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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo is on a one-night hit-and-run biznay trip to a seekrit location very close to the geographical center of the Lower 48.

I flew out in the wee dark hours this morning, got my biznay taken care of, and got back to the hotel a little while ago for a long, hot shower.  Now, having just scarfed down a Wendy’s double-cheeseburger and fries, and with nothing else on my agenda until I have to catch the homeward flight early tomorrow morning, what am I to do?  (Theoretically, I could have hopped a flight home this evening.  But it would have taken five hours, involved a change of planes at O’Hare, and would have dumped me at home well past midnight.  Forget that.)

Why, blog, of course!

And since I happen to be staying in a Holiday Inn Express, you can take it as read that all facts and opinions contained herein are accurate and especially smart.

♦  Let me just say here (perhaps again) that Dulles is a horrible, horrible airport.  Enormous, ugly, soulless, and the slowest security lines I know.  The only way it scores over Reagan/National is that the parking and pick-up/drop-off areas are both bigger and simpler.  That’s it.  And nobody I knows considers that to be enough of an advantage to make it preferable.

♦  Ol’ Robbo can’t remember the last time he flew without checking a bag through.  (I’m a heavy packer.)  But since I’m only here overnight, this time I just brought along my little, ah, overnight bag.  As I humped it through the airport, I realized I must be about the last person on the planet who doesn’t have such a bag with wheels and a handle attached to it.

♦  I’m also, apparently, the last person who doesn’t use an electronic navigation system while driving, especially in a place new to me.  My colleague seemed downright surprised when I mentioned I’d made it from the airport to his office just by studying a map ahead of time and doing a little bit of dead-reckoning.  I keep telling people that when Skynet goes active, the first thing it’ll do is route everyone using such gadgets straight into ambush, but do they listen? Nooooo…..

♦  Speaking of cars and control, I absolutely point-blank refuse ever, ever to get into a driverless vehicle.  I’d sooner walk.  You can bank it.

♦  Also speaking of cars, my mantra for tomorrow is. “I will NOT forget my sunglasses in the rental again! I will NOT forget my sunglasses in the rental again! I will NOT……”

♦  The news the last couple days has been so full of awesomeness stuffed with chunks of awesome and covered in awesome-sauce  that I’m not sure I can stand it much longer.  The story that made me laugh out loud today, however, was the Senate’s slamming of Alex Occasional-Cortex’s Big Green Terror bill.  That Cocaine Mitch had the cojones to put it up for a vote and that the Donks ran away en masse is the stuff of things which prescription drug companies warn old men should not last longer than four hours.   It’s schaden-licious!

♦  Oh, and in case anyone is wondering, no, no brackets from Robbo.  Basketball interests me not at all, plus I have at best a few twice-removed  connections to any of the schools that might have a serious dog in the fight.

Well, I suppose that’s enough to go on for now.  Make of it what you will.

Home Again, Home Again UPDATE:

Yes, Ol’ Robbo is back safe and sound at Port Swiller Manor again.

♦  One of the marks of a really good airport is that it is laid out and prominently labeled in a way that allows a bleary-eyed stranger to find his way to the rental car return in the dark smoothly and without a fuss.  Ol’ Robbo salutes Kansas City International for being such a place.  (By contrast, I got lost trying to get out of DFW, in broad daylight no less, last time I was there.)

♦  I was especially bleary-eyed this ack emma because I really don’t sleep on travel, especially when I’ve knocked off the sauce.  Instead, I drift in and out of my Spirit World and come up to full consciousness about every hour or so.  It’s a noisy place, my Spirit World, filled with voices, sound-effects, and musick.  Not scary, but terribly, terribly complicated.

♦  I almost always do crosswords to wile away the time on my flights.  This morning I found myself furiously digging through the lumber room of my mind trying to remember the name of Alf’s home planet.  (It’s Melmac.) I wasted huge amounts of time before I finally remembered it, but after all that’s supposed to be the point.  On the other hand, since I hang around Quiltbabe’s place so much, “units for purchasing yarn” don’t even slow me down.

Well, enough of this.  Mission accomplished.  Now I’ve got a serious date with a dog and some nap time.

 

 

 

 

 

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