Since Last We Spoke
Since last we spoke, I’ve managed to bicycle across the country!
No. I’m lying, as usual. I’m flying the whole way to New York. I’m in terrible shape, I don’t think I could pedal more than a few miles before getting all whiny about it and making everyone get out of the plane and push.
So according to the seat-back live map in front of me, we’re currently over Omaha, Nebraska. I’m writing this in MID-AIR. The only thing that would make it better, apart from having just unplugged myself from six back-to-back Simpsons episodes, would be if JetBlue served food. And we were weightless, and wearing astronauts suits we could pee in.
What I was going to say was that I’ve been reading The New York Times — you know, to get a feel for the local be-bop — and in its Thursday Styles section I found possibly the best correction I have ever read in a newspaper’s corrections column:
“An article last week about inexpensive dresses misstated the name of a clothing store on Broadway. It is Yellow Rat Bastard, not Dirty Yellow Bastard.“
Aaaand, that’s it! We’ve been granted leave to pass into the realm of the Papaya King, me, Jack, and Jackson. We had a JetBlue coupon and all 650-odd dollars of it was going to expire if we didn’t use it. Grandma Susan graciously vacated her apartment for us, there are fresh sheets on the pull-out couch, and we’ve got tickets to a Yankees game (which are remaining under Jack’s complete control this time).
In the truck on the way to Burbank airport:
Jackson, from the back seat: “I wish I was 23 years old.”
Me, no coffee yet: “Why?”
Jackson, growing a beard and pubic hair: “So I could give my kids alcohol.”
Now we’re over Des Moines. It took five minutes for me to write my way from Omaha to Des Moines! Ha! Take that Mr. Marcel “I think I’ll stay in bed for the next twenty years and write the greatest novel of the twentieth century” Proust! Wrong place, wrong time, sucker.
(Q: Can you calculate our air speed? A: not fucking fast enough! No, just kidding, it’s 540 mph.)
Anyway, I’ll post when I can. We’ll be busy showing Jackson around and looking for child-friendly diversions with the help of several old hands, but if anyone has any good suggestions I’d be grateful, please leave a comment or e-mail me at fussy at fussy dot org, I’ll be looking to leech off of an open wireless connection so I can keep in touch.
Also, new post at Babble.