HOW I SPENT MY SPRING VACATION

Unlike previous voyages to Madison, WI I made flight arrangements to avoid a 6:50 am flight. Also, I prefer the term efficient to cheap skate. Why pay for a hotel if you aren't going to maximize the room? Sure, okay. I wasn't really paying for it. An extra four hours of working out, grabbing gifts for friends and packing...and re-packing seems a lot more smarter than hurrying half-asleep to a six hour episode of sitting. Leaving later almost made the return trip almost bearable.

The driver, Ed, is infamous in our parts. The buildings EPIC uses for training are a few miles from bulk of the hotels in Madison. Most of those are in the area near and around the capitol and federal buildings. Most of the hotels have some version of a shuttle service to whip people around the area. Standard for most hotels anywhere, really. With EPIC, there are several hundred people that attend classes each week. There is a collective fleet of vehicles that arrive each morning and return each evening.

Ed must have been a former NASCAR driver or has no value for human life or property of any relevance. When Ed was driving in the morning those of us in the know would linger around to get on his shuttle or one of the vans. Ed traditionally started with a quick no look merge into traffic and it continued to one handed 110 degree turns through the yellowiest of lights. A common theme was Ed leaving the Madison Concourse five minutes later than the first van and arriving two to three minutes before the other van. Ed was always tipped well.

Ed happened to be my driver to the airport. Most of the trip I rode shotgun. Again, it's a van, do I really need to sit by myself five feet behind the driver when you K N O W they are going to end up talking to you anyway. Ed busied me with the weather. It does change on a seasonal basis, I gathered. Madison was in its spring flawed only to be followed shortly by a flurry of snow for about a week, according to Ed. Ed eventually chastised the fact that I was California and the topic led to cheese. California produces just as much cheese as Wisconsin. Wisconsin produces several hundred more varieties of cheese than California.

Ed also denied that the price is determined by the distance it is produced from Eua Claire Wisconsin. It is.

Ed also lingered fairly long after the van stopped at the departure area at the airport. I don't think he was too keen on lifting any more bags or luggage than he had to. I still tipped him. The customary $5 has now dwindled down to $3. Most of the week I was the only passenger tipping the shuttle drivers. Even though the hotel provides this "free" service tips are expected in the service industry. Some of the drivers were college kids. Anything to keep them drunk. Sure alcohol kills brain cells; but only the weak ones.

Tipping housekeeping as well. Many do not know you should do that. See how many extra towels, ice cubes and chocolates you get on your pillow with a $5 or more tip.

Other information in the area of etiquette;

A gentleman proceeds a lady through a revolving door as the door only moves when the person in front pushes the door. Gentleman should make sure they push with enough force so the lady is not stuck in the revolving door like a bee under a juice glass.
You do not tip the desk personnel unless they come out from behind the desk.
Asking if you should tip is just as rude as not tipping. If you don't know, ask "how much do you usually get tipped?"
If you offer a tip and the person states they are not supposed to take tips, use the Grandpa Natina retort, "then don't tell anyone."
When eating in the hotel restaurant or bar and paying via your room number or account, you should try to leave cash as a gratuity.
As a suggestion from me; you should personally try to mention to the concierge or front desk that the housekeeping staff or other personnel were very helpful and 'wonderful'. It makes YOU feel wonderful.

Checking with at Northwest Air is relatively easy. Each has the same self-service kiosk. Though it does differ in process from airport to airport it seems. In Sacramento they want you to present your luggage first then proceed to the boarding pass kiosk then they ask you, "is this your luggage?". In Phoenix they hand you the tag to put on your bag and make you walk it 50 feet to the TSA pile of bags and luggage. I wondered if my bag was going to get lost and I waited to confirm with the attendant that this was the procedure. In Madison they just want to get you checked in as soon as possible and they will come take your bag for you. I've also found in Madison they try to give you an ETA on how long the security line is and mention that you should linger in the gift shop or scurry up the stairs.

Kind of says a lot about each city, doesn't it?

The security line was only a dozen people deep but still had issues. An elderly woman forgot her shoes and then couldn't seem to get them on. A set of keys fell out of the X-ray machine and the owner did not return to retrieve them. I had already learned my lesson trying to bring Gold Bond lotion in from Arizona. They still have their ridiculous notion that a tube of toothpaste or a baby's bottle is a terrorist act. Please. Let the baby have its bottle if I am going to be on a plane with it. Homeland Security has these small plastic bags that they require you to put all of your "lotions, lipstick, lube, Chapstick, toothpaste..." in before going through their redetection maze. Otherwise they will X-ray your bag and find it and it will hold up the line.

Even though something more than 3.5 ounces will easily fit in the bag the individual items may not be over 3.5 ounces. In Phoenix I tried in vain to argue that my Gold Bond bottle might say more than 3.5 ounces but I had used so much that it was now less than 3.5 ounces. That didn't work. In Madison I forgot that I had some of the free lotion from the Concourse in my laptop bag. They didn't detect it. Or the plastic explosives that looked like chewing gum or the poisoned projectiles in the Altoids tin. I am pretty sure that the ties that the flight attendants wear could be used to choke them like a garrote. My iPod could be a tazer. My Binaca could be pepper spray or mace.

Eh.

I had forgotten to get cheese earlier that day on State street. I was threatening to hit myself when I decided that I should ask if they sold any in the gift shop near the gates. I was positive it would be a hassle to go back downstairs, buy cheese, then try to get back through security. The excuse that the experience was so fun I wanted to do it again probably wouldn't fly. Tee hee. Punny.

Are you familiar with the term "donkey ears"? A good example is when a door is a 'push' and you 'pull' (or vice versa) despite it being clearly marked on the door. You look like an idiot as the person behind you correctly manipulates the door and mutters, "jackass" as they walk through the door. Yes, you are now wearing the donkey ears. You wear it. You own those ears, bitch.

I was greeted by the clerk at the gift shop and asked in a defeated tone if they had any cheese. He didn't attempt to adorn me with the donkey ears. He went with the ducking and motioning action toward the huge refrigerated case of cheese against a nearby wall. In my defense, it was not visible from outside the gift shop. Nevertheless.

"Hee aww!"

I sat and waited at the gate. It was about an hour. It was a tame flight and the crew seemed like they weren't pissed off to be working that early. Often you have to feel compassion for flight attendants. Look they made a made career decision and it's easy to see the displeasure in their face. But if they are courteous I am fine. I don't need the fake smile or the personalized offer of a beverage. Just give me the one eyebrow raised and I'll say, "ginger ale, please - no ice" and I will say "thank you". You could be a robot or android or something and it would be okay. Flight attendant is a thankless job in which they are constantly being thanked. I am sure it's when they don't get thanked that another centimeter of crow's feet finds it way onto their face. Each "thank you" keeps them going and maybe it is this next passenger, if they don't say, "thank you" they are going to have an emotional and psychological breakdown. Barbara actually thanked me. I guess we were thinking the same thing.

The flight to Minneapolis was fine and I quickly looked for a place to eat before my flight to Phoenix. The time between flights was less than an hour. I had a banana and orange juice just after I worked out that morning and with the new policy of having to buy snacks during a flight I wanted to make sure that I had something to eat. I didn't really want to eat. I would have been happy with a handful of nuts and maybe a cracker or two. Maybe coffee. Caribou coffee has what they call a 'Depth-Charge' - "Black coffee spiked with an espresso shot". The large is three shots of espresso. But, I was traveling on the company dime and I had already saved them a few hundred dollars on airfare by flying from Phoenix.

Hopefully that justifies me sitting down to eat. I do not think it justifies me eating at an airport TGI Fridays. Still. It was the best option considering Burger King and A&W were the other food eateries within shouting distance to my gate. I debated the limited menu and went with the turkey burger. This could have been a huge mistake. Poultry can do weird things to the human body. Luckily there were no issues.

It did bring up a new area for discussion in modern society. Cell phone usage in restaurants and airports and planes is truly annoying. Text messaging has thankfully brought that down a bit. But what about iPods or other audio or visual devices? Is it rude to sit by yourself with your ear buds and the Velvet Underground thumping and stare out toward the people wandering off to their flights like a human ant farm spread out across the immediate horizon? Grant Lee Phillips explained shortly thereafter Eveybody Needs A Little Sanctuary.

In my time traveling I have developed a bad habit of waiting to be the last person on the plane. I don't travel with anything that needs to go in the overhead bin and I'd rather not be smacked in the head by someone swinging their bag. Which is was exactly happened despite my precautions. I tend to keep personal space at near maximum in lines and yet I had 'Samsonite' branded into my check. The guy tried to buy me drinks. Nice gesture, but I don't drink. All the other drinks are free. Hey, how about a simple apology?

This is one of those examples of where the day and the trip were going swimmingly and suddenly one person changes the course of events. People wonder why I am so big on etiquette and manners. Even if you have the personality of an asshole you can still be courteous and respectful. Even if everyone around you is a stupid jerkhead and doesn't deserve to be in the presence of the CO2 I exhale. It is delightful, by the way. Really.

I had chosen the back row of the plane when I checked in online the day before. The entire row was empty and I was hoping to get some work and writing done, maybe even a nap, during the three hours flight. Instead, the plane was packed. There was a group of big, white-teeth, jaw-clenching, blonde haired socialites loitering at the gate and there was enough handshaking to make me think that there was a business meeting that was to take place on the plane.

But these people looked mush to similar not to be related. Or at least ordered out of the same Ralph Laruen catalog. Which most of them seemed to be wearing. A wedding? A family reunion? Who knows. But I continually waited for one of them to call for 'Jeeves' the longtime butler who they often and lovingly referred to as 'You There...". Why were they flying coach class? And from Minneapolis? These were New Englanders all, Vermont, possibly Maine. Somewhere cold. It dawned on me that they could be Canadians. Oh your god! Canadians on this plane? Where is the racial profiling when you need it? Or at least the socio-economic profiling.

Seriously. These people had way too much money to be flying on this cheap of a flight. Perhaps that's why the flight was suddenly full, though. They were flying stand by. In their case I am sure they referred to it as a leisure class flight and stand by was just an annoyance such as waiting for that 'ethnic boy' valet to bring the car around.

Really. Way too much money. I thought of mugging one of them. All of them. Thin. Expensive haircuts. And I should know. They were dressed well and smiled way too much.

Yah, I sound like a lower-middle class snob. Imagine, Julian Sands and several clones were on your cheap ass flight. What would you think?

The rest of the flight was awful. 45 minutes into the flight a line formed at the rear restrooms. I am in the aisle seat in the back row. The line did not stop until we were about to land. Almost three hours of asses and crotches in my face and none of them worthy of my attention. It wouldn't have been such a bad experience if some of them didn't think my headrest was there for their support. By the time we landed my neck was crooked 15-10 degrees to the left. So much for the work Melissa put into the massage.

Upon landing I ventured to the luggage carousel. Since my hand wasn't blinking read, everything was fine. The Phoenix airport has a cool effect with their escalators. The walls are Grand Canyoney and stuff. Like Disney might like to mock. But better since you weren't being charge $65 to wait in line. At the carousel some of my questions were answered when a bag that was clearly a set of golf clubs appeared on the conveyer. Then another. And another. And another. The family of 16-20 started grabbing their bags and ventured out to the bright Arizona sun. Most likely a family reunion of the boys in Arizona for a few days of golf.

Once finding the shuttle with the ROADRUNNER logo (the other was a gecko, by the way) I was in the garage walking toward my car. I was curious. And my curiosity paid off. The morning I thought I was running late I was finishing a banana and I could not find a garbage can in the garage. So I left it near an elevator on top of the fire extinguisher box. It was still there five days later.

I jumped in the car and rolled out of the garage. I called Jay and Christy to let them know that I arrived and I was heading out to their house in Queen Creek. They warned that it was going to take a while and I mentioned I thought I might just stop and eat. It took a little more than 90 minutes. Traffic in Phoenix suck diddly-ucks. I rolled into the house of Little Girl Kate and she was fresh from a bath. She was quickly escorted away and came back a few minutes later so I could give her the old-tymey Winnie the Pooh stuffed animal that had its arms wrapped around a rolled up blankey that you could take out. Kate liked it and promptly spilled something on it.

Jay mentioned something to me and Christy jumped in. After reading some of HOW I SPENT MY SPRING VACATION they remarked that I seemed like an actual person with feelings and everything. Which is funny since my editor thinks my voice right now is cold. Jay and Christy talked about when I came through New York my second year at Wilkes and stayed with them the night before my flight (which I got bumped from because security delayed flights and people were bumped to later and later flights if they hadn't arrive 3-4 hours ahead of their flight). They both remarked, "that is one angry guy". They had mentioned that when I had visited that last two years and the week before that I don't seem as angry. I didn't get a definitive term, maybe dysfunctional, but closer to normal? Natalie thinks 'dysfunctional' is apt.

Jay and Christy engaged in a wondrous debate on whose fault it was that the lived so far away from everything in Phoenix. It was an equal sided argument. They are both wrong. This wasn't a prime example of a married couple arguing. Because they were smiling way too much and there wasn't any grandstanding or mocking tones or gestures being thrown around. I was actually kind of disappointed. I haven't seen a good married fight in awhile. I've heard them while others were on the phone. Usually the married or parental fights I was privy to were either by phone or by silence. Very infrequent was there yelling. But, yah, there was that, too. I preferred the silence. Even though that was probably the worst way to deal with the issues. But the yelling just gave the idea that there was hate, and not a disagreement or that someone had just fucked up.

Jay was queuing up GIMME SHELTER the documentary of the Rolling Stones' concert at Altamont in 1969. Some people believe that's truly when the 60's died. Others believe it was sometime around January 1st 1970. Probably later in the afternoon since it's not a work day and some were probably hung over. Only time will tell. Jay and I talked about the Rolling Stones, the Who and he was relieved to know that I was a fan. Jay and Christy are big Pearl Jam fans, too. I keep telling you people how cool they are! Music is so important in a child's development. It took me 20 years to figure out why Brian Wilson was a genius and not because Beach Boys songs were easy to remember and nod your head to.

While Jay and Christy and I were talking Little Girl Kate was running into the room with a loud "la-la-la-la-", stopping near me and then yelling, "Zachy-poo!". Which of course I would say, "Katie-Poo" and she would run out of the room to "la-la-la-la-". Then return 2-3 minutes later to repeat. Jay was adept at pausing in mid-sentence upon her entrance and resuming as the volume receding with her exit of the room.

Jay liked my idea of having the Beatles join with the Who for a tour. It's perfect. The death of their band mates is a perfect fit, too. I'd pay $500 to see Ringo on drums, Paul on bass and vocals, with Roger Daltrey on lead vocals with Pete Townsend on guitar. Jay agreed. Christy did not agree. The $500 was what she did not agree with. Jay then popped out the trivia question of what two important film makers worked on GIMME SHELTER. George Lucas and Francis Ford Coppola.

A bit later Christy's college roommate and her husband arrived. Very unfortunate. He was a Giants fan. Poor sod. Jay and Christy watch a lot of baseball. Jay intently while Christy can maneuver and not have to see the 1-0 breaking ball that was called a ball and devastatingly changes an at-bat. The outcome of an at-bat for a batter with a 2-0 count versus a 1-1 count is the greatest difference in any one pitch sequence. Jay knows that. Christy probably knows that. I admit I can't watch that much baseball because the television talking heads are annoying. Just brain stabbing through the ear annoying. I have to watch a majority of A's games with the sound muted. Just awful, awful stuff.

Christy took me to her parent's house a few miles away. They bought the house recently but they are still in Florida. The house was not really moved into or they truly have a Spartan life-style. I was wondering if they only had one faucet for the sinks as that would be all one really needs. The house interior was mostly white and that really made the idea that there wasn't a lot of stuff in the house become more prevalent. As I was falling asleep to Futurama I started to get very comfortable with the 'space'. I wasn't confined. And while it wasn't exactly warm, it's was freeing.

Christy was kind enough to click on the hot water heater the night before so it made my pre-commute drive back to Sacramento effective. You never, ever, want to be on the road for 10 plus hours and start out feeling dirty or smelly. There are plenty of opportunities for that down the road. We had agreed that I really didn't know what I was going to do that morning. If I was going to call them and try to see them or if I was just going to take off. I gave them the warning that I could just leave at 3 or 4 in the morning if my body told me, "let's go". I left a little after 8:00 and slammed right into a traffic jam trying to get out of Phoenix. It took about 30 minutes to get from Queen Creek to Phoenix (think Elk Grove to midtown). One on I-10 the five lane highway was shut down to one. I didn't get out of Phoenix until 9:45. As much as I complain about lines and traffic, waiting is not that big of a deal to me. I can be patient when it makes sense to be patient. When I am made to wait when there really is no reason, it aggrivatezes me. And I begin to take liberties with the English language.

Examples:

man on the wing of a plane fixing something - I can wait all damn day so he can fix it before we are airborne.

The bottleneck of Business 80 from downtown Sacramento and 50 east and west - there is traffic there seven days a week and it can't be alleviated?

The person who decides they are going to wait until they get to the ATM to take out their card, then sign the check they are going to deposit, then get cash out - and follow up with an attempt of a hostile take over of the Westinghouse Corporation via the same ATM.

Other things I can wait for, but it's not easy.

I have never really done any long distance driving using a cell phone. I got a few calls and made a few calls. One or two that came out of nowhere and a bunch of dropped calls. I was so busy on the phone and riving that I forgot about my bladder. All of the water I had been drinking decided it wanted out. I wasn't trying to push it but I drove 90 mph over the grapevine and I thought I could make it to a stop with facilities. Really, though, in this day and age of anti-bacterial hand sanitizer and an off ramp to an open field - who really needs a restroom? Exactly.

I rolled into Sacramento a little after 8:30 and when I went over to see Dave he had been sleeping so he was not up to full spaz potential. This was fine. I spent some time with Dave and then went back to unload the car and try to unpack before I had to get into the shower. I checked my various email accounts. I checked MySpace. All was well. I was officially in zombie mode and no thoughts were penetrating the thought that I had been focused on for weeks. I thought, maybe, it would have passed or lessened with the trip.

Nope.

I sent out my press release that I was home and I was going to go see a friend that night. On my way out the door I checked my email again. I checked MySpace and all was not well. At some point between 8:30 and 10:30 something happened that I do not understand. Even if I wasn't already in zombie mode, this would have knocked me into it.

Next, finally, the epilogue and if there was a point.

. . . Continue to Epilogue . . .