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Saturday, June 21, 2003
Confidential to Tong:
Where are YOU!?!?!??!?!
Thursday, June 19, 2003
First off, fuck Continental Airlines. (And no, you get no link. No love = no link.) This is the second time in a row you've lost one of my bags and this time not even for a good reason. Somebody took it off the cart by accident? For what? To compare it with another dark green object on the tarmac? To try to bust through my tiny five-millimeter lock?
I understand a simple mistake, because shit happens, especially in the airline industry. I've been loathe to criticize airlines in general because if you get me from Point A to Point B quickly and you don't crash or accidentally let loose the scary oxygen masks from the ceilings, you're pretty okay in my book. But for the second time in a row, there's been waiting around for a phantom bag to show up at some phantom time (this time, it was about 12 hours late). What the fuck, Continental? I used to like you. I signed up for your shitty OnePass bonus mile system, which seems to go like this: You fly a lot. You rack up miles, maybe. (They have a funny way of not showing up unless you call and bug them even though you put your OnePass number on your online flight order.) Someday far in the future, perhaps for your retirement cruise, you get to book a trip using said miles. And even then, your Social Security check-cashing ass is probably going to have to put up some money, making OnePass one giant online coupon book. There's also a whole way of transferring miles from one airline to another, or a credit card or another or toward the purchase of black market corneas or whatever. I'm not smart about the OnePass. I haven't figured it out.
But, hey, Continental: Do you know how shitty it is to have tickets to a show and to not be able to change your goddamned soiled underwear? (Not that I soil it, but you know, over time, soil.. let's move on.) To not have your toothpaste or your nice Broadway Show clothes or anything to wear but ratty-ass jeans and the funky shirt you flew in on? To actually have to go buy clothes for just that day? To not have your GameBoy Advance Link cable and fear that you might run into Glark for some reason and he might challenge you to a game of Puyo Pop and you can't come up with the proper connection?
God damn you, Continental. And this is because I've mellowed since the bag actually arrived (at 1 a.m., I might add). You should have seen me at 11 p.m. when the damn thing still wasn't here.
I have lots to say about New York City (awesome!) our LCP show over the weekend (great!) and other stuff (we'll see!), but right now I just want you all to know to avoid flying Continental if you can help it. I realize the whole airline industry is befucked in ways that would make Jenna Jameson blush. I know, Continental has badass cheap fares and mostly good international routes. But, really? They've got no power outlets on most of their flights, their leg room in non-first-class would give Verne Troyer a blood clot and they don't pass out spoons with their cold cereal breakfast. No spoon with the Corn Flakes? That's just wrong. And then to have a flight attendant give me a dirty look because I ask for a spoon to eat my damned Corn Flakes? Continental, you have crossed the line. By air.
I'll feel better tomorrow with the clean underwear and the GameBoy Link cable. Ooh, Puyo Pop.
Tuesday, June 17, 2003
Go Spurs Go! (Revisited)
It was a strange miracle that my parents happened to score tickets for the NBA game Sunday night. The plan had been to chill on South Padre Island Sunday and return on Monday to rest up for the Wednesday trip to New York. But on Saturday, my folks called, awash in the glow of having won Spurs/Nets finals tickets through some strange lottery system on base.
So the Padre trip was scrapped (good thing, too; it rained on Sunday) and we were off to the NBA Finals!
It was louder than any place I've ever been in my life. Just an incredible amount of noise and screaming and ruckus. It was the first time, I think, that I've ever been physically exhausted by sustained volume. On each seat, there were inflatable bangers (some of ours were sans straws) that you blew up and banged. Mine kept deflating, leading to Limp Banger Syndrome. In the final minutes, I was trying to bang, but blowing into a tiny plastic slit at the same time.
When the Spurs won (which we knew in our heart they would; there was to be no Game 7), I had this enormous feeling of closure. I never got interested in the Spurs until David Robinson joined the team. I lived in San Antonio at the time, and you'd hear on the news about this Navy guy they were trying to recruit. At the time, I wondered why they would want a Navy guy. He's all stuck on a ship at sea. When does he get to play? Shouldn't they get an Army guy with access to outdoor courts? Luckily, the Spurs paid my interior monologue no heed and got The Admiral. So many years later, I got to watch his final moments on the court.
I don't know what else to say about it except that I was overwhelmed. It was more fun than I could have imagined, being there, way up in the nosebleeds, but witnessing history. I took lots of pictures. Go check 'em out.
Monday, June 16, 2003
So much so soon!
Too much to talk about! But here's the highlights and I'll come back and write more in depth when I'm not unpacking and then re-packing for another trip:
1. Went to the NBA finals last night. That's right, beeyotches. DUNCAN! GO SPURS GO!
2. Going to New York Wednesday. Many adventures forthcoming.
3. Our Valley shows were fantastic. We had a really good time. There was an advance story here. For the record, my REAL Uncle Pepe doesn't have a big mouth. I meant the character Uncle Pepe. (The real Uncle Pepe, unfortunately, didn't make it to the show, but both my grandma's did!)
4. Uh, I can't remember what 4 was supposed to be.
5. I'm on vacation!
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