ink washes out easier than blood
ATLANTA DIGESTED
1. On the way out I get an aisle seat, which I always do on planes, because I’m convinced that I might have to, I don’t know, make a sudden exit or something. Twenty thousand feet? Hell no, see you later. Anyway, there was a guy in the window and me on the aisle, and I experienced that slightly shameful hope that no one would be in the middle. When that hope was shattered by the arrival of Mr. Middle Seat, I unbuckled and stood up, and he said in heavily accented English, “Maybe you could just move over.” I sort of snort-laughed, because it was truly ludicrous to think that I would give up my purchased-on-purpose aisle seat to sit in the deeply undesirable center. But then I looked at him and he seemed bewildered. Maybe they don’t have sarcastic snort-laughs in his part of the world. Or maybe he really thought I would scoot over.
2. I always like the drawings in the safety card on airplanes, how absolutely none of the people depicted look worried or afraid. That woman’s expression is very oh how interesting an oxygen mask has dropped from the ceiling. The people in the braced-for-crash position are this is actually quite comfortable, to sit like this.
3. While waiting to deplane (what a marvelous word), a toddler boy popped up over the back of his seat and we had a conversation.
Kid: I’m on a plane!
Me: Yes you are. [Pause.] I’m on a plane too.
Kid: [looks around] We’re ALL on a plane.
I like people who just give it to you straight. Rock on, truth-teller!
4. I took MARTA downtown from the airport and my seatmate was talking on his cell phone about how he had to go to this place and pay a guy seven hundred dollars, and then he had to go to that place to pay his two-hundred dollar overdue electric bill, and then he was going to another place to give Andre his four hundred dollars, and I thought damn, this guy needs to get a checking account. And then I thought that he also must have an absolute bundle of cash on him right now, and maybe I should rob him. But then he mentioned his probation officer to his phone-friend so I thought that maybe that would be a bad idea, to mug a convicted criminal on my first day in town.
5. When I arrived at the hotel everyone seemed overdressed. Sequins and heavy makeup on the women and the men dressed like cartoon homosexuals, with spandex pants and shirts unbuttoned showing large amounts of waxed chest. I thought Atlanta was pretty darn weird until I discovered there was a ballroom dance competition happening in one of the downstairs meeting rooms.
6. The horrors of real-time television (WHERE IS THE FAST-FORWARD BUTTON) in my hotel room were offset somewhat by all the awesome infomercials I got to see. I think my absolute favorite was for this contraption that cracks eggs for you, and also somehow manages to claim that cracking eggs is nearly impossible for all but the most talented of chefs. Newsflash: eggs are not hard to crack. They’re EGGS. Plus the infomercial actors were hilariously uncoordinated, with the voiceover saying, “And we’ve ALL had this happen!” while the footage shows some moron cracking an egg directly onto his stovetop and then making an OH MAN! face. Actually, I’ve not had that happen. Because I have control of my limbs.
7. Also TV-advertising-related: there has been a real shift in the way fitness is marketed in infomercials. It used to be all passive exercise belts, “so easy you don’t even know you’re exercising” workout tapes, and “flat abs in three minutes a day.” Now it’s mostly workouts with names like INSANITY and testimonials like IT’S HARD, WE’RE NOT GONNA LIE and YOU WILL SWEAT LIKE AN ANIMAL. Can we blame the recession, and newly powerless people deciding to go all hardcore on one of the few things they can control? Can we blame the fear of terrorism, and the hope that we can somehow subdue jihadists with our rippling pectoral muscles? Can we blame Jillian Michaels? (Oh please, can we?)
8. New rule for myself: every time I am alone and notice a security camera, I must perform a crazy capering-skeleton dance for it. The Atlanta Hyatt was overrun with security cameras, and I did quite a few crazy capering-skeleton dances while waiting for the room elevators. If there were any crimes or disturbances during my stay (ballroom dancers running amok?) and the tapes get reviewed, I hope my art is appreciated.
9. The conference was okay. A bunch of science editors in a bunch of different hotel meeting rooms geeking out about various publishing topics. I learned some stuff, and I also went out drinking with big-deal editors and learned some AMAZING industry gossip.
10. I am glad to have met this awesome person. I wish she lived upstairs from me, so we could trade tea varieties and lie on each other’s living room floors when we felt sad. And I went to a pretty good film with Gray, and had a delicious lunch with Claire, who I think is too sensible to blog so no link will be provided.
11. Hooray for being home. Hooray for hugging my kid, and eating my own food, and the magic of TiVo, and not paying ten freaking dollars a day for internet access. Less hooray for the mountain of laundry generated by travel. No hooray at all, actually. A heartfelt boo and a sincere hiss.
—mimi smartypants is tumbling dry.