It's Over

Mini-D is crashed on the couch. Our RoadTrip has fullfilled its intended purpose. There will be no more entries. Our work here is done.

As you were,
-Dion

Super Dion Gets Lost

The title explains it all. Apperantly, he didn't realize that taking the wrong freeway exit ramp gets you on the wrong street which then puts you on a hour long time waster that makes you want to take a straw to the brain.

-Mini-D

Ode to Traffic

Traffic Blows.
I wish the smog around me would suffocate me
Traffic Blows.

That is all

I Have Awoken

Start Mile Marker- Can't find one

I, mini-Dion have awoken in the desert to once again find our speed down from my 112 (thats when the govern kicks in) to a speed where we are getting passed by everybody even the semi-trucks who have to go 45 mph. And all I can say is, sweet. Our journey is almost at an end in about 70 miles. We will finnally be able to rid ourselves of this car that has been sent from the depths of hades.


End Mile Marker- Stupid California dosn't even have mile markers

-Mini-D

Carry On My Wayward Son

Yes, the blog has been seized. A true blitzkrieg by the Guest Blogger and his progeny.

I am sure there are more stories to be edited for grammar and spelling.

There'll be peace when you are done and thank god you aren't actually going to Kans-ass

-Citygirl

Abandoned by the White Wizard

Start Mile Marker - 19 - I-70 West

It's pitch dark now. The moon, which had guided our journey through the Rocky Mountains has abandoned us like the White Wizard left Frodo with Smeagal.




Mini-D is in command of the Chariot. Fellow RoadSlaves toil through the darkness as the City of Angels draws all closer.

CityGirl yearns for "Her Precious". With 742 miles remaing on the journey, the Shire has long been forgotten.

End Mile Marker - 8 - I-70 West
Remaing Miles: 742

-Dion

The Deep Dark Night

Start- Mile Marker 153 I-70 West

Dion and mini-Dion here to say that night driving down the side of a mountain is not a fun task to complete. But we will continue to soldier on with spirits reaching an all time low only 2 hours into the trip.



End - Mile Marker 146 I-70 West
Remaining miles - 893

-Mini-Dion

Good Times at Silverthorne

Start Mile Marker- 203 I-70 West


Dion and mini-Dion are reporting that spirits have dropped to extreme lows and they might not be able to continue to the city of Angels. The last stop revealed that you can have Good Times in Silverthorne. No, not actual good times but rather the sub-par fast food craphole. Also, we have discoverd a place for the gum we purchased, which was the most exciting thing that happened.
The thunderous bass drops of Rammstein still thunder on.


End Mile Marker - 200 I-70 West
Total Distance left-949

-Mini-Dion

The Last Crusade Begins

Start- Mile Marker 255 I-70 West

Dion and mini-Dion report that spirits are high, but it is to early to tell if they can remain so. We're hoping not to get dynsterney on the 1062 mile road to the city of Angels (LA refrence). The oxen pulled wagon is going under the speed limit of 75 to instill comfort in CityGirl. A dark forboding cloud looms over the majestic Rocky Mountains. You can almost hear John Denver sing "Thank God I'm a country boy". But instead Rammstein drives them on through with thunderous bass drops.

End- Mile marker 246 I-70 West
Distance remaining- 997 May the Gods be with us.

-Mini-Dion

Where's the Guest Blogger When You Need Him?

I can't sleep. That's why I'm posting. I also have nothing to say. Which will either make this really funny as I ramble on with random thoughts or really dull as I ramble on with random thoughts.

This blog will see its one year anniversary at the end of this month and I'd like to thank or rather blame the guest blogger, whose identity I'll protect (after all what kind of spy would I be?) , for fueling the pressure to post insightful and pithy musings as often as possible.

How did it all start? In a Red Robin over a bad meal. I encourage a re-read of the first entry. You'll laugh and laugh because it's true.


I think the greatest accomplishment of the instigator of the blogging madness, is that the bloggers have multiplied henceforth. Sphere of influence my friends.

It's now one hour later; I have now tired of this and will attempt, futilely I'm sure, to seek restful slumber.
So, until next time....read the archives. (I enjoy the stories about air travel the best)

Tags:
Red Robin
Insomnia
Counting Sheep
Spies
Alias

Shiny and New

Flaxey Flies Again

Ah, the stories you can glean from air travel. From start to finish there is opportunity for adventure at every turn. This weekend jaunt was no different.

The story is short but the lesson is long.

Airport bathroom is the mise en scene. We see our heroine exit the stall and walk toward the sinks. (She is dressed sensibly and is listening to music the entire time.) As she passes the handicapped stall she is almost knocked to the floor by a tall twentysomething by the swinging of the stall door. Midge gives her a look that says 'I command this restroom and all who enter it!' and rapidly exits.
Our heroine is annoyed by the continued lack of courtesy in our culture but moves on to the sinks still grooving to the tunes.



Then she is tapped on the shoulder by the janitor who is holding a driver's license and a boarding pass. She shakes her head; no it's not mine and finishes the wash.

Midge comes racing back in to the restroom, frantically searching for her VERY IMPORTANT DOCUMENTS. Our heroine assists her and points to the pleasant janitor lady who is holding the VID's belonging to Midge.
Midge grabs them and exits frantically without so much as a thank you to anyone.

Please note that without these items air travel becomes extremely difficult and something tells us that Midge's people skills need a charm school refresher.

Upon her second rude exit of the day, our heroine even more irritated with Midge's blatant disregard for anyone but herself utters aloud; "Stupid Girl".



We suspect that this muttering was louder than intended due to the headphones in her ears, because the woman at the sink gave her a rather dirty look and what happens next is confirmation of this as well.

Our heroine begins to exit the restroom and is impeded by Midge returning to her Airport Bathroom Kingdom. She says,
"Did you call me a stupid girl?"
Our heroine shrugs her off and keeps walking, saying nothing.

Midge runs off to her gate and our heroine is relieved that they are not on the same flight.


Tags:
Pink
travel
midge
midge fly
shirley manson
airports
charm school

Lessons in Boring Economics

Life's lessons are often learned but rarely remembered.

What's the best way to learn to ride a bike? Training wheels? Nope. Gravity.

Gravity is your reality whether you understand it or not.

You won't escape it and eventually the ground comes up to meet you with one hundred percent accuracy.

Here comes the boring part. Perhaps you've already stopped reading because you're feeling a math exercise approaching?



Everyone is faced with making economic decisions every single day. You are programmed at a young age to incorporate factors such as popularity, cost comparisons, and even irrational emotional reactions when making these decisions. So you struggle through life making the same unconscious economic decisions others make that continue to drain your never adequate income.

And that's the first boring economic lesson:

1. Your income will never be adequate to escape gravity. Never. You can trade your health for wealth but the ground still comes up to meet you.

Here's where we could wax the philosophical hair right off the Neanderthal psyche in bold ripping motions exposing the raw meaning of life. But that would be like petting a burning dog...a painful distraction with no upside.
Try and stay on target here. Economics and Gravity.

The second economic lesson?

2. Consuming your valuable time agonizing over trivial economic decisions actually costs you more than you realize. And trivial is not defined by the size of the purchase. It's defined by gravity again.

What does that mean? Well, quite simply, it means do you value your time in free-fall? Or have you succumbed to filling that time with distractions?



And today's third lesson is a lesson everyone eventually learns...typically too late.

3. Every economic decision is trivial. Every single one. Other decisions are more important and will impact your life with greater magnitude.

It's up to you to figure out what those are. Don't take too long. Gravity taught you how to ride your bike and it's busy making sure you'll eventually learn the meaning of life. And since there's no blog in Heaven and probably not one in Hell either, it's unlikely you'll be sharing that lesson with the people who matter to you.

Big sky above you, a river inside. Much to learn, you still have, Padawons.

Much to learn, Much to remember.

Tags:
gravity
economics
star wars
bike riding
sky diving
Heather Nova
Padawons
the meaning of life
time

Blitzkrieg

Stay tuned for a guest blog and then you will understand today's title.

I'd like to share with you a little snippet of funny courtesy of small town, homegrown radio. It's called the trading post and people call in and try to sell their crap or get some crap. Then the station posts the items online. More than likely to avoid another type of blitzkrieg where people are calling in and asking "What's the number for the cats?"

Here are a two exchanges between me and a friend regarding some of these calls.

> CALLER #9 looking for tote goat or scooter ***-5231
>
> I've never heard of a tote goat? What do you suppose that is?


You know, when you need to take your goat with you. All the serious
goat herders use them now. Once they started wearing business attire, all
the goat herders that were still using leashes were just looked down
upon... especially at Herd-Con conventions. The cow tote hasn't been as
successful.

Read #2 and # 6
> CALLER #2 3 CATS NEED TO FIND HOMES 3**-2442
> CALLER #3 2 COUCHES AND SIDE CHAIR $50 3**-2199
> CALLER #4 4 WHEELER TIRES SOME WITH RIMS $20 FOR ALL AND LOOKING FOR A GAS
> STOVE 3**-8372
> CALLER #5 SEWING MACHINE IN CABINET 3**-1739
> CALLER #6 LOOKING FOR TWO KITTENS 3**-2079



Yes, I agree... Cats do need to find homes. Stupid homeless cats.

Caller number 6 should check in the cabinet, that's where the sewing
machine was!

Why did Caller #6 even call in??? Did they not just hear Caller #2 say,
"hey, I have some cats, you want em?"

The funniest part is the fact that these are still funny. You would think
that eventually the person posting these would just write, "For sale:
three cats." Or, "WTB: two kittens."

For more country mouse fun visit Cow Abduction.

Tags
cow abduction
hometown radio
blitzkrieg
cats
goats
trading post

For My Nifty Boss

I feel the need to explain...This post is to create a link to the above picture for, yep, you guessed it! The one below is for me; aren't I cute?

Title Free

With baited breath I know all are awaiting the next entry.

Sadly, I don't have any subject matter to regale you with these days. Which honestly, is much sadder for me than it is you.

I traveled but it was uneventful in the way of air transportation.

I can say that I picked up the latest Train record. It's not particularly memorable but there are a few decent tracks.

I've been playing the hell out of my Cory Sipper disc. I discovered Cory's song "Mermaid" while working at SDSU a few years ago. Still is the best track on this record. "Ice" is the next favorite. Buy it at CdBaby.

Apparently, in addition to it being Mardi Gras, it's also National Tooth Fairy Day and International Pancake Day.

A Tale of Two Knees

Once upon a time a citygirl lived in the country, or rather a very small rural town in a western State.

She went to the high school's required freshman Physical Education class and was forced to play the games the teacher (or coach; if you can even call him that) thought were good curriculum. One of those games was volleyball. Not being very adept at sports in general, this team sport wasn't nearly as enticing as the quarterly President's Council on Physical Fitness Test, but nonetheless she played the wretched game of volleyball.

And it would be her last game for all eternity. Which of course was a blessing and a curse.

A dislocated patella (or knee cap) was the result that fateful day. That knee cap was in another building and yet the "coach" thought she could walk it off. No ambulance was called, no doctor, only the mother and after what seemed like an eternity the girl was whisked away, with that knee cap still sticking out, in a rust 1978 Cadillac DeVille, to the emergency room. As luck would have it the visiting orthopaedic doctor from the next town over was still there and he popped that knee cap back in its proper position before he headed out the door.

The subsequent years brought more dislocations (the patella would pop out and then right back in again), knee swelling, and pain. Although never as severe as the first incident the wear and tear of these dislocations took its toll.

Years and years later the citygirl was going about her daily workout and the knee locked and wouldn't work. It didn't dislocate like it had so many times before, but it wanted to. Instead it blew up like a balloon and she lost the use of that knee that day.



"Maybe, I should see the doctor?", she mused.

And she did. The news wasn't good, but she was moving in a week and could do nothing to fix it.

Another year, another doctor and another set of X-Rays later, the diagnosis made a little arthroscopic surgery necessary. While contemplating the ramifications of this course of action, the citygirl was laid off and not only had instability in the knee but instability in life.

Our story brings us now to the present day. Mostly because the time between doctor number two and doctor number three isn't very interesting for this story about unstable knee caps.

Finally, the citygirl is able to schedule the arthroscopy and it is a success. It went a little something like this.

At the pre-operative appointment the day before surgery she was informed that her previously scheduled time of 7:30AM was now 8:30 AM. She wondered why no one had called her. But no matter, that meant a little extra sleep.

Upon arriving and checking in she was ushered into the holding area to be prepared with an IV, booties, standard issue hospital gown, and weird blue hair net. She endured two attempts for that IV, one in each hand and laid in the holding area for several hours while six people came in after her and went to surgery before her. There were many trips made to the bathroom. It probably made the nurses crazy.

Then finally it was her turn and let me tell you that I think she enjoyed the anethesia a little too much.





It is now one week post-op and all is well. The knee cap is back in its proper slot and the citygirl is tired but doing well. She thanks the fabulous doctor because not only is he kinda cute, but he's the best there is and she has a relatively new and non-crunchy knee.



knee surgery, anesthesia,president/'s council on physical fitness, volleyball, PE Class, arthroscopy, knee cap, patella

Where's My Hovercraft??

I've mused about traffic in this fine metropolis before, see Holiday Rants and Rain in SoCal, but today it is really on my nerves!

It was an easy drive from Thanksgiving up until last Monday when all the stupid college kids went back to school and everyone started going back to work. GRRRRR.



There's nothing that can be done and that is the eternally frustrating part.

Luckily, these fine folks at Weekend Projects With Beer have made some strides in the hovercraft arena.

Tags: los angeles traffic, hovercraft, weekend projects with beer

Two Birds

This blog contains one thing; a link.

This story made me laugh so hard I just have to share it. If you need a good laugh today and even if you don't, please I beg of you visit this link:

Windows, A Clear Danger to Birds

I still can't believe it came from NPR.

Get Me Off This Plane

Once again I traveled for the Christmas holiday. It was an early flight and again slightly unpleasant.

I was fortunate enough to share the departure with a good friend (Her story is equally entertaining) and we had quite a time getting a taxi to actually take us to airport. We ended up getting there in enough time and Yellow Cab came through for us. Redeeming the sins of George from my last Yellow Cab experience. In fact the lovely gentleman who drove us to the airport gave us many words of wisdom, my favorite being the following:

"A man who never took a chance never had a chance."

I love that and it's so true.

From there it was mostly uneventful, save the following tidbits.

Why, oh why, have the airlines decided it is a good idea to haphazardly board the aircraft? If I am sitting in the back of the bus then I should get on first, no? Logic is defied by letting those in 16A get on before 29C. It would make everyone happier and less likely to hate the whole experience. But no, let's not make a decision in favor of good customer service. Just because I sit in coach, doesn't mean I didn't pay a small fortune for this ticket. And furthermore, letting me on the plane first isn't going to make me feel high and mighty, it's just going to make the waiting and suffering just a little bit less.
I plan on writing letters from here on out to forcefully suggest that the boarding of aircraft be from back to front.

I had an aisle seat, thankfully, but it really didn't matter. The standby passenger who sat in front of me on this full plane decided that it was a good idea to lean his seat back before we took off. This is also one of the most irritating things on airplanes; the leaning back of the seat. This selfish act removes all leg space from the person behind you and this man's seat was showing its wear because it reclined more than normal. I tapped him on the shoulder and told him that his seat needed to be upright for takeoff and when he didn't comply, I told him that I would call the flight attendant if I had to. We had this battle for the first 20 minutes of the flight. When I finally gave in and stopped kneeing the seat he continued to fidget and bounce back and forth. I decided to "go zen" and just go back to sleep with the perceived knowledge that his life must really be horrible and he is a sad, sad man to be such a jerk. It only helped a little. I still wanted to strangle him. I also thought of how I could possibly sue him for some sort of harm caused to me by occupying all of my leg room. I couldn't even put my tray table down for the beverage service.



Traveling is a pain. Packing and repacking and hauling and organizing. It takes so much time and effort.
I used to like air travel, I really did. Something about being in an airport, jetting off to somewhere for a new experience or to see family or friends. All very exciting and fun.

The airlines and the government have sucked all the fun out of it. Now, I'm going not discount what happened on September 11th. It changed our lives forever, but it can't really be blamed for the continuous downward spiral of quality customer service and transportation safety.

It's the simple things like boarding a plane in a logical way, all the way to allowing scissors back on planes.

Is that really a good idea? Should that announcement be made to the general public? No one thinks that this is a sound, well thought out plan. For crying out loud they banned tweezers and nail clippers at first. That was ridiculous, but this is truly without merit.

Please read the series by columnist Annie Jacobsen about airline safety and you will see that we should be concerned about this.

I digress to the serious side again....

The return trip was even more eventful. The outbound flight was delayed due to "Aircraft Availability". This never bodes well. I had a connection that I was now sure to miss.

I made my way to United customer service to explore my options. It went a little something like this...

"My plane is going to be delayed and I have a connection and I don't think I'll make it now."

"Hmmm...Let's see...you know we have direct flight to Los Angeles? Oh, but today they're all sold out, so, I can't put you on one of those...."

"Yeah, I'm aware of that."

"Well, it looks like you'll have about 30 minutes, you should be just fine to make that connection. And if not there's another flight at noon."

"Okay, if you're sure?"

"Yeah, no problem."

I walk back to the gate and wait. The plane continues to be delayed and I return to the gate agent this time and have an identical conversation. Referring again to the phrase "you should have about 30 minutes."

Apparently this is a magical 30 minutes for this flight, because never in my life of air travel has an aircraft de-planed in 30 minutes or less!

Naturally, I did not make that connection. It wouldn't have been possible even if the gate I needed was in the SAME TERMINAL. That's right, I had to get on a bus and go to what they lovingly refer to as "The Commuter Terminal." No chance of making that little puddle jumper at 11:30. No chance.

At the commuter terminal I nonchalantly asked about my checked baggage. Knowing full well that I would be lied to about the destiny of those bags. I was told, (because of the magical 30 minutes, I'm sure) the bags MADE IT ON the flight at 11:30 and would be there when I arrived. I nodded and proceeded to yet another security line, the gate and finally the tiny little plane.

My bags were NOT waiting for me patiently. I proceeded to baggage assistance, where I was told another little story. The bags were on the flight I arrived on and had not been unloaded yet. I waited an extra 45 minutes. No bags. NO BAGS. I filed my claim and started down the road of acceptance that I would never see my luggage again.

Thankfully, United Baggage Service came through and delivered my bag to me the following day.

That's the end of the story folks. Air travel always comes through with a good story. Remember that when you head to the airport.

Stay tuned for the next one! Peace Out.



air travel, christmas, taxi cabs, TSA, terrorism, airline safety, united airlines, america west airlines, annie jacobsen, Womens Wall Street