Awww, remember when I used to do travel blogs? The last time was in June of 2015, those halcyon days of Belgian, beery travel with me and Lauren taking that kind of trip most other people who travel undertake in their 20s. I do everything late. And I mean everything. Just when you give up on me, you'll receive my wedding invite. I mean, I'll be 75, but it could still happen. Don't you give up on me.
Aaaaanyway, I sat in the airport yesterday morning on my way to Boston for the Midwinter library conference when I decided to take "notes" in order to blog about this short trip doing what I do best: eavesdropping, collecting books and having awkward conversations in crowded places. I am always taking notes, unwritten ones because I notice everything. On those occasions when I decide to actually write these things down, it is pretty remarkable how quickly I'll forget what the fuck I was talking about in the notes, since I am allergic to being clear, even in notes to myself. Here's what I have in my phone's notes:
Lady in red
Heart in/on/above sleeve
Obnoxious flippant critiques not removed
Too hip to enjoy
Not enough cool for both the haircut and the pants
Writing is rewriting and writing again
I'm getting that vibe.
Now I remember the first two: in the airport, the terrible song "The Lady in Red" by Chris DeBurgh came on (along with a whole slew of easy listening tunes) and there was I in a red dress. No men ahsked me to dahnce, however. And all I could think about was the abomination that is that song. I mean no offense to anyone who likes that song, my hatred of it is irrational. But honestly, if you like that song, I recommend you listen to pretty much anything else. Like, a dying gerbil.
The bird poop referred to an actual bird that actually pooped in the hair of the woman seated directly next to me as we waited for the flight to board. She was freaked out and actually asked "Can you see bird poop in my hair???" The wayward bird inside the airport was what I can only assume was badass since he was badass enough to get into the airport terminal, and then badass enough to shit on humans when they least expected it. Always remember it is their world, we just imitate them by flying through their space with mini bags of peanuts and complaints.
I have less of an idea what the subsequent three notes mean. I'll use them, though, mayhaps in a story.
The last two were from the writer Andre Dubus III, who I had the utter pleasure of meeting this afternoon. He's the author of the National Book Award nominated "The House of Sand and Fog" which I have never read. I have actually never read any of his books but since hearing him speak and meeting him in person, I have made a plan to read everything he's written. He said so many things in his talk today that were exactly what I needed to hear about writing and revising and when he was signing books after his talk, he took time to talk to each and every person who approached him. When it was my turn one of the first things he said to me was, "Are you a writer? I'm getting that vibe." I, of course, became flustered and blurted out that I was writing a book and naturally he asked me what it was about and if I had a title and naturally I said "ADOYDOYDOYDOY"...I'm paraphrasing.
I have no other notes from today and, judging by the sheer epic post I just finished typing, it is probably a good thing. There is only so much excitement one person can take much less read about. You're WELCOME.
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