Running Air

Since I cleverly left all key medications in San Francisco in my haste to succor my [NOT VERY] ailing child, I had to arrange for an emergency refill at a local Walgreens. Once they assured me that the drugs would be available for me, I figured out how to walk there--a mile and a half each way on a sunny day, but a pleasant walk. Once or twice on the way there I began to wonder if I would ever find Northern Boulevard, but...hey presto, at long last there it was. I felt at times like I was walking through my old neighborhood in Bensonhurst; at other times like I was at the seedy end of Notting Hill (it's all the little red-brick houses). My favorite sign was for The Himalayan Yak Restaurant (I wish I'd been able to steal a menu...). Later in the afternoon the Not Very Ailing Child and I walked up to an Old Navy and back. I'm rather enjoying the process of navigation--made hugely easier, of course, by being able to check everything out on the internet before we leave. Even when we last lived full time in NY, this was not so much possible. Lovin the future, again.

So, the Repulsive Child and I are holed up in Woodside, Queens. RC aka Avocado, has been fever-free since I picked her up yesterday, but neither her appetite nor her energy level are back to usual, so I'm keeping her close to home until Monday at the earliest (when she and some of her buddies are planning to see a movie). I'm getting updates from the camp as to when and how she'll be readmitted to camp (I may have to get a note from a doctor...none of which I have here, of course, but I can try to get hold of her long-ago pediatrician and see if they'll do an old patient a quick favor). And I'm getting my work done, slowly (trying to proofread in a studio apartment with someone who's watching Family Feud and Judge Judy is a slightly uphill slog).

Meanwhile, I have ranged around the neighborhood, finding a supermarket and a pharmacy and (O! building blocks of human life!) a frozen yogurt joint, a comic book store, and a Boston Market, as well as Thai and Chinese places.

This is a nice, quiet, pleasant neighborhood, and I've been enjoying walking around, noting who our temporary neighbors are. Took the subway to Forest Hills to get to a bookstore to get a book for Avocado (in the hopes that I would be able to get her off the TV and I could work a little more), and it was pleasant over there, too. Even though I don't know this neighborhood, I feel like I'm home. Now if only Avocado would turn off Judge Judy...

To klages, who is this-many-fingers old today. I send a glass of virtual Macallan 18 to your (virtual) table.

I'm in Charlotte, NC, waiting for my connection to JFK. So. Sleepy. Talked with Avocado briefly when she got to NYC last night.

Me: How are you?"

A: Fine!

Me: No, I mean, you were sick yesterday.

A: Oh, yeah. Well, I'm feeling better now.

Me (thinking of the masks, the germicidal wipes, the hand sanitizer and Advil and Zinc lozenges in my bag). Well, that's good. But the first couple of days we're together I want you to rest. Then, if you're really feeling better, we can have a few small, inexpensive adventures.

A (thinking of the things she didn't get to do two weeks ago because you can only squeeze so many adventures into a three day period): Cool! I'll make a list.

Well, I've got enough DVDs in my bag to get us through a couple of days, and then we'll see. I could use some real, not-on-an-airplane sleep, myself.

I suppose that would be me.

Avocado's camp is closing for a week, on the advice of the Dept of Health. So either (depending on whether we can borrow a friend's pad in Brooklyn or not) I fly to Burlington and snatch up the kid and nurse her at a Motel 6, or I fly to NYC and meet the bus and pick the child up and stay at the apartment in Brooklyn.

Either way...movin', movin', movin.

Last year the camp had a flood. This year it's pestilence. Dare I hope that next year it will be famine? Jeez.

ETA: It's New York, the flight is booked, and another parent is taking custody of A. until I can get there tomorrow morning. Now to plan what to pack (Advil, thermometer, DVDs, my current proofing job...and clean underwear).

At 11 pm I got a call from camp. Avocado--and 17 of her camp-mates--are sick. Fluish-sick. Temps of 100° or thereabouts, achy and nauseated. All the building blocks of flu, right? And the state department of health wants them all quarrantined (which camp is not set up to do) or, failing that, off campus until they're each symptom free for 48 hours. Not unreasonable.

It looks like I may be making a previously unscheduled trip east to hole up in a Motel 6 with a vomitous child until she's well again. It's not like they can put her on a plane (by herself, sick) and send her home. And there is no such thing as a genteel home for ailing teens to which she could be directed. And anyway, she's my sweetie and I want to take care of her.

Just...damn, you know?

My LiveJournal Sitcom
madrobins in the university (SHOWTIME, 10:30): madrobins (Anna Chlumsky) and maureenmcq (Ralph Fiennes) find a lost monkey at the beach. Also, khaybee (Tiffani-Amber Thiessen) breaks pnh (Mark Hamill)'s old 100-meter-dash record, but nobody sees it happen. That night, sartorias (Tom Cruise) nixes wild_irises (Al Jolson)'s picnic plans. On the other side of town, klages (Jason Robards) bakes 500 cookies for a bake sale, but matociquala (Bonnie Hunt) eats them all. Meanwhile, malkingrey (Calista Flockhart) and janni (Michael Moore) buy a playground. Wacky results follow.
What's Your LiveJournal Sitcom? (by rfreebern)

It's summer, the perfect time to do something silly. Like go up to Skywalker today to watch a screening of The Wrath of Khan with other, similarly geeky Lucas employees. Am meeting Sarcasm Girl and The Beau in Richmond and driving up with them, for a picnic dinner and the aforementioned frivolity. Deciding whether to bring popcorn...

In other news, Avocado called from camp requesting provisions (of course you forgot toothpaste, you ridiculous widget) and telling me that she'd snagged the part of Grace in the camp production of Annie. I think she would have made a killer Miss Hannigan, but Grace is good too.

Emily remains a dog. As a matter of fact, Emily remains a high-flying dog (although this photo is a year old):



If you look closely you can see a red ball in Em's mouth--the reason for her levitation trick. I do rather like the looks of awe on the faces of her canine peers.

Friday, we set off for Marin to go to the 31st Annual Lucasfilm 4th of July Party at Skywalker Ranch. (I know, I know: name dropping much?) Almost to my relief, neither George Lucas nor any of his friends were there, so it was just me, the Spouse, and maybe a thousand other employees and their families. Much food and drink were provided, and there was a cheery, competent staff of mostly young, personable people handling everything from parking to running sack races for the kids and "Australian Trolley Races" for adults. There was swimming in the pond and the pool; there were pony rides and big ribbons for anyone who won any of the activities (there was one little kid who was wreathed around with so many blue, red and white ribbons he looked like he was about to tip face forward from the weight. We met a lot of people (architects who have been working with "George" since he first bought the ranch, people from other branches of the Lucasfilm/Skywalker/ILM empire) and talked and laughed a lot. The sun shone but it was not too hot, and thanks to copious lathering-on of sunblock, neither of us got sunburned. It was swell.

Buoyed up by all the fun we went to see Public Enemies, which is beautiful looking, but...hollow. No one does a bad job; in fact, everyone is working hard. But the movie never commits to Dillinger--he's a character who knows, and loves, his status with the public, and he's got charm, but charm seems to be all he's got. I don't blame Johnny Depp, I blame the writers and Michael Mann, who can get all bound up in the surface. But it is pretty.

Last night, in honor of the 4th of July, the Spouse and I watched Galaxy Quest because...wait, it's Galaxy Quest, it needs no reason other than its own sweet self. And I started to feel like I was fighting off something.

This morning I felt a little worse, but with the weird sense that I could not quite figure out what felt worse. So I've declared it a Sloth Day, and am lying around being, well, slothful. Back to work tomorrow, with everyone else.

Today I love Robert Gibbs, White House Press Secretary. He had clearly been waiting for a question from the Washington Post to come up:

You may notice that my Rs become a little sketchy. This is because Emily, sleeping next to me in the Big Chair in the sunroom last night, was struck by one of those sudden dog paranoia fits and scrabbled to her feet, launching from the chair and running into the living room to bark fiercely at some unseen threat. Unfortunately, she scrabbled over my laptop keyboard and sent the R key sailing, and despite three of us looking last night, I have not found the damned key.

Again, Damnéd Dog.

A new product was listed with coupons on an email from our usual grocery store: Betty Crocker's "Suddenly Salad." (Actually, it's "Suddenly Pasta Salad," but that doesn't scan as well.)

So what do you think? Fierce attack salad, lurking around dark corners to leap at you and scare you out of your wits? Or Ellen Greene singing about lunch at the Little Shop of Horrors? (See, I told you scansion was important.)

So there you are, a paleontologist from somewhere on the globe, in Cinncinnati for the North American Paleontological Convention. And one of your colleagues thoughtfully arranges an optional fieldtrip to the Creation Science Museum in nearby Petersburg, KY. And, because you're broadminded and a good scout, you go.

Even beyond the comments in the NY Times's article, I just keep writing scripts in my head for the repetitive brain-explosion moments these folk must have undergone. The girl feeding a carrot to a squirrel while watched by dinosaurs is particularly a lovely image--although in my head the girl wears a 1950s full-skirted dress, saddle shoes, and pig-tails, rather than the Biblical robes they've probably got her tricked out in. But maybe not. If you can have brachiosaurs watching squirrels, why not dress the humans in dirndls and saddle shoes?

These guys are good sports, I'll say that for them.

• Avocado is on the camp bus. Her duffles, sent by UPS last week before she and I left for the Right Coast, have arrived at camp, so she will have clean underwear and other amenities. Barring flood, famine, pestilence or Giant Space Lobsters, she's all set for an excellent summer.

• Sarcasm Girl is registering for her fall classes, and got new glasses yesterday.

• The Spouse is on his way to the airport to return home. Hope he sleeps on the plane, because he has to be at work at 8 am tomorrow (which means leaving the house at 7am, which means getting up at half-past elbow).

• I have been actually getting some work done since returning home. Not vast quantities of work, but a steady stream. I could get used to this.

• Emily remains a dog. I find this comforting.

• Overheard at Starbucks today: "I can't afford to be bi-polar."

• Also overheard: a fascinating conversation between a supervisor and one of her office workers. What I gathered was that Office Worker A had had an affair with another Office Worker B and, after said affair ended, Office Worker B had taken to sniping at OW-A until he stopped talking to her, to the detriment of office morale and productivity. I was impressed by the supervisor's firmness and sympathy (and her clear intention to keep this guy on the payroll because he was a good worker, if he and OW-B could just work it all out) and good humor.

• I got 1000 words written, plus 1000 words or so of prior writing transcribed. Also got my eyes examined and took Her Nibs The Royal Emily to the park. Also got a massage.

• I note that when I get a massage my nose gets stuffy. Immediately afterward everything unclogs. I'm sure there's a reason for this, but I don't know what it is.

• No matter that I'm 3000 miles away: my darling family members must send me texts and call me to complain or explain about life and each other. Even when I suggest that they might want to talk to each other... Nah.

Went and had my eyes dilated at the optometrist this morning (when you have glaucoma on your mother's side and macular degeneration on your father's side, annual vision checks are not a thing you economize on). As a result (and because the favorite dog park does not open until 2pm on Friday) I am waiting until my pupils return to something approaching their normal size.

Emily thinks this is patently unfair. She is whining fiercely and trying to speed-dial the ASPCA. Dog, even if I took you to the park (where you lost your damned ball yesterday, might I add) the gates would be locked and there would be no fun. In fifteen minutes I will take you. Until then, go whine at someone else.

Oh, wait. There is no one else here. Well, stop whining anyway,

Emily keeps telling me that she was beaten with sticks at the Dog Prison Hotel, but she has no welts, there are no signs of bamboo having been forced under her claws, and she's hale and hearty and damned near didn't let us leave the kennel because she was jumping up so fiercely to explain the depth of her love for me and her despair at being heartlessly abandoned.

In unrelated news: I tried to make coffee this morning and discovered that Avocado, not knowing how these things are done (because she hasn't been paying attention for the past 13 years) had put milk in the kitchen kettle to make hot cocoa, and had not cleaned it out before she left, with the result that my coffee was not drinkable, and the kettle is now, um, in recovery. Why did the kids put jam on the cat?

I am home. In my own house, with my bag unpacked. Emily is still at the Dog Prison Hotel, but I will pick her up in the morning. I have a budget of chores tomorrow (pick up dog, take dog to Vet, deal with dog's undying wrath, mail off stuff to Avocado, take care of paperwork for Sarcasm Girl) but it's also quiet and I have no one (other than Emily) to answer for. Wow.

I'm watching Keith Olbermann and Rachel Maddow on the plane. It seems to me that if you are governor of a state and you disappear for a week people are going to notice that you're missing, and they will find out where you were. If the guy had simply booked a trip, told his secretary where he was going and made up a pretext, rather than disappearing, he might have gotten away with it. For now. Might. But this whole mess looks like someone doing his best to shoot himself in the foot really hard. Did Sanford simply make a non-decision that he didn't really want to be in politics, and this was the only way he could do it?

Meanwhile: holy shit. I just saw an ad on MSNBC for Chia Obama. It does not seem to be a joke. It appears to be real. Maybe it's a sign of the apocalypse.

I'm in my comfy seat on Virgin Atlantic, availing myself of free wi-fi.

I love the future. Particularly when it's, like, now.