It's colder than a welldigger's a$$
It's cold enough to freeze the b@lls off a brass monkey
A face that could make a train take a dirt road
That dog won't hunt (Texan for "I'm skeptical")
Monday, May 19, 2008
carlsonism
*I* think the things he says are adorably cute. And it's my blog, so....
Last night Carlson said the family prayer. He asked God to "keep us from harmony and influence."
(That's five-year-old for "harm and evil influence," by the way)
Last night Carlson said the family prayer. He asked God to "keep us from harmony and influence."
(That's five-year-old for "harm and evil influence," by the way)
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Why Americans should give up their cars (not!)
Being currently without a car (see previous blogs) I decided to do a little experiment in mass transportation. (Please note that with a mother and two sisters living in town I was not without a ride. And Mom did try to talk me out this) I live just two blocks from a Regional Transit bus stop, and had taken the bus to work a few weeks ago. Excepting the extra two hours of travel and the less-than-friendly bus drivers, it was really fine. I could do it if I had to, and not suffer much. (There is a lot that can be accomplished in an hour on the bus...but that's another blog.)
So, anyway, I was taking a trip to my beloved Memphis and decided to experiment with mass transportation from point A to point B. Planning the trip involved a good deal of time on the computer, and would have required a very patient and diligent travel agent in the pre-www era. I knew I had to catch a flight out of San Francisco at 12:55 pm. So starting from there, and giving myself ample time to check in and get a quick something for lunch, I worked backwards to catching the Regional Transit bus 28 in my home town at 7:32 a.m. I'd figured the whole thing out. (Except that, anticipating touching down in the Land of the Delta Blue in the middle of the frigging night, I opted NOT to take the bus from the airport to Midtown.)
I left the house (point A) at 7:10 with my clothing and accouterments in a nice little wheelie suitcase and an overstuffed (and phenomenally heavy, even for its size) "purse." I arrived at the bus stop (point B), which consisted of a pole with a sign on it, at 7:16. Ooops. I forgot my jacket. Oh! and my sunglasses. Yikes! and my Prozac! At 7:31 the bus almost whizzed right past me, which would have thwarted my entire plan. But I flagged it down and embarked on my six-minute journey to the LightRail station (point C).
7:37 to 8:04 I alternately stood in the wind and sat in the wind on a cold concrete platformy bench sorta thing REALLY wishing I had remembered my jacket. LightRail arrived precisely on time and I took a 38 minute ride to the Amtrak Station downtown (point D), arriving as scheduled at 8:42. Just enough time to purchase my ticket from R2D2 with my ATM card (I love technology that eliminates the human element, don't you?), and wheel my nifty luggage out to Track 2 where all my fellow commuter train-ees have gathered as per instructions.
The train actually arrives on Track 4 and it seems obvious to all of us (after, really, no discussion at all) that it would be easier for us to go to it than the other way around, so we amble over to Track 4 and board.
The train is lovely. The seats are slightly more comfortable than the bus's, should you choose to sit in them. BUT you don't have to! There is a snack car just below where coffee and doughnuts can be purchased. Or a deck of cards. There are six cars to wander through, upstairs and down, and a bathroom on each level of each car. Cool. Way cool. But I choose to sit in my seat much of the way, plug in to the nicely-provided electrical outlet and watch an educational DVD on my portable DVD player. (I would love to have said I'd watched it on my laptop or my Ipod, but alas, I don't have either.)
I disembark from Amtrak at 10:34 at the BART/Amtrak station (point E), and after a bit of confusion as to where to purchase my BART ticket (signs would have been nice. I wasn't the only one confused...) and therewith missing the next train to the San Francisco Airport, I get on BART at 10:52, switching trains at MacArthur Park (point F. Fortunately it was not dark and therefore the station was intact....not melting; I don't think that I could have taken it...oh neverMIND) and arriving at the San Francisco Airport (point G) later than I had anticipated, but still within my comfort zone. The BART station is also the station for AirTrain, on which I ride to Terminal 3 where, as indicated by the map of the airport/Airtrain routes, USAirways--through which my tickets are booked--resides. The Airtrain is an automated electric train with a Mother voice that announces the stops well ahead of time and admonishes "Please hold on. Set luggage cart brakes to lock" each time we begin to move away from a stop.
As I approach the USAirways counter, I notice a sign that says flight #'s this to that should check in at United. My flight number happens to be between this and that, and my flight leaves in an hour and a half and I do not have a clue where the United Airlines ticket counter is, nor why I should check in there. So I ask the two USAirways men in front of me, "Excuse me, I just saw this sign and--" The lady who either does not like her job or does not like people and whom I was not addressing in the first place snips at me. "Are you asking if you need to check in with United or are you asking where United is?" I hold out my itinerary and say, "I'm asking how to get on this plane which leaves in just over an hour." She looks at it and says, "It says RIGHT HERE that the flight is on United." And sure enough under the USAirways flight number is a parenthetical and--to me--not fully explanatory note that says, "Operated by United." Okaaay. In the interest of time, I suppress the urge to argue that it does not exactly say on my itinerary that I'm Flying the Friendly Skies, but instead ask. "Where is United" And she replies... "Go down to the end of this building and walk out the doors, across the street and into the next building. Go all the way to the end and walk out those doors and across the street into the next building. It's at the far end." And she is serious. I say to no one in particular, "Yikes. My flight leaves in just over an hour." I look in the direction of the two men I had originally addressed and the older black man with grey hair gives me the parental look that says, "I told you to go to your room." and points (pointedly) in the direction I'd been instructed to go.
I trudge, then trot, forward pulling my lovely-ly wheeled suitcase along behind me, briefly considering trying to re-find the Air-train, but not remembering how many escalators I had come down.
I make it to the United kiosk (another R2D2) to get my boarding pass and note that I will, with only carry-on luggage--nothing to check-- be able to board on time, but will likely not have time to get lunch. Ah well. Perhaps something from a vending machine (except I don't see one). So. On to gate Z-172 (yes that's a joke). Upon arriving at my gate I find myself a seat and wait for the boarding to be announced. Except its not announced. Turns out my flight has been canceled. I get to wait for three hours and fifteen minutes for the next flight to Phoenix, which will give me just over an hour to make my connection to Memphis. So okay. A layover is a layover; what do I care which airport its in? And now I have time for lunch.
And fortunately I have brought two books and a portable DVD player. And being in the airport is much like being in the mall. So I look at some shops, buy a shawl (since I forgot my jacket, and its on sale for 25% off making it almost what I would pay for it at a regular store), and read.
And finally they call my flight, which has been delayed another half hour, still giving me thirty minutes to make my connection in Phoenix. Except we sit on the tarmack for a good while before taking off and by the time I reach Phoenix (point H) I have twelve minutes to make my connection and it is at USAirways which is, again, at the very OTHER end of the airport from United. At seven-minutes-to-take-off I am standing in a very long line waiting to go through security, and at two-minutes-to take-off I have only moved up one maze-row. So I weave my way back through the maze rows of people OUT of line and down to the ticket counter to ask what to do next.
Turns out the next flight to Memphis is at 8:47 the next morning. So I can come back and they will get me on that flight. But where will I sleep? They can give me a coupon for 15% off the airport motel of my choice. I think not. "I contracted with you people to get me to Memphis tonight. I do not have plans or the budget to sleep in Phoenix. You delayed me. You put me up for the night." So they give me a voucher for a night's stay at, and book me reservations for, the Marriott. And give me a meal voucher for an airport restaurant. I eat at Flo's Chinese Buffet and take the motel shuttle to a nice room with a hot bath and a king-size bed (point I). Not my plans, but not the worst way to spend a night, either.
Next morning the flight leaves only about 15 minutes late (I could have driven to Phoenix by now, seriously). And I arrive in Memphis (point J, if you continue to count the Phoenix airport as point H, even though I went there twice)) just 14 hours later than planned, having left home (point A, that is) 31 hours before. (I've driven from Memphis to my new home town in 42 hours--albeit with another driver. See previous blog.)
And my two day stay in Memphis is wonderful--almost holy. I get to see some (not all) of my most-beloveds, practice doing the work I feel called at this time to do, and spend a couple of nights in the house I wanted to buy while I was living there.
Of course the flights back are not exactly on time, but I make my connections and end up in San Francisco only about 30 minutes later than I expected. The Airtrain is not working and the only way I know to get to the BART station is on the Airtrain. So after going up and down the escalators trying to diligently follow the woefully inadequate signs "directing" me (BART --> and when you go --> BART is not X) I ask at an information desk, where a kind elderly gentleman shows me on the map just where BART X. And just then the Airtrain starts working again so I board it and it takes me one stop before staying ominously still. For a long time. For a very long time.
There are instructions overhead for using the in-car intercom to communicate with Airtrain Personnel and I am wondering whether I am going to be able to resist using it, when Mother announces that the Airtrain is experiencing technical difficulty and will be moving shortly, and please only use the intercom for actual emergencies.
And eventually we get going again and I make it to the BART station in just about three times as many minutes as it would have taken me to walk (after Granpa Information had given me some). So at the BART station all of the LED destination signs are blank and, being a neophyte, I do not know where to stand to catch my train to Richmond (via MacArthur Park). So I ask a driver and he says, "Well,. you could get on the Fremont train and switch at 12th street, or you could get on the Pittsburgh train and switch at MacArthur. But if you want, you can get on my train and go back to Millbrae--next and last stop on this route, and then catch a train that will take you to Richmond with no transfers." So I do that. And when I get to the Millbrae station, all of the LED destination signs are blank. (A pattern is developing, no?) So I ask The Lady in the Little Glass Booth what train I get on to go to Richmond. And she points to the train I just got off and says, "You get on that one and go to the Airport, then transfer to the East Bay train and get off at 12th street, then get on the train for Richmond." I stare blankly and say, "I just got ON that train at the airport. And he said if I came here I could get on a train that would take me straight to Richmond." She says (very nicely; she likes her job, I think, even on days like this), "I'm sorry. The whole system is having trouble and we are having to reroute." I begin to have an absolute panic attack at the thought of being stuck in the Bay Area with no earthly clue where I actually am, with public transportation down.
And my cell phone battery died shortly after taking off from Phoenix (even though I'd charged it all night...)
So, having no idea what else to do, I get back on the train I just got off. And immediately upon my tush hitting the seat, the driver announces, "This train goes to San Francisco Airport only. This train does not go to Fremont, Pittsburgh or Richmond. Do not board this train unless your destination is San Francisco Airport." Meanwhile The Lady in the Little Glass Booth is now out of her glass booth, herding passengers on to the train with the words, "This is the only train. You must take this train to the airport and make a connection there. There is no other train leaving this station. You must get on this train." and she is making sweeping motions with her arms to encourage compliance with her words. So I leave my tush in the seat.
The train does indeed take me back to the airport. And I do transfer to the East Bay train which takes me to the 12th street station, where I board the train that is bound for Richmond. Except all of this takes over four times as long as it is supposed to. What should have taken 45 minutes takes three hours and ten minutes. Needless to say, I have missed my Amtrak connection home. Oh, and the train after that, too.
But good ol' Amtrak has another train leaving soon, with just enough time to buy a ticket from R2D2 and make it back up in the amazingly slow elevator to the only track where the train stops. And it is pleasantly air-conditioned. And I eat a remarkably-less-disgusting-than-I-anticipated cheeseburger and fries, charge my cell phone in the nicely provided outlet, and call my daughter--who is already at the train station to pick me up--to tell her that I won't be there for an hour and a half. But I actually make it in an hour and 20 minutes. And we make it back to the house in her car in about 20 minutes, notwithstanding it being toward the end of rush hour. And I am SO grateful to not be sitting on the bus.
I'm thinking the shortest distance between two points is a Toyota Prius.
So, anyway, I was taking a trip to my beloved Memphis and decided to experiment with mass transportation from point A to point B. Planning the trip involved a good deal of time on the computer, and would have required a very patient and diligent travel agent in the pre-www era. I knew I had to catch a flight out of San Francisco at 12:55 pm. So starting from there, and giving myself ample time to check in and get a quick something for lunch, I worked backwards to catching the Regional Transit bus 28 in my home town at 7:32 a.m. I'd figured the whole thing out. (Except that, anticipating touching down in the Land of the Delta Blue in the middle of the frigging night, I opted NOT to take the bus from the airport to Midtown.)
I left the house (point A) at 7:10 with my clothing and accouterments in a nice little wheelie suitcase and an overstuffed (and phenomenally heavy, even for its size) "purse." I arrived at the bus stop (point B), which consisted of a pole with a sign on it, at 7:16. Ooops. I forgot my jacket. Oh! and my sunglasses. Yikes! and my Prozac! At 7:31 the bus almost whizzed right past me, which would have thwarted my entire plan. But I flagged it down and embarked on my six-minute journey to the LightRail station (point C).
7:37 to 8:04 I alternately stood in the wind and sat in the wind on a cold concrete platformy bench sorta thing REALLY wishing I had remembered my jacket. LightRail arrived precisely on time and I took a 38 minute ride to the Amtrak Station downtown (point D), arriving as scheduled at 8:42. Just enough time to purchase my ticket from R2D2 with my ATM card (I love technology that eliminates the human element, don't you?), and wheel my nifty luggage out to Track 2 where all my fellow commuter train-ees have gathered as per instructions.
The train actually arrives on Track 4 and it seems obvious to all of us (after, really, no discussion at all) that it would be easier for us to go to it than the other way around, so we amble over to Track 4 and board.
The train is lovely. The seats are slightly more comfortable than the bus's, should you choose to sit in them. BUT you don't have to! There is a snack car just below where coffee and doughnuts can be purchased. Or a deck of cards. There are six cars to wander through, upstairs and down, and a bathroom on each level of each car. Cool. Way cool. But I choose to sit in my seat much of the way, plug in to the nicely-provided electrical outlet and watch an educational DVD on my portable DVD player. (I would love to have said I'd watched it on my laptop or my Ipod, but alas, I don't have either.)
I disembark from Amtrak at 10:34 at the BART/Amtrak station (point E), and after a bit of confusion as to where to purchase my BART ticket (signs would have been nice. I wasn't the only one confused...) and therewith missing the next train to the San Francisco Airport, I get on BART at 10:52, switching trains at MacArthur Park (point F. Fortunately it was not dark and therefore the station was intact....not melting; I don't think that I could have taken it...oh neverMIND) and arriving at the San Francisco Airport (point G) later than I had anticipated, but still within my comfort zone. The BART station is also the station for AirTrain, on which I ride to Terminal 3 where, as indicated by the map of the airport/Airtrain routes, USAirways--through which my tickets are booked--resides. The Airtrain is an automated electric train with a Mother voice that announces the stops well ahead of time and admonishes "Please hold on. Set luggage cart brakes to lock" each time we begin to move away from a stop.
As I approach the USAirways counter, I notice a sign that says flight #'s this to that should check in at United. My flight number happens to be between this and that, and my flight leaves in an hour and a half and I do not have a clue where the United Airlines ticket counter is, nor why I should check in there. So I ask the two USAirways men in front of me, "Excuse me, I just saw this sign and--" The lady who either does not like her job or does not like people and whom I was not addressing in the first place snips at me. "Are you asking if you need to check in with United or are you asking where United is?" I hold out my itinerary and say, "I'm asking how to get on this plane which leaves in just over an hour." She looks at it and says, "It says RIGHT HERE that the flight is on United." And sure enough under the USAirways flight number is a parenthetical and--to me--not fully explanatory note that says, "Operated by United." Okaaay. In the interest of time, I suppress the urge to argue that it does not exactly say on my itinerary that I'm Flying the Friendly Skies, but instead ask. "Where is United" And she replies... "Go down to the end of this building and walk out the doors, across the street and into the next building. Go all the way to the end and walk out those doors and across the street into the next building. It's at the far end." And she is serious. I say to no one in particular, "Yikes. My flight leaves in just over an hour." I look in the direction of the two men I had originally addressed and the older black man with grey hair gives me the parental look that says, "I told you to go to your room." and points (pointedly) in the direction I'd been instructed to go.
I trudge, then trot, forward pulling my lovely-ly wheeled suitcase along behind me, briefly considering trying to re-find the Air-train, but not remembering how many escalators I had come down.
I make it to the United kiosk (another R2D2) to get my boarding pass and note that I will, with only carry-on luggage--nothing to check-- be able to board on time, but will likely not have time to get lunch. Ah well. Perhaps something from a vending machine (except I don't see one). So. On to gate Z-172 (yes that's a joke). Upon arriving at my gate I find myself a seat and wait for the boarding to be announced. Except its not announced. Turns out my flight has been canceled. I get to wait for three hours and fifteen minutes for the next flight to Phoenix, which will give me just over an hour to make my connection to Memphis. So okay. A layover is a layover; what do I care which airport its in? And now I have time for lunch.
And fortunately I have brought two books and a portable DVD player. And being in the airport is much like being in the mall. So I look at some shops, buy a shawl (since I forgot my jacket, and its on sale for 25% off making it almost what I would pay for it at a regular store), and read.
And finally they call my flight, which has been delayed another half hour, still giving me thirty minutes to make my connection in Phoenix. Except we sit on the tarmack for a good while before taking off and by the time I reach Phoenix (point H) I have twelve minutes to make my connection and it is at USAirways which is, again, at the very OTHER end of the airport from United. At seven-minutes-to-take-off I am standing in a very long line waiting to go through security, and at two-minutes-to take-off I have only moved up one maze-row. So I weave my way back through the maze rows of people OUT of line and down to the ticket counter to ask what to do next.
Turns out the next flight to Memphis is at 8:47 the next morning. So I can come back and they will get me on that flight. But where will I sleep? They can give me a coupon for 15% off the airport motel of my choice. I think not. "I contracted with you people to get me to Memphis tonight. I do not have plans or the budget to sleep in Phoenix. You delayed me. You put me up for the night." So they give me a voucher for a night's stay at, and book me reservations for, the Marriott. And give me a meal voucher for an airport restaurant. I eat at Flo's Chinese Buffet and take the motel shuttle to a nice room with a hot bath and a king-size bed (point I). Not my plans, but not the worst way to spend a night, either.
Next morning the flight leaves only about 15 minutes late (I could have driven to Phoenix by now, seriously). And I arrive in Memphis (point J, if you continue to count the Phoenix airport as point H, even though I went there twice)) just 14 hours later than planned, having left home (point A, that is) 31 hours before. (I've driven from Memphis to my new home town in 42 hours--albeit with another driver. See previous blog.)
And my two day stay in Memphis is wonderful--almost holy. I get to see some (not all) of my most-beloveds, practice doing the work I feel called at this time to do, and spend a couple of nights in the house I wanted to buy while I was living there.
Of course the flights back are not exactly on time, but I make my connections and end up in San Francisco only about 30 minutes later than I expected. The Airtrain is not working and the only way I know to get to the BART station is on the Airtrain. So after going up and down the escalators trying to diligently follow the woefully inadequate signs "directing" me (BART --> and when you go --> BART is not X) I ask at an information desk, where a kind elderly gentleman shows me on the map just where BART X. And just then the Airtrain starts working again so I board it and it takes me one stop before staying ominously still. For a long time. For a very long time.
There are instructions overhead for using the in-car intercom to communicate with Airtrain Personnel and I am wondering whether I am going to be able to resist using it, when Mother announces that the Airtrain is experiencing technical difficulty and will be moving shortly, and please only use the intercom for actual emergencies.
And eventually we get going again and I make it to the BART station in just about three times as many minutes as it would have taken me to walk (after Granpa Information had given me some). So at the BART station all of the LED destination signs are blank and, being a neophyte, I do not know where to stand to catch my train to Richmond (via MacArthur Park). So I ask a driver and he says, "Well,. you could get on the Fremont train and switch at 12th street, or you could get on the Pittsburgh train and switch at MacArthur. But if you want, you can get on my train and go back to Millbrae--next and last stop on this route, and then catch a train that will take you to Richmond with no transfers." So I do that. And when I get to the Millbrae station, all of the LED destination signs are blank. (A pattern is developing, no?) So I ask The Lady in the Little Glass Booth what train I get on to go to Richmond. And she points to the train I just got off and says, "You get on that one and go to the Airport, then transfer to the East Bay train and get off at 12th street, then get on the train for Richmond." I stare blankly and say, "I just got ON that train at the airport. And he said if I came here I could get on a train that would take me straight to Richmond." She says (very nicely; she likes her job, I think, even on days like this), "I'm sorry. The whole system is having trouble and we are having to reroute." I begin to have an absolute panic attack at the thought of being stuck in the Bay Area with no earthly clue where I actually am, with public transportation down.
And my cell phone battery died shortly after taking off from Phoenix (even though I'd charged it all night...)
So, having no idea what else to do, I get back on the train I just got off. And immediately upon my tush hitting the seat, the driver announces, "This train goes to San Francisco Airport only. This train does not go to Fremont, Pittsburgh or Richmond. Do not board this train unless your destination is San Francisco Airport." Meanwhile The Lady in the Little Glass Booth is now out of her glass booth, herding passengers on to the train with the words, "This is the only train. You must take this train to the airport and make a connection there. There is no other train leaving this station. You must get on this train." and she is making sweeping motions with her arms to encourage compliance with her words. So I leave my tush in the seat.
The train does indeed take me back to the airport. And I do transfer to the East Bay train which takes me to the 12th street station, where I board the train that is bound for Richmond. Except all of this takes over four times as long as it is supposed to. What should have taken 45 minutes takes three hours and ten minutes. Needless to say, I have missed my Amtrak connection home. Oh, and the train after that, too.
But good ol' Amtrak has another train leaving soon, with just enough time to buy a ticket from R2D2 and make it back up in the amazingly slow elevator to the only track where the train stops. And it is pleasantly air-conditioned. And I eat a remarkably-less-disgusting-than-I-anticipated cheeseburger and fries, charge my cell phone in the nicely provided outlet, and call my daughter--who is already at the train station to pick me up--to tell her that I won't be there for an hour and a half. But I actually make it in an hour and 20 minutes. And we make it back to the house in her car in about 20 minutes, notwithstanding it being toward the end of rush hour. And I am SO grateful to not be sitting on the bus.
I'm thinking the shortest distance between two points is a Toyota Prius.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
okay, its getting to be no longer amusing....
The engine light came on in the newly-transfered-from-sister-to-mom hybrid Honda wondercar. What karmic debt is this about? I'll "let your people go." Please stop the plague!!
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