As certain people have mentioned how terrible I am at posting (a sad fact indeed- it seems that if I do not have a set time in which I must write about my week, I fail to do so), I will in the interests of ensuring this post happens simply address my return home from Utah, and at a later date post about my trip and its various and sundry
occurrences.
I got up and started out for the airport after a somewhat late night (the details of which will here go unmentioned); the weather was crisp and slightly chilled, almost perfect trenchcoat-wearing weather. Regis, who kindly drove me to the airport, was wearing only a thin jacket (or a sweater. Or a hoodie. It is not my purpose here to discuss the subtle differences between the three), and so did his best to transform the car into a sauna during the course of the drive; for some odd reason, I resisted asking him to turn down the heat for a majority of the drive, but he was extremely gracious when I asked him, meaning, of course, that I bear all fault for my own discomfort.
I should add that Regis and Crystal gave me a brace of poptarts prior to my departure, which I slipped into my pocket (had I been thinking, I could have simply let them sit in the car for another thirty seconds, and they would have been toasted to perfection); these would represent my main staple until the thanksgiving dinner at the church. I got checked in with a minimum of difficulty, having intelligently forgotten my flight number and my confirmation code. Delta, however, in their unceasing effort to make airports idiot-proof, allows you to sign in by swiping a card which verifies your name. The airport staff was decked out in either red or blue, reflecting their various loyalties.
After getting all checked in, I ate my Poptarts and started in to my new P.G. Wodehouse,
Leave it to Psmith, which I bought at the BYU Bookstore. I enjoyed it immensely, and find myself a real fan of Wodehouse- clearly a master of the English Language.
The flight was rather uneventful- I finished my book and started in on an Asprin- A Robert Lynn, specifically. This book, also one I picked up at the bookstore, is a continuation of the Myth Adventures series. I enjoyed this one as well. I barely had time to start it before our plane landed and I found myself in Long Beach. I had prior to this tried several times to contact Brook and/or Jake, who were (I assume) Brook's passing of the bar. I personally passed several on my trip home, and did not see in this alone much cause for celebration, but it would be wrong for my to find fault with those who joy in such victories. I was while in Long Beach finally able to contact Brook, who informed me that (as I had supposed) she would be unable to assist me, and that I would have to find my own way to LAX. As I was discussing this with the Delta man, a flight attendant mentioned
en passant that there was something called the 'Red Bus' or some such name that would get you between airports in twenty minutes for $15. This seemed like a good deal to me, and so I went over to the world's worst pay phone (next week they're turning it into a National Monument) and spent an exruciatingly painful few minutes trying to get the information sorted out. They increased the price to $25, and then $39, at which point I nicely thanked them and wlaked over to wait for the bus, concious that I had wasted far too much time talking to them. I settled into my book at the bus stop and waited for the next 40 minutes ( it seems that I was just too late for the bus as a result of the discussion with the transport people. Slightly aggravating. To continue, I paid my $1.40 and settled nito my book follwoing a discussion with a kindly bus driver who explained a shortcut to me that would allow me to cut "about 40 minutes" off of my travel- I can not personally vouch that it did, not having made the other trip, but it did allow me to skip out on Saturday L.A. Traffic for the most part. I must admit, I found the trip rather adventuresome, and rather enjoyed it; walking through L.A. made me feel rather footloose and collegiate, alone in the big city, making my way cross-country. It is part of the special joy that draws out sailors and road-trippers. There is just something about travel and movement that brings out the best in some people, the worst in others, and a little something in me. It was especially nice because of background music like "Shambala", which is a wonderful travelling song. I had an interesting bus-and-train ride, complete with a Vietnam veteran, an Iraq veteran, a couple of crazy people, and a book. I got to LAX at about 1:00, and found to my slight displeasure that the next Bakersfield Bus didn't leave until 3:00. I went out, found a place on the gorund to sit and wait, and my iPod died- vaguely mysterious, as I had plugged it in just before leaving the house on Friday night. Clearly, ninjas had snuck into Crystal's house and shut down the computer, thereby not giving it any time to charge. Dratted ninjas...
I finished my third book of the trip and then sat and waited for the bus; it was a long wait, made longer by a large woman who came to wait somewhat after me and spent the whole time complaining about how long she'd been waiting... I was personally feeling rather philisophical about the wait, and would have appreciated it in a vague manner if, say, a chasm had opened up under her and she had dropped out of hearing range. Not that she really bothered me, it just would have made the trip slightly more pleasant.
When the bus came, I got on and reread some of my favorite passages from my Wodehouse book, and then drifted off to sleep, awakening only as result of being in a singularly uncomfortable position. I attempted to remedy the situation with a few gyrations, and soon found myself in, surprisingly, an even MORE uncomfortable position. In the end, I found repose in what I would describe as an inverted lotus position, with my legs up against the side of the bus. I was actually shockingly comfortable, and napped well until the lights came on and I was kept up by a group of migrant farm workers jabbering away in Spanish- into their cell phones. This underscored for me once again what a nerdbucket I am without a cell phone, and how swiftly society is moving to make me obselete without one.
I arrived, paid the bill (the machine was out, so I had to go find an ATM and pay with cash), and then jsut sat wiating for Daddy, who arrived only about fifteen minutes after every other passenger had left (a turn of events that occurs with startling frequency for me). I spent the time in mental excersions on Herman, trying to figure out where he was going. Daddy and I had a very interesting conversation on the way home, which led me to understand that when he isn't haranguing me about my (admittedly many) deficiencies, I really enjoy his company. We went to the church for a Turkey Dinner, ending my fast, which was unsuccessful, as BYU lost. I did get home safely, though, so I can't complain too much (well, I actually could, and rather well, too, but I won't).
