Airing my Philthy Laundry: July 2005

Sunday, July 31, 2005

August AOTM- Jeff Buckley

only one album, but one of the best.

Sunday, July 24, 2005

Worst Day Ever

In an effort to make you feel good about your life, I'm going to tell you about my day today.
Chicago is perhaps one of the best places in the country to be during the summer. Usually warm but tolerable temperatures are typical, and everywhere you turn, there's some sort of street festival with local talent and an abundance of food and beer. That's where my story begins, the "Summer on Southport" celebration that is currently taking place 20 yards from my apartment.
This particular festival sprang up with no warning what-so-ever, and since I was one of the unfortunate few to park my car on Southport the day before, my car was towed to make room for a face painter or something. I noticed this Saturday early in the afternoon. Since I was on my way to Lollapalooza, I called about my car, found out where it was, and decided to enjoy day one of this two day music extravaganza, which I did.
The plan for today was to get the car this morning (Sunday) head back downtown for Day 2 of Lolla...but plans don't always go the way you hope. I couldn't find anyone to take me to the impound lot so I had to take a cab. $25 later, I make it there, very sweaty since today is the hottest day of the year in Chicago and the cab I picked had no air conditioning. I arrive to very pleasant workers who tell me my car is there and they just need to see my ID. But upon looking at my ID they see my name is Phil, and not John, who the car is registered under. I say "John is my father, the car should be registered under both of our names." She says that she only sees my dad and she can't give me the car. I need a notarized letter from my father saying that it is ok that I take MY CAR from the premises. Phone call home, and surprisingly my dad is in taking a break from the heat inside the house. Since he's the best Dad ever, he runs around town, finds a notary public and faxes this to this woman. Unfortunately for me, it takes an hour. An hour that I am stuck in a trailer in the middle of a parking lot, at over 100 degrees, with no A/C watching several other angry people from all over the city try to get their cars back as well. I'm sweating in places I didn't even know I had glands. When my dad's fax finally comes, disaster number two happens...Cash only. The woman tells me "There's a Mobil station a few blocks from here. Just go north about three blocks and then go left a few more blocks until you get to the corner of Heatstroke & Despair." So I start to walk, in the heat, and all the sudden, my sandal breaks. I continue the trek with one shoe on the hot sidewalk decorated with broken glass and disease. Mobil station, money, walk back. I'm dripping with sweat, writhing with pain from my lopsided walk. Now I actually get to walk to my car...space 329. The impound lot is like a desert of auto parts. Some cars have flats, some have been broken into, some have been stripped for parts. Mine, praise the lord, seems to be ok. I go through the rest of the procedures, give the city of Chicago $200 for my car and make my way home, over 3 hours later. I'm so pissed, and tired, and hot, that I decide not to attempt to go to the second half of the second day of Lollapalooza and instead nurse myself back to hydration in my air conditioned apartment. Worst day ever.

Friday, July 22, 2005

Distraction

The Internet is my best friend and worst enemy both at the same time. It is always there when I need someone. It always has the answers to my questions. It connects the divided, informs the ignorant, amuses the bored, indulges the lethargic.
All I need to do is prepare a couple presentations and I'm free from work to enjoy the weekend, but the internet, the three-inch devil on my shoulder, offers me the world. Undilligently I accept it's proposal.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Inside Out

Today I had to get an x-ray taken, something that I haven't had done in a while. I'd forgotten what a weird feeling it is to be laying on this cold, hard table in your underwear while this woman puts you in all these different positions taking pictures of your insides. I'm also not very comfortable with the fact that they're shooting these rays at me with no protection, while they go in a room and hide behind a wall. I just know my children are going to have webbed feet or something.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Reason #36 my future wife will be disappointed

Today I caved in to the Midwest July weather and bought an air conditioner. Nothing too fancy, just enough to give me some semblance of relief from the midday sun. I felt pretty confident with the project that lay ahead...after all, I did get the AC in the car all by myself. So I get home, open the box and start to put the thing together. It takes me an hour and a half. You heard me right, 90 minutes, and I wasn't taking breaks in the middle to do other things...an hour and a half from opening the box to complete installation. Some of you may be saying, "Well Philthy, sometimes there are a lot of complicated steps to follow when putting things together around the house, an hour and a half doesn't seem all that unreasonable." If you're saying that, you're wrong. There were 5 steps, 2 of which I skipped, 1 because I didn't think it was necessary, and the other because I didn't understand what the directions were telling me to do.
Regardless, the dang thing is installed, albeit, incorrectly, it's doing it's job. There's pieces of foam and towels in the cracks and a screwdriver is jammed in one of the sides holding the slidey side things in place.
Yet another reason my future wife will be disappointed in me: I'm not handy around the house.

Sunday, July 17, 2005

Second Class Citizen

In my opinion, there are two seats on an airplane that are worse than any other. One is in the back, right by the bathrooms. The second is the first row of the "economy" section, otherwise known as coach. I was lucky enough to have both of these seats on my day-long adventure home from Alaska yesterday.

The day started at 4:30am, waking up very disgruntled in my hotel room. Using no logic at all the night before, I decided to save the packing of the bags until the morning. In retrospect, it was a horrible decision, but it made sense at the time. So I scramble around the room to collect all my belongings and squish them back into my suitcases. 5am, check out of the hotel, get gas in the rental car, and drive to the airport. 5:30am, check in at the airport only for another Alaska Airlines representative tell me that I will probably miss my flight since they were almost finished boarding. Panic overwhelms me as I run through the airport, wait in line at security, and of course, get caught behind the two oldest and slowest people in the Arctic. Finally, I reach my gate and just make my flight.

My seat is 6D, the first row behind first class. (First class is one of those things I never really thought about, and never really saw why someone would pay so much money for, regardless of their economic status. Sure they get to board first, and have cushy leather seats, and you get to gloat as all the other second class passengers march past you to squeeze into their tiny seats in the back of the plane. But even with all that, I never thought it was worth the money.) So I'm sitting there, and I notice that the flight attendant is handing out little bottles of water to the folks in front of me. After my hustling in the morning I was feeling pretty parched. "Excuse me, can I have a bottle of water?" Her response: "They'll be serving beverages in your section once we take off sir." And she just turns around. I'm heartbroken, and thirsty. Then I see her passing out little neck pillows and sleeping masks, she gives me a look like "Don't even think about it." We're in the air now and I finally get my little glass of water and this dried up cake-like thing that they call a scone. This was not a scone. The breakfast in front of me is served on a silver platter and consists of what looks like french toast and fresh fruit accompanied by a glass of orange juice and mug of coffee. Now I'm officially jealous and I begin to understand why you'd fly first class.

I touch down in Seattle an prepare for my 2 1/2 hour layover...which turns into about 4 hours thanks to American Airlines unprecedented punctuality. My seat this time 27D, right next to the bathrooms. For 3 hours and 15 minutes of flight time, I had people bumping into me and standing right next to me waiting in line. The small amount of personal space I had, was now virtually nil. Fortunately I was pretty engrossed in an issue of GQ and didn't let it bother me too much.

Touchdown in Chicago and get into a cab to get home. The cab driver was talking to himself in Chinese the whole way home and just kept saying "Sh*t, Sh*t" It made me very anxious. The perfect end to a perfect day, I suppose. The 14 hour sleep session that I underwent was just what the doctor ordered.

I've got a couple weeks off now, so I have no excuse for inconsistent blogging. I just need to find a muse.

Monday, July 11, 2005

Greetings from the 49th state!

So I'm in Juneau, Alaska, a land without air conditioning and high speed internet in the hotels. I don't need the air conditioning, since it's been above 65 only once in the last week, but my patience isn't refined enough to deal with dial-up again. But I am persevering for you, the faithful readers of Philthy Laundry.
I'll start out with day one in Alaska. After 8 hours of travel, I finally land. I'm already irritable and jet lagged, so when I stood there staring at the luggage carousel to no avail, I was a bit upset. So I stand in line with the other disgruntled passengers to find out where my belongings are. Here's an exaggerated snippet of the dialogue that took place.

Alaska Airlines Representative: Hi sir, how can I help you?

Me: My luggage isn't here (I hand her my bag claim ticket)

Alaska Airlines Representative: Oh Sorry to here that, let's see...(she fumbles through lists upon lists on the counter) Yes, here it is. Your bag decided to take a different flight.

Me: Damn bag! I've told him a thousand times to stop switching flights on me. Let me guess, he got drunk at the airport bar again and missed the flight.

Alaska Airlines Representative: Um...I don't...I mean...

Me: Nevermind, this is a conversation I should be having with my bag, can you make sure he gets to my hotel ok?

Alaska Airlines Representative: Yes sir, I'll do that.

So the final stop on my airport trifecta from hell is the Budget Rent-a-car counter. Now normally this is a relatively simple process, sign here, initial there, here's the keys. But of course I get the chatty employee. On and on and on she drones about things I have since blocked out. All I know is that i was exhausted and staring at her blankly until there was a long enough break in this one-sided conversation for me to say..."Ok thanks, gotta go!" and rush out of the airport. I step out to my rental car, and immediately start to cry...why you ask? Because it's a Kia. A 2005 Kia Optima, decked out with power nothing, a seat that went back about 60% of what I needed it to, and tilt steering that is marginally noticeable at best. I felt like I was driving a clown car.

The rest of the week was relatively uneventful, which for me, means it was good. I soaked up the rain and gray clouds that Southeast Alaska had to offer, and tried to function in a place that has 20 hours of daylight this time of year. By now I've adjusted.

Today, I had another one-sided conversation with some old woman in a diner...let's call her Agnus, because that's one of the oldest names I can think of. Agnus sits down at a table next to mine, by herself as well. Immediately starts talking to me; at first I make conversation, thinking she will grow weary of me shortly. But that only encouraged her. I learned about how she fell down in February and was "laid up" for 4 months. How she comes into this diner weekly to get a hot turkey sandwich. How she got married late in life and didn't have any children, and more importantly, and I quote "Everyone in Alaska is having kids. Them kids are everywhere. Damn Catholics and Mormons! Just don't know when to quit." Eventually her food came and she grew weary of my "uh-huhs" and "yeps." She left me to my cheeseburger.

That's Alaska so far...I'll be sure to let everyone know of any updates, should there be any.

Airing my Philthy Laundry