumped all this stuff after first comingling it with so much lead shot.

Two weeks ago I was sitting in shorts and a t shirt ninety miles north of Cuba. We had found a little Cuban place for lunch that was little more than a walled off courtyard with the kitchen in a shack, the bar under a tin awning and gas fired heat lamps that they turned on when the temperature dipped below seventy.

It was a nice find. I look for little ethnic out of the way places like that. Its a testatment to never wanting to be like the old man in the gastronmic sense or any sense for that matter. As long as it came out of a McDonald's bag when things were informal or was served under a shockingly orange Howard Johnson's roof when you had to impress company, well that was just okey dokey with him.

I like a little more adventure in my food so I'll do things like my friend Ian does. He's on a quest to find the cheapest bottle of French wine that's still drinkable. He's down to 80p. I go looking for the shittiest dive that I can still get a reasonably good beer and a burger in without having to dip my toe in Maine.

The Cuban place looked just right and it was just right so two weeks ago I was having a real Bourdain moment, munching on spiced pork shoulder with pickles and a fresh Mojito. Tony's voice was resounding in my head, his quarter octave intonation mine for a few minutes.

"Cuban pork sandwiches and fresh Mojitos. The street traffic has changed from harried parents trying to steer their children away from the racier t shirt shops because they don't want to have "that" discussion yet to newly awoken twenty somethings who, having put last night's carnage and indulgence into the never again remember folder, are aching to test their liver's mettle for a second, or is it a fifth night?"

One week ago I was in Chicago.

It was cold.

Real cold.

So fucking cold that I was afraid to scratch my ear in that it might snap off.

We never drove a distance farther than the car's thermostat just opening and the first sliver of warmth kicking out onto the floorboards.

This week ain't too warm either but my ear's aren't brittle. What this week is however is a snowstorm that turned my morning world whiter than a klavern.

Tomorrow, what back muscles haven't hitched a Greyhound to Santa Fe are going to scream at me most of the day and into the weekend. And its only still January. This was the opening skirmish of the wider war that's still coming.

I wonder how much a pedicab driver's license costs?

Bunny on.

Bend Over and Smile

There's a certain relief, no matter how small, you feel when you've passed through the airport metal detector bereft of shoes, belt, coats and jackets and sweater...that nobody's tried to smuggle a suppository bomb on board an aircraft.

Yes, I've been airborne again. Not so much that I throw my shoes into a gray plastic bin before retiring at night, but enough to remember what a pain in the ass flying is. That said I've developed enough coping techniques to minimize the pain of the process. Wear slip on shoes checking in. Don't walk around with a piggy bank's worth of change in your pockets. Carry one small bag that you can stuff up a gnome's ass. That ensures it will fit into any overhead of any partially-engined air buggy they put you on. Keep your id close and keep moving.

Real small stuff that about ninety percent of anyone at an airport does NOT pay attention to. I've gotten to the point of believing that every fifth airport worker should have the disposition, lung capacity and ability to unleash of Sam Kinison. They'd keep the goobs moving along so that the rest of us could get to the plane on time.

For example:

You're allowed one small carry on and one small purse or briefcase that can fit under your seat. That's one small carry on, NOT THE REFRIDGERATOR YOU'RE WHEELING DOWN THE JETWAY, and one small purse, NOT THAT COW'S STOMACH-SIZED DUFFEL BAG THAT'S HOLDING ABOUT TWELVE GALLONS OF MOISTURIZING CREAM THAT SMELLS LIKE IT CAME FROM AN EMBALMER'S SUPPLY CATALOG!!!

and

We'll be boarding the aircraft by zones. Zone one passengers may now board. I see THAT YOU HAVE LOST THE ABILITY TO COUNT, EVEN TO FIVE. NOW LET ME SEE A HAND! JUST ONE HAND AND UNLESS YOU HIGH FIVED A CIRCULAR SAW SOMETIME BACK YOU'RE GOING TO BE HARD PRESSED TO PROVE YOU CAN'T COUNT TO FIVE!!!

Oh and if you use the electronic kiosks to print your boarding pass out, please swipe your credit card or passport and if you don't have either WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING GETTING ON THIS PLANE IN THE FIRST PLACE??? THE BUS TO FUCKING MOBILE BOARDS DOWNTOWN AND YOU CAN PAY WITH WESTERN UNION CASH!!!

Clearly I was behind the "I've never been to an airport in my life family" this weekend who despite leaving an hour and a half slack between the time I got to the rental car lot and the time the plane took off just made me on time by a hair because we're going to miss our terminal stop off the rental car shuttle bus by taking pictures and we're going to check in most of Mongolia at the ticketing counter and we'll have to disassemble a cotton gin we've got in our carry on before we go through security.

Gee, I hope they're flying to Chicago mid-week.

Bunny on.