Pickled Planes and Other Oddities
Up until right this minute, I've not had a single moment alone with a computer in over a week. I'm going into withdrawal and am convinced I'll soon need to be taking a pill to deal with my addiction.
I'm in Palm Desert, CA visiting with Surfer Boy's family. They've got a beautifully-landscaped house, the weather is fucking perfect (78 & sunny) and my in-laws are about the nicest, most accommodating people you'd ever want to meet. It was a bit of a struggle to iron out the logistics of the trip since we're talking about coordinating schedules, lodging, transpo and eating with a group of 11 that includes Mom, Grandma on Mom's side and Stepdad, Dad and Stepmom, my parents and the perenially-decision-making impaired Surfer Boy and me - Stepmom's mom already left to go back home and one sister had to go back to school (UC-San Diego). But now that everyone's here, it's been story after story about everything from that time Dave drove his first car into the palm tree at the end of the street to a story about WWII war planes that were left to rot in the Salton Sea only to be rediscovered and meticulously cleaned. Apparently, the Salton Sea is one of those extra-salty bodies of water (no swimming lessons needed - the level of saltiness is such that you can't sink) and contrary to what I would expect to happen to metal swimming in such an environment, the saltwater acted as a sort of brine and perfectly preserved them, and thus you have pickled planes. Who knew?
I managed a few moments alone with my Mistress Internet since one group is golfing, another group is at the casino and my Dad is "observing the Holy Day of Vegetation". I'm soon to be picked up and dragged shopping. Maybe I'll find some nice boots.
I'm also having to do a bit of work since it's just bad timing on a few deadlines. To this, I say Cocksucka! It's truly a pain in my ass and I can barely bring myself to do it, but in a sort of freakishly masochistic way, I somehow find myself checking my work email three times a day. Who is this monster I've become that I'm working on my (insert string of profanity here) vacation?
One thing that I really enjoy about traveling is the passion with which I attack reading. I pretty much don't read anymore unless I'm on a plane, in an airport, or avoiding family - no, I would never do that! - and once I get started, it's like weaning off crack to get me to stop. So far on this sojourn, I've finished one book and read two others from front to back. I'm really hoping to find this book in the Phoenix airport on my layover home as it was recommended by a friend.
I guess this post really has no rhyme or reason, so I'm hoping that lets me off the hook for not having a real ending. Unless...
The End. (I'd like to hear an argument that says this was not a real ending. Ch-CHA!)
I'm in Palm Desert, CA visiting with Surfer Boy's family. They've got a beautifully-landscaped house, the weather is fucking perfect (78 & sunny) and my in-laws are about the nicest, most accommodating people you'd ever want to meet. It was a bit of a struggle to iron out the logistics of the trip since we're talking about coordinating schedules, lodging, transpo and eating with a group of 11 that includes Mom, Grandma on Mom's side and Stepdad, Dad and Stepmom, my parents and the perenially-decision-making impaired Surfer Boy and me - Stepmom's mom already left to go back home and one sister had to go back to school (UC-San Diego). But now that everyone's here, it's been story after story about everything from that time Dave drove his first car into the palm tree at the end of the street to a story about WWII war planes that were left to rot in the Salton Sea only to be rediscovered and meticulously cleaned. Apparently, the Salton Sea is one of those extra-salty bodies of water (no swimming lessons needed - the level of saltiness is such that you can't sink) and contrary to what I would expect to happen to metal swimming in such an environment, the saltwater acted as a sort of brine and perfectly preserved them, and thus you have pickled planes. Who knew?
I managed a few moments alone with my Mistress Internet since one group is golfing, another group is at the casino and my Dad is "observing the Holy Day of Vegetation". I'm soon to be picked up and dragged shopping. Maybe I'll find some nice boots.
I'm also having to do a bit of work since it's just bad timing on a few deadlines. To this, I say Cocksucka! It's truly a pain in my ass and I can barely bring myself to do it, but in a sort of freakishly masochistic way, I somehow find myself checking my work email three times a day. Who is this monster I've become that I'm working on my (insert string of profanity here) vacation?
One thing that I really enjoy about traveling is the passion with which I attack reading. I pretty much don't read anymore unless I'm on a plane, in an airport, or avoiding family - no, I would never do that! - and once I get started, it's like weaning off crack to get me to stop. So far on this sojourn, I've finished one book and read two others from front to back. I'm really hoping to find this book in the Phoenix airport on my layover home as it was recommended by a friend.
I guess this post really has no rhyme or reason, so I'm hoping that lets me off the hook for not having a real ending. Unless...
The End. (I'd like to hear an argument that says this was not a real ending. Ch-CHA!)
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