opus17
Jun 23, 02, 9:51 pm
The mission was to go “back east” (do you have to have lived “back east” to go “back east”?) for a college reunion one weekend, and my nephew’s Bar Mitzvah the next weekend.
Destination #1 was Cleveland. After my events there, I was going to drive to New Jersey, and return from Newark.
Wendolene was going to stay home in California. She is on a serious kung-fu diet program, medically supervised, and was consuming only 500 calories/day. Travel was going to be too difficult for her.
She did drop me off at the Sunnyvale Caltrain station, where I bought a ticket to the airport from the machine, which then gave me change from my twenty in a fistful of dollar coins, mostly Susan B. Anthonys.
I had never taken the Caltrain to the airport before – it isn’t really practical unless you get dropped off at a station, or walk there, or take a bus there. The train shot up the peninsula, passing Menlo Park (sign: San Francisco 29 Miles – New Orleans 2473 miles), San Carlos (an advertisement for the San Carlos Legitimate Businessmen’s Club) and Burlingame (spelled “BVRLINGAME”, in case any ancient Romans were riding the rails).
There was a shuttle from the Caltrain to the airport which dropped me off in the scariest section of SFO (well, not as scary as the Southwest check-in), underneath the roadways. I wheeled my luggage upstairs to the Delta check-in.
The elite security line was not open.
The flight to CVG (in First) was the normal, pleasant, unremarkable flight 1040, the 10:30 AM flight which I’ve taken more times than I can count, at least in base 10. The choice of meals were Pizza and lasagna (why bother?). I expressed no preference, but the flight attendant made me pick one. I don’t remember which one I picked, but I’m sure it tasted just like the other one.
The flight to Cleveland was on-time. There was no service in either class, due to the bumpy air and the fact that the flight was so short.
I approached the Avis Preferred Select booth with my normal apprehension. I had booked the one-way rental to Newark, at a 10-day rate of $677. I had reserved a compact car.
“You’re lucky”, said the agent, “You got a Dodge Intrepid”.
“What’s that?”, said I, being fairly sure no such vehicle has ever entered the state of California.
“It’s a full-size car”, explained the agent. Well, at least it wasn’t an SUV. I went to the stall and saw the New York plates on the car. This is why they gave it to me! The car was going back home. I choked back my emotions.
I steered my land barge to the Cleveland Marriott (Key Center), gave it to the valet, and checked in. Signs in the lobby of the hotel said that no autograph seeking was allowed in the lobby. Finally, I would have some peace!
Friday night was the big all-class reunion. Since Wendolene was still in California, I asked my friend “Stacey” (not her real name) to go with me.
I’ve known Stacey since 1986, long before I met my wife. We’ve remained friends over the years. She is about 9 years younger than I, and she is quite attractive.
So, of course, this sent the tongues wagging at the dinner. One woman asked Stacey if “you are opus17’s ‘little number on the side’”, in a discrete as way possible one could ask an indiscrete question. That was fun. Less fun was the guy who asked me if Stacey was my daughter.
The next night, there was a dormitory reunion for students who lived there in the late seventies and early eighties. (Our dorm was a fun place, the people were tight, and we were united in our hatred for fratboys). This crowd was a little quicker on the uptake, and Stacey found herself occupied with male admirers while I indulged in middle-age nostalgia.
The next day was Father’s Day. Stacey wanted to see a movie, so we grabbed a quick lunch at our favorite pan-Southeast Asia restaurant. “So nice you take your father out on Father’s day”, said the waitress in accented English. Grrrrrr.
I said my farewells to Stacey (she was flying to California!), and went back to the hotel. I woke up in the middle of the night and watched the soccer game.
Like most Americans, I know soccer from the Women’s World Cup, where America rules! Well, it seems they now have a men’s version – strangely, it is called “The World Cup”, not “The Men’s World Cup”. It turns out that American men do not dominate the sport like our women’s team does. This is blamed on the fact that American men with athletic abilities tend to prefer sports that pay out real money to the participants. Also, American men are raised from an early age to use their hands and to score. American women (at least the one whom I met) told me to keep my hands to myself, and that I had no chance to score. I guess they were saying I should play soccer.
For some reason, the Europeans call soccer “football”. I’m pretty sure this has something to do with the Euro.
On Monday, I left Cleveland to drive to New Jersey. My objective was to try to only listen to radio stations called “Kiss” and “Mix” for the whole trip, but the FM radio in the car wasn’t that good. I didn’t hear Eminem all the way through Pennsylvania, which was quite a shock. I did hear Nelly a few times. Somewhere in the eastern part of the state, I switched to NPR, and proceeded to listen to “All Things Considered” on about 20 different stations over the next two hours.
New York radio is always kind of fun. I always loved oldies WCBS-FM, which used to make new songs oldies in about 6 months – that station had a very deep playlist. These days, it sounded like too many other oldies stations. I moved over to WKTU, which is a bizarre mix of current dance music and disco oldies. But, I didn’t have my XM radio, so it would have to do. I miss my U-Pop.
On Wednesday at 4:30 PM, I left Warren NJ to meet up with a FlyerTalk group at the Cat-Man-Do 3.5 in New York City. OK, it wasn’t a Cat-Man-Do, but an Alley Cats meeting that I saw announced when I logged in FT while I was in Cleveland (so, take that as a lesson, kids – always check Flyer Talk when you are on the road!). By 7:15, I was at Cités, and met up with the group and had a good time. CozumelJen & I talked about nerdy things. The rest of the people around me talked about Delta and all the horrors they inflict upon us.
It only took an hour to get back to NJ.
Among the most foolhardy things I have ever done was to volunteer to ride in the school bus that was to shuttle the kids from my nephew’s Bar Mitzvah service in the temple to the reception. The bus driver & I were the only adults on a bus full of raging hormones. The radio was on, playing Eminem’s “Without Me” and Nelly’s “Hot in Herre”(sic) ( imagine a bunch of preteens screaming “It’s getting hot in here… so take off all your clothes”). I got video.
The Bar Mitzvah party was a spectacular and expensive affair. It seems that giving Bar Mitvahs in central New Jersey is a blood sport, with each family trying to top each other. I used to be a DJ – I worked alone. The entertainment for this party had a DJ (who mixed but never talked), an MC (who didn’t mix and never shut up), three dancers (one a break-dancing acrobat) and a singer. The music choice was impressive for this type of thing – a lot of club-style stuff. No “Celebration” for this crowd.
The flight to SLC was scheduled for 7:20AM Sunday, so I set the alarm for 5AM. I got up, turned on the PCS phone, and there was an e-mail from Delta that the flight was delayed until 9. I called them – in the meantime, both Delta and wendolene called me (they, of course, woke her up in California at 2AM). The computer had protected me on a EWR-CVG-SLC-SJC connection. I pointed out that if I stayed on the delayed EWR-SLC flight, I could make the same SLC-SJC flight. They did this, but somehow my reserved-for-weeks upgrade seat EWR-SLC went away.
I got to the airport at around 8. The elite line was closed, of course.
I spent $3 for a copy of the Sunday New York Times. I immediately thought of John Belushi, in “Lemmings” saying, “I hold in my hand a copy of the New York Times. THE NEW YORK ****ING TIMES.” Or (also from the 70’s), Chris Rush’s routine about his friends trying to outdo each other smoking pot. “Guy takes the Sunday Times and…”
The flight took off around 10:30 – “a bunch of co-pilots got sick in New York” (maybe they saw the Mets game). It was still a breakfast flight, and, yes, I did get re-upgraded to 1C (I prefer non-bulkhead windows) on the 737-800. OK, the window seat next to me was open, but I didn’t move there on principle.
There was a 2-hour layover to my new SLC-SJC flight, so I went to the Dick Clark restaurant for some lunch. The worst sounding sound system that I have heard since the sixties was blaring an eclectic mix of songs, like “Camelot” and “White Horse” by Laid Back.
After a visit to the Crown Room Club, I dashed for the plane, but noticed a store selling Roots sweatshirts. Since this was one of wendolene’s favorites, I bought a couple, to help make up for the nocturnal wake-up call.
Once again, Delta booked me an aisle seat in first – and once again, the window next to me was open. Whether I moved there or not will be left to the imagination of the reader.
Fin.
Read more trip reports at:
http://home.pacbell.net/opus17/
Destination #1 was Cleveland. After my events there, I was going to drive to New Jersey, and return from Newark.
Wendolene was going to stay home in California. She is on a serious kung-fu diet program, medically supervised, and was consuming only 500 calories/day. Travel was going to be too difficult for her.
She did drop me off at the Sunnyvale Caltrain station, where I bought a ticket to the airport from the machine, which then gave me change from my twenty in a fistful of dollar coins, mostly Susan B. Anthonys.
I had never taken the Caltrain to the airport before – it isn’t really practical unless you get dropped off at a station, or walk there, or take a bus there. The train shot up the peninsula, passing Menlo Park (sign: San Francisco 29 Miles – New Orleans 2473 miles), San Carlos (an advertisement for the San Carlos Legitimate Businessmen’s Club) and Burlingame (spelled “BVRLINGAME”, in case any ancient Romans were riding the rails).
There was a shuttle from the Caltrain to the airport which dropped me off in the scariest section of SFO (well, not as scary as the Southwest check-in), underneath the roadways. I wheeled my luggage upstairs to the Delta check-in.
The elite security line was not open.
The flight to CVG (in First) was the normal, pleasant, unremarkable flight 1040, the 10:30 AM flight which I’ve taken more times than I can count, at least in base 10. The choice of meals were Pizza and lasagna (why bother?). I expressed no preference, but the flight attendant made me pick one. I don’t remember which one I picked, but I’m sure it tasted just like the other one.
The flight to Cleveland was on-time. There was no service in either class, due to the bumpy air and the fact that the flight was so short.
I approached the Avis Preferred Select booth with my normal apprehension. I had booked the one-way rental to Newark, at a 10-day rate of $677. I had reserved a compact car.
“You’re lucky”, said the agent, “You got a Dodge Intrepid”.
“What’s that?”, said I, being fairly sure no such vehicle has ever entered the state of California.
“It’s a full-size car”, explained the agent. Well, at least it wasn’t an SUV. I went to the stall and saw the New York plates on the car. This is why they gave it to me! The car was going back home. I choked back my emotions.
I steered my land barge to the Cleveland Marriott (Key Center), gave it to the valet, and checked in. Signs in the lobby of the hotel said that no autograph seeking was allowed in the lobby. Finally, I would have some peace!
Friday night was the big all-class reunion. Since Wendolene was still in California, I asked my friend “Stacey” (not her real name) to go with me.
I’ve known Stacey since 1986, long before I met my wife. We’ve remained friends over the years. She is about 9 years younger than I, and she is quite attractive.
So, of course, this sent the tongues wagging at the dinner. One woman asked Stacey if “you are opus17’s ‘little number on the side’”, in a discrete as way possible one could ask an indiscrete question. That was fun. Less fun was the guy who asked me if Stacey was my daughter.
The next night, there was a dormitory reunion for students who lived there in the late seventies and early eighties. (Our dorm was a fun place, the people were tight, and we were united in our hatred for fratboys). This crowd was a little quicker on the uptake, and Stacey found herself occupied with male admirers while I indulged in middle-age nostalgia.
The next day was Father’s Day. Stacey wanted to see a movie, so we grabbed a quick lunch at our favorite pan-Southeast Asia restaurant. “So nice you take your father out on Father’s day”, said the waitress in accented English. Grrrrrr.
I said my farewells to Stacey (she was flying to California!), and went back to the hotel. I woke up in the middle of the night and watched the soccer game.
Like most Americans, I know soccer from the Women’s World Cup, where America rules! Well, it seems they now have a men’s version – strangely, it is called “The World Cup”, not “The Men’s World Cup”. It turns out that American men do not dominate the sport like our women’s team does. This is blamed on the fact that American men with athletic abilities tend to prefer sports that pay out real money to the participants. Also, American men are raised from an early age to use their hands and to score. American women (at least the one whom I met) told me to keep my hands to myself, and that I had no chance to score. I guess they were saying I should play soccer.
For some reason, the Europeans call soccer “football”. I’m pretty sure this has something to do with the Euro.
On Monday, I left Cleveland to drive to New Jersey. My objective was to try to only listen to radio stations called “Kiss” and “Mix” for the whole trip, but the FM radio in the car wasn’t that good. I didn’t hear Eminem all the way through Pennsylvania, which was quite a shock. I did hear Nelly a few times. Somewhere in the eastern part of the state, I switched to NPR, and proceeded to listen to “All Things Considered” on about 20 different stations over the next two hours.
New York radio is always kind of fun. I always loved oldies WCBS-FM, which used to make new songs oldies in about 6 months – that station had a very deep playlist. These days, it sounded like too many other oldies stations. I moved over to WKTU, which is a bizarre mix of current dance music and disco oldies. But, I didn’t have my XM radio, so it would have to do. I miss my U-Pop.
On Wednesday at 4:30 PM, I left Warren NJ to meet up with a FlyerTalk group at the Cat-Man-Do 3.5 in New York City. OK, it wasn’t a Cat-Man-Do, but an Alley Cats meeting that I saw announced when I logged in FT while I was in Cleveland (so, take that as a lesson, kids – always check Flyer Talk when you are on the road!). By 7:15, I was at Cités, and met up with the group and had a good time. CozumelJen & I talked about nerdy things. The rest of the people around me talked about Delta and all the horrors they inflict upon us.
It only took an hour to get back to NJ.
Among the most foolhardy things I have ever done was to volunteer to ride in the school bus that was to shuttle the kids from my nephew’s Bar Mitzvah service in the temple to the reception. The bus driver & I were the only adults on a bus full of raging hormones. The radio was on, playing Eminem’s “Without Me” and Nelly’s “Hot in Herre”(sic) ( imagine a bunch of preteens screaming “It’s getting hot in here… so take off all your clothes”). I got video.
The Bar Mitzvah party was a spectacular and expensive affair. It seems that giving Bar Mitvahs in central New Jersey is a blood sport, with each family trying to top each other. I used to be a DJ – I worked alone. The entertainment for this party had a DJ (who mixed but never talked), an MC (who didn’t mix and never shut up), three dancers (one a break-dancing acrobat) and a singer. The music choice was impressive for this type of thing – a lot of club-style stuff. No “Celebration” for this crowd.
The flight to SLC was scheduled for 7:20AM Sunday, so I set the alarm for 5AM. I got up, turned on the PCS phone, and there was an e-mail from Delta that the flight was delayed until 9. I called them – in the meantime, both Delta and wendolene called me (they, of course, woke her up in California at 2AM). The computer had protected me on a EWR-CVG-SLC-SJC connection. I pointed out that if I stayed on the delayed EWR-SLC flight, I could make the same SLC-SJC flight. They did this, but somehow my reserved-for-weeks upgrade seat EWR-SLC went away.
I got to the airport at around 8. The elite line was closed, of course.
I spent $3 for a copy of the Sunday New York Times. I immediately thought of John Belushi, in “Lemmings” saying, “I hold in my hand a copy of the New York Times. THE NEW YORK ****ING TIMES.” Or (also from the 70’s), Chris Rush’s routine about his friends trying to outdo each other smoking pot. “Guy takes the Sunday Times and…”
The flight took off around 10:30 – “a bunch of co-pilots got sick in New York” (maybe they saw the Mets game). It was still a breakfast flight, and, yes, I did get re-upgraded to 1C (I prefer non-bulkhead windows) on the 737-800. OK, the window seat next to me was open, but I didn’t move there on principle.
There was a 2-hour layover to my new SLC-SJC flight, so I went to the Dick Clark restaurant for some lunch. The worst sounding sound system that I have heard since the sixties was blaring an eclectic mix of songs, like “Camelot” and “White Horse” by Laid Back.
After a visit to the Crown Room Club, I dashed for the plane, but noticed a store selling Roots sweatshirts. Since this was one of wendolene’s favorites, I bought a couple, to help make up for the nocturnal wake-up call.
Once again, Delta booked me an aisle seat in first – and once again, the window next to me was open. Whether I moved there or not will be left to the imagination of the reader.
Fin.
Read more trip reports at:
http://home.pacbell.net/opus17/