AUBREEVISION - Observations from the far side of the dial

I travelled laptop-free to New Hampshire this past weekend, opting to record my observations the old-school, lo-tech way -- at least pending later transcription. The view from last Thursday:

"Writing this steno-pad style as I sit in the US departures area of YOW (Ottawa International Airport). Heading for Manchester via Philadephia, as opposed to my usual transfer in Toronto. I think it's all equidistant; actually, I just wanted to use the word 'equidistant.'

"I've just received a shiatsu massage from an extremely competent chair. 3 minutes for $1 -- not a bad deal! And Lord, what a chair -- if this is what modern technology can do, sign me up. It alternated between powerful kneading and inhaling me into its leathery depths...yum. Just what my back was craving after one too many ill-advised exercise ball experiments.

"Ended up cabbing to the airport at a cost of nearly $40. Insane, but I figured it was worth the savings in stress. In order to make it by bus I would have had to leave considerably earlier and in a state of total disarray. Instead, I opted to buy a little more packing, cat-loving and tea-drinking time.

"Between thinking I've forgotten something important or worrying about potential customs hassles, missed connections and MIA luggage, I find travel stressful, especially when compounded with a mild aversion to flying. I've got nothing on my friend Darin's 60-something dad, though, who today is also travelling by plane -- for the first time in his life. Whatever my fears, at least they're familiar ones."

That's a far as I blogged in the airport. My flight to Philadelphia was made interesting by my seatmate, who spent the first ten minutes of the flight meticulously powdering her knees (I kid you not), and the worst turbulence I've ever experienced. I've never felt a plane drop quite that low, to the point that fellow passengers gasped in alarm (and I cursed myself for watching one too many episodes of Lost). Thankfully the rolling and pitching was short-lived, and my flight-switch in Philly uneventful. On the Manchester flight me and my biological clock sat next to the most delicious two-and-a-half month old baby girl called Olivia. It was all I could do not to wrench her from the boob and squeeze her silly.

In Manchester I killed time whilst waiting for Eric to finish up with his groomsmanly duties at his friends Aaron and Julie's wedding rehearsal. I wandered into a newstand and was immediately accosted by a lonely, chatty clerk who initiated conversation by admiring my shirt. Having nothing better to do, I listened while he talked about George Bush, thermodynamics and his plans to write a book on non-renewable resources. My liberal use of "eh" gave away my citizenship, leading to discussion on US/Canadian dichotomies and what one thing we'd change in the world if given the power to do so. He -- Jeff the newstand guy -- was actually quite fascinating to talk to, and certainly not what I expected when I broke down and wandered in to buy a celebrity gossip rag. The whole time we were talking I was keenly aware of my luck in happening upon such creative gold, and was taking copious mental notes for my writing files.

On Friday Eric took the day off and we went out for divey but delicious Chinese food. He told me about an incident that had taken place at the very same restaurant some time before. He and a friend (the above-mentioned Aaron) were enjoying a meal when a teenaged boy came in to pick up a takeout order. He asked if the rice was onion-free as requested, to which the waiter replied that it wasn't, since it was a busy Friday night and it wasn't feasible to cook a special batch. The boy left without a fuss, and all was well -- until the boy's father called a few minutes later. The side of the conversation Eric and his friend heard went something like this:

"I told you when you ordered we cannot do no onions...no, man, fuck you! Fuck you, man! What are you gonna do to me? Oh, now you're gonna threaten me...you come here with your gun, I don't care! I fucking kill you! I got a fucking machine gun! My delivery guys are ex-cops!"

At this point Eric and Aaron decide to go while the going is good. Which leads into the best part -- when the guy on the phone sees them leaving, he interrupts his screaming long enough to call out in a sing-song voice: "Thank you, come back again now!"

On that note, I'm off to work. More to follow!