A dark gloomy start to the day.

When it started to dry out, we took a stroll into the
chillyish morning. Pike Place Market is of course the
obligatory sightsee, so we did that; I followed my Seattle
ritual and got half a pound of gizzards at Chicken Valley;
offered lili some, which she refused, saying that she
doesn't eat offal. We ran into NewbieRunner, to whom I
offered some, which she refused, saying that she doesn't
eat chicken. Ran into scott6067 as well, who was in the
neighborhood with a friend.

So. We were supposed to get in touch with my friends Harry
and Anne, but lili's phone was nonfunctioning and mine was
missing altogether.

We repaired to Bayou on 1st, where this Algerian guy Hadj,
the co-proprietor, greeted us. We inquired about using his
phone, but he said he hadn't activated it (show and tell:
pulled it out of the box - it was still wrapped), so he
asked his partner, who angrily denied the request, whereupon
they got into a bit of a fight, and he told me that the only
thing to do was use the pay phone down in the mall, which I
tried, only it ate all my change, whereupon Hadj's friend
Bo, who runs a massage place down there, let me use hers.

We lunched at Bayou. My fried oyster plate was decent,
nothing special, with a way too thick breading quite unlike
the panko promised on the menu. lili's brisket po'boy was
quite nice, and she was kind to cede me the fatty outside
bits, which I enjoyed. The food didn't come out for a huge
time, near an hour, attributed by Hadj to his partner's
being in a snit about being asked for the use of her phone.
I ordered a root beer, and in honor of our meal coming
out very late or perhaps just because, I got a full glass
of the stuff and a spare full can.

By the time we had eaten, it was fairly late - there was
just time for a quick wander downtown, and then we had to
take the light rail (a hybrid peculiarity, operating part
of the time on the street and part on its own track) to
the airport. Luckily it leaves from the station just a block
from the Westin. It was nowhere near so nasty as we had been
warned and got us there in good time. The station is at the
other end of the parking lot from the terminal, a good walk.

I'd arranged with my buddy Harry to meet for a bite before the
flights: I chose Sharps Roasters, which offers the best of
all possible worlds - lots of protein, most of which is
respectable, and lots of beer, some of which is respectable.

Harry and his wife Anne met us at the airport, and we rode in
comfort the half mile to the restaurant (it was raining
again, so a walk would have been no fun).

The deal is you can get small plates or big plates of
food; small, medium, large, or "personal pitcher" beers.
Everyone but me went for small things. Let's see: the three
of them had various kinds of sliders including one of BBQ
pulled meat (no ID on the meat, but on inquiry it was found
to be a mixture of pork, beef, and turkey, aka leftovers);
ceviche; what was characterized as BBQ poutine - fries
topped with pulled meat, cheese, and drowned in (shudder)
BBQ sauce; a petite sirloin open face sandwich that turned
out to be a nice little FDA-serving-size steak with a blob
of mash, bread nowhere in sight; and Mini Thanksgiving,
doll-size servings of turkey, mash, and gravy on a plate
with a blob of cranberry stuff. As it turns out, I could
have spent a lot less and been satisfied with three or
four of these, but I went whole hog, er, steer and had
the pound prime rib no bone, which came as a pound plus,
slightly more medium than I'd like, but tender and good.
I thought of getting a personal pitcher of Mac and Jack
but settled for a large that and a medium Moose Drool for
contrast. The staff were pleasant, the service reasonably
prompt, so we got back to the airport in plenty of time to
get lili a glass of rough red at the PC, where a FTer
(I forget his handle, sorry) overheard us talking about
MegaDo and introduced himself.

I walked lili to her gate and returned to the club to find
HPN-HRL, whom I'd sort of expected, and JT_BOS, whom I
hadn't. Another glass of red, and it was time to go back to
the gate, where we arrived handily to find someone who
looked suspiciously like SanDiego1K lousing it up on the red
carpet. So I went round to look, and well I be. We were all
in F, so FT had 50% of the cabin.

UA 262 SEA IAD 2312 0603 319 1B Ch9 empty air

This had originally been a 320 but had been downgauged, so
3A became 1B, not so awful. I slept well after the first
Courvoisier; don't recall if I had another.

We said auf wiedersehen to SD1K and had an hour at the
RCC, which the other two used profitably to talk about
miles and points, while I zoned in and out of consciousness.

UA7484 IAD PVD 0810 0929 CR7 2A

A pleasant, short, inconsequential flight, during much of
which I looked out at the peculiar-shaped islands that
dot the Delaware past Philadelphia.

(not the same day)
MBTA 814 PVD BOS 0943 1055

Owing to the Acela being half an hour late, they held our
pokey commuter train, and we left about 10 late. It had been
this choice: the Acela, $30 or so, wi-fi and AC outlets; the
regional, $14, wait for another hour, AC outlets only; or
the commuter, $7.75, wi-fi but no AC. The wi-fi was fine;
the fact that this battery is good only for half an hour,
not fine.

We came in a bit late, and after running some errands, I
went straight to The Good Life (iDine place) for opening
time and a Guinness to celebrate my return.

The rather pretty bartender poured my glass slowly and
lovingly.

I ordered steak tips "as rare as you can cook them"; they
came out medium, a disappointment. They'd been marinated in
some liquid that included A-1 as a major component, so
maybe they wouldn't have tasted all that great rare; but
the meat as it was was just on the borderline of inedible
for me. But the bartender had been so nice. And there was
this incredible huge pile of salad, which looked great; not
until I got halfway through did I discover that the place
practices the heinous custom of mixing today's salad with
the not-so-bad-looking bits of yesterday's. House fries
were crispy outside, creamy inside, just about perfect.

The second Guinness, when there were plenty of customers,
was not so carefully poured as the first had been, so I
decided to head out to work (I'm retired, right?) rather
than staying for a third.