So I have a moment and I thought I'd recount my vacation so far, that way it's not one huge entry when I get back. As it is it's going to be pretty long on its own. You'll have to forgive any typos since I'm using a Mac which is kinda like Baby's-First-Computer.
Day One
Train is nice. Took some getting used to at first but I think I'm settled in.
For dinner this evening I'm seated with a pretty hot Hungarian-born/Australian-raised girl (an accent you'd have to hear to believe), a WWII vet and a teenage kid from Puerto Rico on vacation with his family. Questions go around the table when it's revealed to us that the old guy was in the landing on Omaha Beach. I can't think of a worthy question to ask and I have too much respect and admiration to just come up with something totally softball. That's when the kid pipes up with the one question worse than asking a woman's age: "Were you good? I mean, did you kill a lot of people?" The blood froze in my veins. He expertly deflected the question though: "I mostly just worked on the trucks. But you know, you did what you had to do."
11:17 p.m.-So this is what life is like from a train. I think I could get used to this.
Day Two
7:46 a.m.-We're running four hours behind schedule already?!? How the hell did we lose four hours?! I ask myself this question several times more during the day and listen to other passengers ask it of eachother and bitch over what they come up with.
One of the two brats who are the reason I haven't left my bag unattended since the guy next to me got off in Emeryville asked me to check out her shoes. Or at least that's what I think. I don't know. I don't speak Ebonic.
Last night I had a dream that I was on the train (how sad is that) and some nameless, faceless actor (in the dream I only remember that he was famous) conceived this awesome script idea. When all of a sudden Tom Cruise pops up over the seat in front of us (with the use of a booster seat most likely) and says he's been listening to our conversation and he'd like to put up the money to produce the film. I tell him uh-uh, forget it. I'd rather not do it at all than have his hands in it and I wouldn't ever dream of accepting one red cent of his dirty Scientology dollars. I made it a little personal with the Scientology remark, so then we start getting into this heated argument with him trying to "educate" me on how I'm ignorant and being all Hollywood-intimidating. But I was having none of that. That's pretty much how the dream ended.
We passed through Oakland. I'm sorry, but Oakland has got to go. I think it's had long enough to make something of itself but it appears it's quite happy to wallow in its own filth and squalor. I can't believe this place has a major league baseball franchise. It's a wonder it even has electricity and running water. If some of what we passed is any indication, parts of it are even without these amenities.
Nope, one strategically placed nuke, cover the crater with sand and topsoil and start building right on top of it. Seems the most logical and humane solution given the circumstances.
The first night's movie was the new Pink Panther. Today they were showing Amistad. I'm sure if I stuck around long enough they would play Jerry Lewis' much fabled comedy about the holocaust, the only print of which is rumored to be in a vault in his basement.
So tonight at dinner I overhear Amtrak's unofficial explanation for our lateness. They say to figure the time of arrival plus five hours. If that's true, why bother advertising the time it's not going to arrive? Just factor that into the schedule and if you happen to bring it in any earlier people will be pleasantly surprised.
I try to save some of my book for the trip home by amusing myself with 20Q. Only to find when I opened my bag that it must have turned on at some point with all the jostling and now the batteries are dead.
Note To Self: I'm beginning to get the feeling that I'm going to end up writing more about the trip down and back than I am anything in between. *ed. note - if only that were true*
I've been sitting all day watching the hours go by as we get progressively further and further behind. From my window I watch the California skyline begin to darken. Which for this part of Cali means it just turns a deeper shade of brown.
Since nobody seems to know exactly when we'll arrive anywhere I decided to try a different tack and ask one of the attendants when she thought we might arrive. Just a ballpark estimate. Her answer was to echo my incredulity about being so far behind while not offering up any incriminating speculation. Nicely played. But I could see right through that like the Satanic Cult Defense in the Scott Peterson trial. Never bullshit a bullshitter.
The girl I seemed to have pissed off the first night makes a comment under her breath every time she passes by me now. If only she knew that whenever I see her the words to the Misfits Skulls play in my head:
"Hack the heads off little girls and put 'em on my wall"
Exhaustion is beginning to creep up on me.
10:34 p.m.-We're not even in Santa Barbara and my cell phone battery just died. My misery is absolute.
11:40 p.m.-I begin talking to this guy Ray in the observation car. Like most everyone I've met so far he's good people. I've always gotten along with people much older than me. A lot more than people my own age or younger. I don't know exactly why that is but I don't care to question it.
As we're sitting in the observation car talking we start to see the beginnings of fireworks. One of the other passengers, an ugly teenaged white trash Jerry Springer-type, wakes up and finds her boyfriend in the car chatting up hip hop ho. Nothing became of it though. Shame.
We finally roll into the station at 1:20 in the morning. What do know, the only thing they've been right about is exactly how late we'd be.
It's unfortunate to see this mode of transportation slowly being choked out by the lack of government funding but I have to say, if this is how efficient we can expect it to be then I for one won't be sorry to see it go.
I hang around the train depot with Ray until vikpreZ shows up and then we part ways.
Day 3: 6.6.6
Putting the past 35+ hours behind me, I'm ready to relax, unwind and start having some fun. First up on the menu is the wedding/concert.
It's about four o'clock and me and vikpreZ are just coming back from lunch. We're sitting in traffic when we hear the screech of tires. The next thing we know we're sandwiched between two cars staring at the front bumper of his car which is now two feet closer than it should be. Apparently some guy was speeding up the road and noticed the traffic up ahead was slowing down so he changed lanes and found traffic in our lane stopped. In total four cars were involved.
Instead of the concert I spent my evening in the emergency room waiting two hours (apperently it was a big day for head injuries requiring stitches) just for someone to come in and tell me that nothing's broken, I'll just hurt like hell for a few days and then give me a prescription for a $40 bottle of ibuprofen.
I'm trying to remain positive, but one thought keeps occuring to me. This was supposed to be my prom vacation but when the shit hit the fan there I pulled out and postponed my vacation until now. Evidently you can't dodge a curse that easily. I guess I should have paid more attention to those Final Destination movies.
Day One
Train is nice. Took some getting used to at first but I think I'm settled in.
For dinner this evening I'm seated with a pretty hot Hungarian-born/Australian-raised girl (an accent you'd have to hear to believe), a WWII vet and a teenage kid from Puerto Rico on vacation with his family. Questions go around the table when it's revealed to us that the old guy was in the landing on Omaha Beach. I can't think of a worthy question to ask and I have too much respect and admiration to just come up with something totally softball. That's when the kid pipes up with the one question worse than asking a woman's age: "Were you good? I mean, did you kill a lot of people?" The blood froze in my veins. He expertly deflected the question though: "I mostly just worked on the trucks. But you know, you did what you had to do."
11:17 p.m.-So this is what life is like from a train. I think I could get used to this.
Day Two
7:46 a.m.-We're running four hours behind schedule already?!? How the hell did we lose four hours?! I ask myself this question several times more during the day and listen to other passengers ask it of eachother and bitch over what they come up with.
One of the two brats who are the reason I haven't left my bag unattended since the guy next to me got off in Emeryville asked me to check out her shoes. Or at least that's what I think. I don't know. I don't speak Ebonic.
Last night I had a dream that I was on the train (how sad is that) and some nameless, faceless actor (in the dream I only remember that he was famous) conceived this awesome script idea. When all of a sudden Tom Cruise pops up over the seat in front of us (with the use of a booster seat most likely) and says he's been listening to our conversation and he'd like to put up the money to produce the film. I tell him uh-uh, forget it. I'd rather not do it at all than have his hands in it and I wouldn't ever dream of accepting one red cent of his dirty Scientology dollars. I made it a little personal with the Scientology remark, so then we start getting into this heated argument with him trying to "educate" me on how I'm ignorant and being all Hollywood-intimidating. But I was having none of that. That's pretty much how the dream ended.
We passed through Oakland. I'm sorry, but Oakland has got to go. I think it's had long enough to make something of itself but it appears it's quite happy to wallow in its own filth and squalor. I can't believe this place has a major league baseball franchise. It's a wonder it even has electricity and running water. If some of what we passed is any indication, parts of it are even without these amenities.
Nope, one strategically placed nuke, cover the crater with sand and topsoil and start building right on top of it. Seems the most logical and humane solution given the circumstances.
The first night's movie was the new Pink Panther. Today they were showing Amistad. I'm sure if I stuck around long enough they would play Jerry Lewis' much fabled comedy about the holocaust, the only print of which is rumored to be in a vault in his basement.
So tonight at dinner I overhear Amtrak's unofficial explanation for our lateness. They say to figure the time of arrival plus five hours. If that's true, why bother advertising the time it's not going to arrive? Just factor that into the schedule and if you happen to bring it in any earlier people will be pleasantly surprised.
I try to save some of my book for the trip home by amusing myself with 20Q. Only to find when I opened my bag that it must have turned on at some point with all the jostling and now the batteries are dead.
Note To Self: I'm beginning to get the feeling that I'm going to end up writing more about the trip down and back than I am anything in between. *ed. note - if only that were true*
I've been sitting all day watching the hours go by as we get progressively further and further behind. From my window I watch the California skyline begin to darken. Which for this part of Cali means it just turns a deeper shade of brown.
Since nobody seems to know exactly when we'll arrive anywhere I decided to try a different tack and ask one of the attendants when she thought we might arrive. Just a ballpark estimate. Her answer was to echo my incredulity about being so far behind while not offering up any incriminating speculation. Nicely played. But I could see right through that like the Satanic Cult Defense in the Scott Peterson trial. Never bullshit a bullshitter.
The girl I seemed to have pissed off the first night makes a comment under her breath every time she passes by me now. If only she knew that whenever I see her the words to the Misfits Skulls play in my head:
"Hack the heads off little girls and put 'em on my wall"
Exhaustion is beginning to creep up on me.
10:34 p.m.-We're not even in Santa Barbara and my cell phone battery just died. My misery is absolute.
11:40 p.m.-I begin talking to this guy Ray in the observation car. Like most everyone I've met so far he's good people. I've always gotten along with people much older than me. A lot more than people my own age or younger. I don't know exactly why that is but I don't care to question it.
As we're sitting in the observation car talking we start to see the beginnings of fireworks. One of the other passengers, an ugly teenaged white trash Jerry Springer-type, wakes up and finds her boyfriend in the car chatting up hip hop ho. Nothing became of it though. Shame.
We finally roll into the station at 1:20 in the morning. What do know, the only thing they've been right about is exactly how late we'd be.
It's unfortunate to see this mode of transportation slowly being choked out by the lack of government funding but I have to say, if this is how efficient we can expect it to be then I for one won't be sorry to see it go.
I hang around the train depot with Ray until vikpreZ shows up and then we part ways.
Day 3: 6.6.6
Putting the past 35+ hours behind me, I'm ready to relax, unwind and start having some fun. First up on the menu is the wedding/concert.
It's about four o'clock and me and vikpreZ are just coming back from lunch. We're sitting in traffic when we hear the screech of tires. The next thing we know we're sandwiched between two cars staring at the front bumper of his car which is now two feet closer than it should be. Apparently some guy was speeding up the road and noticed the traffic up ahead was slowing down so he changed lanes and found traffic in our lane stopped. In total four cars were involved.
Instead of the concert I spent my evening in the emergency room waiting two hours (apperently it was a big day for head injuries requiring stitches) just for someone to come in and tell me that nothing's broken, I'll just hurt like hell for a few days and then give me a prescription for a $40 bottle of ibuprofen.
I'm trying to remain positive, but one thought keeps occuring to me. This was supposed to be my prom vacation but when the shit hit the fan there I pulled out and postponed my vacation until now. Evidently you can't dodge a curse that easily. I guess I should have paid more attention to those Final Destination movies.
VIEW 10 of 10 COMMENTS
Or, I swear I'll fuckin pound you (REAL hard in the arm too!)!!
Let's just say, when I am around, and you are around...
Let's catch up...Sound good??
(Besides, I REALLY need your incredible sense of sheer self absorbed hate that you spew so wryly...It makes me smile...
Until then...