Tuesday, August 26, 2008

No weapons beyond this security checkpoint

Airports are fascinating.

I wonder, sometimes, why the signs in airports say exactly the things they say.

For example: While standing in the security line in the Salt Lake City airport several weeks ago, I noticed a sign, which stated in bold letters "No weapons beyond this security checkpoint." This made me think "so you're saying that weapons are alright to have in the airport as long as they're discarded at the end of the line?"

Right next to this sign was a poster with large pictures illustrating what you're not allowed to bring in your carry-on luggage: handguns, grenades, dynamite, automatic weapons, hunting knives...

...Guess you'd better keep your grenades in your check-through luggage...

Another reason why airports are so fascinating:

Their decor.

I have to question the sanity of the interior designers of most airports.

This time, though, I am thinking of one airport in particular: Detroit.

A couple of weeks ago, on my way from SLC to Manchester, New Hampshire, I had my first experience walking through the drug-trip terminal of the Detroit international airport.

There is a large, underground tunnel from one terminal to the next. Instead of leaving the tunnel plain, and lighting it conventionally with florescent overhead lights, the design team went above-and-beyond (or maybe below-and-beyond, as it were) the call of duty. The picture below doesn't quite do it justice.

I entered the tunnel wondering why Detroit had ripped off the "Small World" ride at Disneyland. Two steps later and I felt like I had entered the boat tunnel in the 70's version of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Five steps after that and all I wanted to do was get out of there.

I've never been on drugs, but I can only assume that it's the same feeling you'd get after doing mushrooms and listening to The Beatles' "Yellow Submarine" album.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Dog-gone it!

I wish the following were my story. However, it is not. I heard it from Mary, a friend, while up in New Hampshire last week.

Mary's friend (let's call her Jane) was dog-sitting at her friend's apartment in a five story walk-up in Chicago.

The dog, which weighed 100 pounds, died one night before she came over to take it on its morning walk. Not knowing what to do with the dead dog, Jane became distraught. She was too small to carry the 100-pound dog down the five flights of stairs to her car.

Jane searched the apartment and finally decided to pack the dog in an over-sized suitcase so that she could safely carry the deceased animal to her trunk.

After huffing and puffing down the stairs, Jane reached the street and took a break. Her car was just down the street, so there wasn't that far to walk, but she needed a breather after those 5 flights of stairs. So she set the suit-case down for a moment.

Just then, a friendly man came up and offered to help carry the suitcase down the street for her. ("You know how friendly people from Chicago are"). When he inquired as to the contents of the suitcase (he was surprised at its substantial weight), Jane was too embarrassed to tell him its true contents, so she told him that it was so heavy because it carried electronics.

The man then took off running with the suitcase he thought was filled with expensive electronics.

I'd like to have seen the look on his face when, expecting DVD players, he found the massive old hound.

Game Over

Ashton and Stephen have duck named Galya. They brought the duck (complete with blow-up pond) to their reception. It ran around in circles while little kids chased it. Also, it had an affinity for biting my Dad's leg.
Ashton and Stephen.

The happy couple coming out of the temple.

Allie and I threw Ashton a bachelorette party the night before. It was a blast.Allie and I were bridesmaids. This is not the best picture of me, so try not to judge me too harshly.Rachel and Todd brought their new baby, Henry.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

The Chemistry of Man's Best Friend

Yesterday I took Noosa on a jog/walk in order to keep with my new plan to get in shape.

The two things that I have decided to do in order to get into shape are the following:

a. Cut soda out.
b. Walk or jog every day (ok let's not be too optimistic and amend that to: sometimes, not all the time...)

I figure that in order to be healthy (or let's just settle for "healthier") I need to fix some things in my life. That doesn't mean I'll be giving up ice cream, or weekend lounge/movie nights, but I feel like I need to make some changes. Hence, changing two things that I can easily control. It's going to be a long and lonely road without my diet coke, but I think I'll manage.

As I was running with Noosa, we came across two smaller dogs that were unleashed. These dogs ran up to Noosa and inspected. Noosa sat there patiently and she was sniffed and licked in the most inappropriate places, without making a fuss. I started jogging again when I thought that the other dogs had satisfied their curiosity. This resulted in my jogging/walking three dogs rather than just the single one I'd started out with. All this time jogging with Dog A licking Noosa's face, and Dog B sniffing her behind as we ran. This dog train lasted about 15 minutes until Noosa just couldn't take it anymore. She stopped. Then she turned around, batted the smaller Dog B with her paw (she could have easily pinned Dog B to the ground right then and there) and then turned back around to challenge Dog A. Dog A got the picture and he and Dog B relinquished there positions and stuck to the perimeter.

From this point on, the dogs --like hyper electrons around an anxious nucleus-- ran circles around us as we continued.


The other night I had a dream about George Bush. Blake stuck his tongue out at him, while I made my way through the crowd to give him a hug.

And thusly rest our politics.

Saturday, August 2, 2008

Growing old is inevitable, growing up is optional.

I feel like I've been in a time warp.

Coming home it feels like I've never left.


My flight home from BWI to SLC was long. Namely for two reasons: I had to get up at 4:00 to catch my shuttle to the airport. I ended up getting there 3.5 hours early and spent those hours trying to eat an omelet in the slowest way possible, and then curled up on a bench trying to sleep (I looked more than a little homeless, I'm sure). So, I felt rather grumpy when I got on the plane.

The good thing was that there was an empty seat (one of the only empty seats on the flight) next to me. The bad thing was that there is a rubber stamping/scrap booking convention in SLC this week. This is more like 35-odd bad things. There were a good many 50-something-year-old women on the flight who spent the 3 hours and 40 minutes chattering, squealing, passing the fudge around and generally annoying me as I tried to sleep. Every time I'd drift off, I'd get a nice kick to the back of my chair as the ladies switched seats so that they could all chat with each other. At one point (I'm not kidding) I looked back and saw one sitting on another's lap.

I thought that sort of thing was reserved for an 8-year-old's sleepover. I was wrong.

I now feel very vindicated in not participating in the world of scrap booking.

On the way home my brother, mom and I stopped at Cafe Rio. This is generally the first place I stop to eat when I am back in Utah. While standing in line, (I am sad to admit) I scrutinized the people around me. I noticed that not one woman had a hair out of place. Everything was perfectly dyed, hair sprayed and arranged. Every face was made-up. Every article of clothing was trendy and fit like a glove.
It's no wonder that Utah is the state with the highest percentage of people taking anti-depressant pills. Everyone looks like they walked right out of the Truman show. It's hard to compete with that.
It made me feel like I was in high school again. I mean, I was always comfortable to be who I was, but it was hard to look around me and see that "perfection" day after day. I always wondered --and still do wonder -- where these people find the time to look like that. Sign me up for whatever job they have that gives them 2 hours to spend on themselves every morning.
Wow, sorry, that makes me sound angry. I'm not. I just had forgotten the barbie culture that is Utah.
Staying at home I feel like a kid again. Other than the occasional new stoplight or restaurant, nothing has changed. Did I ever leave?
More to come: Ashton got married on Thursday (who gets married on a Thursday?). She was beautiful. Her whole wedding was beautiful. I'll be adding pictures as soon as I have the drive to upload them.