Before leaving Kansas City, I had several things to finish (e.g. packing, a discussion about my future (thanks, Clancy!), putting the finishing touches on the Great European Adventure 2007: A Movie to prepare for Pickel's Premiere For Fabulous People Of The Great European Adventure 2007: A Movie 2008, etc..) After all that was accomplished, my great friend Clancy whisked me away to the airport. Little did I know in my somewhat dyslexic mind that my flight did not leave at 6.00 as I had previously believed. No, it left at 5.00. Shit. I looked at the clock in the lower left hand corner of the departure display and saw that it was 4.50 pm. Uh. Run.
I made the flight. But if karma is a force to be reckoned with (in terms of punctuality at least), she reared her ugly head and gave the Boeing 777 on which I rode the bumpiest flight ever. I have never sweated in fear so much in my entire life. I finished the NY Times puzzle (note: Friday's NY Times puzzle) over the course of the flight, only because I was concentrating so hard NOT to think of my pending mortality. I usually make it a point to enjoy the benefits of gravity in my day-to-day existence, but when one is hovering 39,000 feet in the air, the effect of gravity begins to present itself as a bit worrisome. I also learned that I have sweat glands in the most peculiar places that activate in the most anxious situations. Interesting.
Landed in Chicago (the landing made me almost understand what it would be like to be a gay man, or a very open-minded hetero), worked on Jeremy's video (almost finished!) and proceeded to board what would become one of the most uneventful flights to Albany. My seat mate was a kind kind soul who would have offered drink tickets, had he thought to bring them. So I read Dostoevsky instead. To each her own, I guess.
Upon my arrival in Albany, I realized that I hadn't really discussed my pick-up plans in much detail with anyone whom I was about to visit. Eh, alright. So I contact my buddies, who informed me that Petr, the glorious Czech, would be arriving in a black Jetta (turbo-charged, no less) at some point. Okay. What's his cell phone number? I inquire (he and Chrissy live in Prague, so any contact information whilst they are stateside is temporary). Uh, he doesn't have a phone on him. Okay.
I engaged in a particular vice of mine with a nice airline mechanic outside while waiting for our respective rides. (Oh, and upon re-reading that sentence, I should mention that this particular vice is smoking. Get your minds out of the gutter, people). His ride comes, mine does not. So I go explore. I do enjoy watching people wrestle their luggage off the conveyor belt, it is probably the closest I will ever come to witnessing real struggle, given that I refuse to check bags. I will take wrinkles over back ache any day. Alas, instead of watching this contemporary version of man-vs.-beast, I see Petr scanning the crowd for my smelly, airplane-ridden visage. I receive what will become the first of an infinite number of no-less-than-awesome-hugs over the next few hours.
Now, I must break and mention that when Chrissy informed me that the trip from Albany to the cabin just outside of Bromley, VT would take almost 2 hours, I had, in my mid-western raised mind, a boring drive a la KC to Columbia. High speeds, cruise control, and the eternal struggle between Jesus and porn via billboards. NOPE! Here in the Northeast, the speed limit is a cool 45 the entire way, no billboards (just Moose and Horseback Rider crossing signs - although I am keeping my eye out for Bobcat Crossing signs, just to let you know, Geo). Under the blanket of 11.30 pm, cast in a glow of the nearly full moon, I decided that this has to be as close to aesthetic heaven as I will ever get. Petr and I bode our time by discussing the ethics of sexual harassment, Dublin, Eugene (of course - see post below), boobs and man-love. Already starting to feel at home. *sigh*
"Almost There." These are two words that Petr is never allowed to utter again. Seriously, do Czechs have any conception of space and time? But, to his credit, he was totally sober and carefully drove us to our destination, almost always abiding by the suggestion of the 45-mile-an-hour speed limit.
We thus arrive to the cabin (and yes, I let Petr shout: We're There!) I walk up to the cabin (pictures soon) to the blissful sound of Chrissy grunting: meganiluvvvvyouuuuuuuuuyourehereeeeeeeeiluvuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!! (Mumm was involved, fyi). The next few hours are a blur - bubbles poured, risotto warmed, le bete noire (flourless chocolate cake with chocolate ganache a la Jim) served, hugs abound.
Jim promptly passes out (as they had been drinking in celebration of my arrival since 4) Petr and Polly (Chrissy's gorgeous Drew Barrymore look-alike aunt) watch the Golden Girls while Chrissy, Jessie and I hit the hot tub. And yes, Chrissy has great boobs. They do everything she asks! (But really, who doesn't?) Chrissy will soon succumb to the depressive effects of the booze and hit the hay, while Jessie and I contemplate the true nature of love, tradition, and reactions to past experiences (are they more or less authentic than proactive decisions, or is there no difference because we cannot fully separate ourselves from our past? Hmmm)
Time for bed. Jess and I crash on what is possibly the most comfortable bed I have ever had the privilege on which to be horizontal. Sleep came soon and was most welcome.
I awoke the next morning to a glorious Vermont day. There are about 3 or 4 inches of snow on the ground, but I have been wearing a tank top all day. It is about 75 degrees. We have the best lazy day ever. Jim falls prey to (and makes us orifactorally responsible for) the unfortunate consequences of his cream and cheese heavy diet. Petr drifts in and out of consciousness. I figure out how to use the Top Of The Line Espresso Machine. Chrissy, to her chagrin, gets her hung over picture taken - a lot (coming soon). Jessie takes about four hours to eat a grilled cheese. Ah, we live the good life!
I finally convinced Jessie to remove her conviction to have a fancy premier party for the Great European Adventure 2007: A Movie. We stack ourselves like pick up sticks on the ridiculously comfortable couch, and watch the 40-minute foray into adventures past. Tears, laughter, social embarrassment, and drinking. The things of which we are made. (This video in it's entirety will appear next week here at Discontent and Daisies)
Now I am sipping my gin and tonic with cucumber, overlooking the melting snow and waiting for the boys to awaken from their naps to accompany us to town where I will be able to post this message.
Until next time, my pretty babies, you will miss me. But trust me, I will miss you more. In fact, we all will:
Thus spake Megathustra
