Transcriptions of vacations v.1

Transcribed from my sketchbook on a recent jaunt to Oregon:

June 6th, 2009:
Heading to Oregon for five days. Airports always amuse me. The Oakland airport is experiencing some serious remodeling. I'm flying Allegiance Air, which I'm not entirely convinced is a real airline. There are only nine seats in the waiting area, could this be any indicator to how big (or how small) the plane will be? I was first to be picked up by the shuttle van I'd reserved to take me from my home to the airport. For a while I was utterly convinced that I was going to get Shanghai-ed by the small East Indian driver. That's Indian "aye-yay-yay" not Indian "woo-woo-woo." Eventually we retrieved the other passengers for the ultimately not illegal human trafficking operation. Not to be confused with a legal human trafficking operation, which this neither was. The final two passengers were a terse Asian woman and her Quintessential Berkeley White Male. They made us wait for them while they "continued getting ready." Once they graced the non human trafficking van with their presence, the woman demanded to sit in the front seat, Forcing the Indian driver to move his personal items and an expanse of trash. Every time she reached for her bottled, sweetened water beverage in the cup holder, I was sure she would reach for his phone. I had to suppress my scoffing laughter when she gestured at the first exit for the airport. It was no suprise that she had failed to follow instructions and had not printed out her confirmation receipt.

July 8th, 2009:
My mother and I spent the night in a cute bed & breakfast owned by a woman with MS and her motorcycle riding husband. They made us eggs and bacon for breakfast. Doug, the husband, spoke very loudly & endlessly. His barrage of words loosely based around his life in the homes related field. From mortgage lending to actual building of houses. After a brief walk, we drove into Bend & got some groceries for the Heimlich house stay. Stopped in a massive Goodwill that had a wide array of flannels and leather coats which I decided not to purchase. Leaving Goodwill empty handed was mildly disappointing. Having our bourgeois picnic of sushi among the Ponderosa pines and ground squirrels lifted our spirits.

June 10th, 2009:
Sitting in the airport, waiting for my flight back to SF. I've been shadowed by an obnoxious mother and her well behaved daughters. Her voice is grating and obnoxious in the worst way. I think she was a school teacher before being an annoying mother. She overly explains things to her well behaved daughters and tells them they are very good at following the rules. Which there are many of. Of course she is sitting in front of me on the plane. I have switched seats with a mother of two teenage boys, if I hadn't, I would at least be two rows behind her. Not only have I had to surrender the BaconOst that Rebecka so painstakingly brought me from Sweden, but I've also surrendered my window seat for a seat between two fifty year old guys. Sometimes a mitzvah seems to turn out to be a bad idea. Finally the mother with the well behaved daughters has shut her trap. She overly told the daughters every detail of flying, including the facts that will never matter to them.Such as what the door beeping means. Even in her effort to tell her well behaved daughters that they shouldn't kick the back of seats, a very important 'rule' for them to know, she became a tedium of soft and breathy yet forceful tones. A side note; the pilot is a woman. The mother just told her well behaved daughter, Jane, that the plane is not faster than a roller coaster. Every time she speaks, I feel like I'm listening to a meditation/new age prayer. Something to help me fall asleep in the event of insomnia, except ineffectual. In my immediate proximity (redundant?), there are at least five first time fliers. I can't count how many times I've been on a plane. The two teenage boys who's mother I traded seats with are first time fliers. Their amazement and pure wonder is refreshing. I forgot how truly ming blowing flying is. Repetition breeds complacency.