lifeinoleg.com: Dispatches from Boston

Sunday July 26

Feels like a full day even though in Los Angeles it would be 7:30pm right now. Woke up at 5:45 in the morning to catch my 8:15 flight, was in the bathroom and ended up being one of the last people to board the plane; I took the fact that I made the flight to be propitious. The 5-hour flight was good, I sat next to a business-type who spent part of the flight watching what looked like Madonna's Swept Away on an iPhone...I pity the fool. I, on the other hand, spent my precious time copying quotes from Whitman's "Song of Myself" between watching The Office and Zac Efron's 17 Again (he's soooo talented), also began reading Vol 1 of D.H. Lawrence's short stories, which I will read until I fall asleep.

Arriving at Logan Airport, I was scooped up by Lady Jane and Slavik and given a driving tour of basically everything we passed; Lady Jane has enough conversation for Slavik and me. I don't actually think I'll have to talk much during this trip, just nod in support of her rapid-fire talk. I just hope Lady Jane's huge energy won't overtake my relatively relaxed travel style - I don't want to see too much and be overwhelmed all the time; I can always come back to Boston someday.

After arriving at the home base and being shown my room with a red silk cover, we went out for a drive in Swampscott and Marblehead. The houses are big and have gables. We don't have these kind of houses in LA - I can get a sense of New England culture by looking at them and the ton of boats behind them on the Atlantic.

We stopped, too briefly, at Marblehead Neck where stands an old out-of-commission lighthouse, we came upon it just as the sun was descending and the colors were beautiful. Then we drove some more and took a walk along the coast around Swampscott and Lynn. Lots of Russian people live in Lynn, I heard them talking as we walked by. The weather was fine with high humidity and a warm breeze. Saw a big big dog that was black with brown and othercolored dots and sad eyes, it looked old and friendly.

Just recently got home and had some tea and cake. Jane told me about her trip to China. I think I want to go to Japan. Kwan would make a good guide. Now I'm going to read DH and retire. I hope this silk blanket won't be too hot.

Monday July 27

Another full day today, they'll probably all be like this if things continue as they are. The main attractions of the day were the Boston Museum of Fine Arts (abbreviated MFA – I kept thinking Master of Fine Arts) and the Boston Public Library both of which I plan on visiting again.

The day started quietly though I was completely awake at around 1:30am the previous night to the sounds of thunder and lightning. The silk blankets were hot so I did what any young man would do and threw them off. My sleep was okay, weird dreams towards morning.

I was driven to the Swampscott Library to pick up a pass to the MFA, and discovered that the Swampscott Public Library (of all places) have a decent Russian collection and two Russian staff members. I did not meet them.

I took the metro from the Wonderland Station (maybe Michael Jackson wanted to have a ranch here but reconsidered, too humid) into the city – about an hour-long trip - but it was worth it because I heard some Bostonese and it was a delight! On the way back I would engross myself in DH Lawrence while listening to a drunk Bostonian in a Philadelphia Flyers jersey rambling about how the cops wouldn't "cayagh" if he was caught smoking on the train - he also said the word “facetious” and spelled it correctly to prove he could - someone needs to give the guy a teaching job.

Got off the Green line right outside the museum but not without having my contact lens fall out right before my train stop and fumbling around to put it back into my eye. I made it just in time but worried for maybe 20 minutes about eye infections. It seems okay for the time being.

I'm not sure what my favorite part of the MFA was, this is a behemoth compared to the Portland Art Museum, and I only saw the first floor and a tiny part of the second (I skipped out on the first floor's Egyptian Art and Musical Instruments, I like the latter best when they're playing, not lying prone). Some favorites were a few of Sargent's paintings (they have a nice collection of his work), the 1900-1930s photos from Mexico by Weston and others, the Japanese representations of Haiku and Tenka, and the craftsman architecture and furniture by the firm Greene & Greene (made me feel a bit homesick since most of their commissions were for California homes). Upstairs, I breezed through some stuff including famous Impressionist pieces which I'll be coming back to some other day.

Having lunch in the inner courtyard I was approached by an older man with an open demeanor - he wore a Hawaiian shirt and white pants - he found out I was a librarian and quickly, without even knowing my name, gave me his card, wrote down his number, and invited me to stay with him if ever I would be in ******. He also gingerly said we should have dinner while I was in Boston. It turns out he works at a museum in ****** and has a number of rare museum catalogs that he's currently putting on LibraryThing. I gave him my number. We can have lunch. I should have mentioned my beautiful girlfriend, maybe.

The museum was lovely but closed at 4:45 so I had to leave. The iPhone told me that the Library was not too far away - though later I discovered that the phone had the wrong address. I should send the phone to have dinner with that guy I met at the museum. I got a nice scenic tour of central Boston including a cool little park (Clarendon Park) where people walked their dogs. By the way, there were lots of paintings with dogs at MFA, that was one of the important things that made it cool.

I asked for directions to the Library in a radical bookstore (Lucy Parson's Center), smiled at the clerk and was told about the free Wednesday night movies they have at the place. They're showing some conspiracy stuff this week so I won't go. I did buy a couple of books (Guy Debord's Society of the Spectacle and Clemens Starck's Studying Russian on Company Time). Later, I found the Library.

A massive, intimidating building the Boston Public Library is! It's kind of funny because this formal structure has a modern (70s or so) part shoved up its butt. I liked the old part, but the newer part looks like an out-of-style academic library. This makes sense since they use the Library of Congress system. I wondered around, sat down and read the beginning of Wordsworth's Prelude, wrote a postcard or two, and left, but not without passing through the dramatic inner courtyard with a small, but lovely, fountain.

Got turned around looking for a metro station but quickly oriented myself and found it. The trip back to Wonderland was pleasant since I had DH to amuse me.

Back at Swampscott, Lady Jane fed me dinner and the three of us (Lady Jane, Slavik and I), watched The Jane Austen Book Club. How could a movie with so much potential turn into such contrived tripe three quarters of the way through I do not know.

In any case, it appears as if I've brought good weather with me to Boston. I hope it holds.

Tuesday July 28

The plan today was New England Aquarium and Institute of Contemporary Art (ICA), at least according to my meticulous planning last night, though it seems like a long time since then; time stretches and contracts in strange ways when traveling, as do distances.

I took the bus today for the first time all the way into Boston and what an interesting ride it was. The communities of the neighboring "provinces" do not represent inner-Boston at all. There were many ethnic restaurants and shops. I even saw a chicken shack near a cemetery that was situated right in the middle of everything. All kinds of people ride the bus and I overheard a pregnant girl tell a lady she was talking to how she was so alone in the world; her family didn't want to help her and have no money anyway. She was very matter-of-fact about it.

Getting off the bus a stop late, I walked to ICA, which I decided at the time would be my first destination. I noticed and photographed Boston's fascination with glass architecture, I would see other examples of this later in the day, especially with the Holocaust Memorial, which is basically all glass and only poignant in passing when I looked up through the glass towers.

The ICA is a modern glass (of course) building on the waterfront. Inside, I saw a few films of varying lengths about "Acting Out," some were very moving while others highlighted the surreal nature of life (like the video of the laughing contest by Phil Collins), one made me look askance at humanity. Other exhibitions were of curious contemporary photography, hit and miss. Notable was the large exhibition of Shepard Fairey's work (you know, OBEY, and Andre the Giant has a posse) - his nonsensical experimentation with popular imagery made me think that we all, people that is, have the power to decide what is propaganda to us. This is a very important point when taking the viewpoint of an extremist- who decides what is the 'other'? Shepard Fairey was also the guy the designed the popular Obama poster.

It being glass, there was a nice view out of the pier side of the museum so I checked my email [took a dopey picture] and enjoyed the view.

Walking out of ICA I headed towards the aquarium but knew I felt peckish so couldn't see fish without eating. In the end, I decided to eat fish instead of seeing them at The Black Rose, where the waitress that took my order had an Irish accent. My meal concluded, I headed towards Faneuil Hall where the post office was supposed to be.

Turns out this historic building is also home to plenty of commerce. The basement level is full of silly gift shops (and a post office with a very nice clerk). I thought about buying some Boston Tea Party tea but figured I could get Bigelow's Earl Grey just as well in Los Angeles. Outside was the Quincy Marketplace with a bunch of name-brand stores. I didn't come to Boston to shop at Louie Vutton, so I declined.

The hall itself, after many renovations was a new-old building sporting an elevator so all guests could enjoy the place. Many paintings and oldish furniture gave the place a historic feel which the microphone stand and modern speakers on stage quickly dashed.

Strolling through downtown Boston, I took a break sitting next to the dominant, but ugly City Hall, eventually coming upon a small building that parted the streets like Moses parted that Red Sea. It was the old State House. I looked at the basic "museum" inside but found that I was slightly insulted at having to pay to see facsimiles of famous documents and some mostly subpar paintings and minutiae, John Hancock's coat and pepper shaker notwithstanding. Just like all over Boston, the ticket sellers/takers at the old State House were very congenial; when I said thank you, they said you're welcome.

Time was edging me towards home so I bought some socks at Macy's (3 pairs for $20, good deal) and a Boston Kreme donut at Dunkin' Donuts, ate all, and descended into the subway station to journey home.

[I actually saw the Holocaust Memorial here. It resides on a island in the middle of the street close the Haymarket bus terminal where I waited for the bus home. Click here for images of the Holocaust Memorial.]

Before I got home, I requested a stop outside of the Swampscott cemetery where I planned to cool down my day. I walked in the old part of the burial ground where big headstones signified dignified dead. Interesting were the many clues as to the person's station in life; American flags for soldiers, specific stars for police and firefighters, various masonic symbols, local organizations, and of course the size of the family since relatives where plotted together.

I got home before Jane and Slavik, but I was pooped. Tomorrow, I take on Cambridge. Grolier Poetry Book Shop, I'm coming to You!

My admission ticket the Institute of Contemporary Art

Wednesday July 29

Woke up using my alarm this morning because I wanted to get an early start. Night time was weird; had a terrible time falling asleep and morning was full of fits and starts. I think this contributed to the exhaustion I (more specifically, my legs) feel at the end of the day, or right now.

Last night I planned more meticulously than I have ever planned travel before; I wrote down bus and metro times for leaving and returning home, addresses for places I wanted to visit, and some that I might want to visit, and I spent a good deal of time looking at the Google Map of Cambridge, all this for only some benefit since I still ended up doing some confused wandering (not necessarily a bad thing, mind you).

The trip into Cambridge was pleasant, the bus's money machine was out of service so everyone rode for free. Not that it mattered to me since I had a prepaid weekly pass, but the people were happy. Part of the ride was spent in writing the remains of yesterday's Dispatch [and a haiku about the weather] - a good use of time, methinks.

The first thing I was going to do in Cambridge was visit the Fogg Art Museum, but my plan became twisted right then and there. Passing through Harvard, which is not as nice as UCLA, with its brick buildings, classic motifs, all mixed in with the occasional modern design (I did like the wall surrounding the campus with the random gates), I found that the imposing columned Widener Library, the biggest academic library in the country, was not open to students. Oh well. Out of a gate I went and ran right into the Harvard Book Store, a definite stopping point for me.

The independently-owned-and-operated store with used books downstairs was nice, but after seeing Powell's City of Books in Portland, the Harvard Store is a pipsqueak in comparison. It's a good thing that the Grolier Poetry Bookshop is right around the corner because, frankly, I wasn't very impressed with the Harvard store's poetry collection.

After the bookstore (Grolier came later), I went in search of the L.A. Burdick Chocolate Café, and just as I was getting to think that I really was a terrible searcher, poor map reader, and nincompoop of a traveler, I looked down Brattle street and there it was, Burdick's. Peering into the window, I realized that this wasn't at all an eatery and walked into the wrong door of the Indian place beside the Café.

I was all set to try Rapscallion Premiere beer but they didn't have it. Actually, it seemed like they were out of half of their beer list which wasn't very long as it was. I decided on Sam Adams, and ordered some food, spicy. One good thing about this place is that the food they brought me was spicy! Throughout my meal my nose ran, I was constantly dabbing my cloth napkin at it and the loose beads of sweat waterfalling down my forehead. The food was edible, the naan was good, the waiter forgot to bring me a plate so I just put my mumble-jumble with big cheese cubes straight into my rice bowl. I'm not fussy. He brought a plate later, not sure why he bothered to remember, I was doing just fine without it. After my meal I had an average fruit tart at Burdick's and bought some chocolate for others. So far I've spent more money at Burdick's than any other place in and around Boston, they should write Ashley a thank-you note, I only went because of her.

By this part of the day my knee was starting to bother me, but I soldiered on. The Sackler Museum combined art from many ages on 3 floors. The collection was not bad, I enjoyed the pre-and-during-renaissance paintings which is unusual for me. The descriptions at the Sackler were longer and denser than at MFA. I've also developed a taste for Indian sculpture and things. I suspect this is because it often depicts sex and the ladies have great figures. The mythology isn't bad either, I guess. The Sackler had a partially destroyed Ganesha which delighted and annoyed me. I want more Ganesha, people! I thought about putting a coin on the platform where the statue stood but decided I didn't want to risk the alarm.

After taking in the Sackler I proceeded to the Fogg only to see that it was closed for renovation! Way to go guidebooks! Doesn't matter because I wasn't really in the mood for more art.

Now if I wasn't a schlemiel, I would have visited Grolier directly after the Harvard Book Store (since it's just around the corner (so much for meticulous planning)), but no, instead I had to traverse Harvard's mish-mash of a campus again to walk into the fantastic little store. Poetry everywhere! Only poetry. On shelves higher then me! Too bad the store was about the size of my room and didn't have several books I was looking for, nonetheless I bought "Applause" by Carol Muske (now known as Carol Muske-Dukes, the California Poet Laureate) and admired the beautiful sight. I don't want a pony anymore! I want a poetry book store!

The remainder of my stay in Cambridge was nothing more then passing time till my subway and bus schedules aligned. I searched and found the Lowell House, found that it wasn't Robert Lowell's house, nor was it a destination of any sort though it is famous for its bells which I heard chime at 4:30.

Later I browsed at a travel bookstore and had some orange juice at a café. On the bus ride home I yawned a lot. Exhaustion trails me.

Going to go to sleep at a normal time tonight and planning on a short day tomorrow.

Sackler Museum admission pin.

Thursday July 30

Even though it wasn't as short a day as I anticipated, I'll keep the dispatch light since I'm in no mood to expound at length. Today I went to the aquarium.

The New England Aquarium is lauded in the guidebooks and other literature as an excellent destination for visitors. I would have to disagree. First of all, there were too many people; there was a huge line just to get tickets to the place! Second, many of the fish are local, or not far off, and really the only fish nice to see at an aquarium are colorful tropical fish and weird sea life like jellies and octopi - who cares about salmon, really? Third of all there were only two big tanks, one that had adorable 3-foot-tall penguins posing for pictures or jetting around underwater, and the second that had all kinds of stuff including an old tortoise that liked vamping for cameras and two huge 11-foot-long sharks. A kid wondered if the shark could eat him...oh yeah, I thought, it could swallow you whole and have space left over for your portly papa. Also, lots of people were rudely utilizing flash photography around the small tanks, I wanted to throw them in with the poisonous Dragonfish or the electric eel, the latter would help them feel a bit flashy. Still, I like aquariums so I didn't leave completely dissatisfied.

For lunch I had spotted a place on my way to the wharf called Mr. Dooley's, an Irish tavern, I went there. The veggie burger (called the Dan Brown) and some mashed taters filled me up just fine. I washed it all down with two pints of Smithwick's Red Ale because when a man's on vacation, he can down a couple of pints in the middle of the day. The waitress had pretty eyes, but she got no extra tip for them.

On the way to the metro station (to get to the bus that would take me home) I saw a sandwich board advertising a barber shop at 10 Milk St. and, by golly, I needed a haircut so I went and got my ears lowered by a Mrs. P. Welch who had a cat named Samantha who she called Peep, and her husband called Poopy.

Up the street, I saw stairs leading down to a bookstore and had the urgent need to evaluate their stock. Naturally, as a book lover I feel the need to support every independent bookstore everywhere I go so I bought two books (William Howard Cohen's To Walk in Seasons and Rufus Learsi's Jews in America: A History). And just to show how hip I am, I snubbed the humongous Borders immediately across the street.

The bus driver on the way home asked everyone on the bus to say awooooooo, and we did. It made us feel good. I kind of needed to pee though.

Got home before Lady Jane and Slavik. This gave me a chance to sit on the patio and read about Walt Whitman (jeepers, it's a good thing I like his poetry because his prose and biography are not expecially engrossing), watch Survivorman on Discovery channel (he roasted scorpions, mmmm), and eat an apple as well as the makings of a full dinner. When Lady Jane got home she fed me all over again and I smiled and ate because a guest must not turn down what is offered. After dinner we chatted about life and the difficulty of renovating a home while living in it.

Friday July 31

Woke up at a normal time today after an excellent night's sleep - keeping the air conditioner on at night is the thing to do. Left the house quite late which was compensated by coming home later than usual.

When I left the home base it was pouring rain but warm. I ran to the bus stop with no umbrella getting a second shower in the process. It was amusing to see people on the bus in shorts and t-shirts, but really it must have been like 80 degrees outside so it made sense. Riding the bus all the time is starting to annoy me, my lower back doesn't like it and my knee is no better.

First stop today was the Museum of Science where the Duck Tours were taking off. I arrived early and was able to carry out my plan of getting a flimsy and overpriced umbrella at the gift shop.

The Duck Tour was insightful; after seeing a city almost blindly for the past few days it was something to see how everything fit together. Also since, for some reason, I typically don't go in for guided tours, actually getting one was nice. The rain stopped while the Tour was on (as if on purpose) and begun as soon as it ended. Also, when the DUKW was in the water, I got to drive.

The next two parts of my itinerary were not especially travelicious to write about. Basically I stopped by the Museum of Fine Arts to pick up something at the gift shop. A nice ticket-taker let me slip into the gift shop (which is located deep inside the museum) and I was able to make my purchase. In my future travels I must remember to make all my purchases the first time around since even though I had planned to go back to the MFA, time (and my not feeling like looking at art anymore), prevented it. Anyway, I made the special stop and got the gift.

Then I decided to go get some award-winning chowder at Charley's (this was upon Lady Jane's recommendation, later she told me she actually wanted me to go to Joe's, but watcha gonna do, right?). So I, being a schmuck of the highest order, open my floppy umbrella and walk from the MFA to Charley's, a (maybe) 25 minute walk through rain when I could have taken the metro. Of course my umbrella flopped in the wind, but I didn't get too wet and it was warm so no issue. Charley's was fine, the chowder came in a bread bowl, but it wasn't sourdough which I was pleased about, but I still feel like places that serve their soup in bread bowls have something to hide. Their soup wasn't bad, but not great, plenty of clams and stuff but it just wasn't thick enough. Oh well. I guess someone thought it deserved an award. The place in Monterey still holds Oleg's best chowder crown. One thing I noted, aside from the chowder is the way the staff looked at me since I was dressed a bit sloppy and out of the rain. The place had tablecloths and things, but the staff all seemed young so I figured it was just pretending to be a 'nice' restaurant. It's a restaurant and saloon after all, how haughty could it be?

Stopped by a bookstore on the way to the metro but was not impressed and so I didn't buy anything. At the Haymarket bus terminal, to which I arrived early, I didn't feel like reading, so I composed some short poems. Here's a senryū I wrote:

Bus station time table:
I wish the routes home
multiplied.

Listened to Pandora radio on the iPhone on the bus ride home and looked at the rainy cities of Boston, Lynn, Swampscott, and others. Glad I'm going home in two days.

Saturday August 1

As I was tired of going in to Boston proper and, most of all, of the hour-long bus rides it takes to get there and back, I decided to take advantage of today's sunny Los Angeles climate to return during the daytime to the coastline we walked on during my first evening of my trip.

I looked up the 15 minute bus ride on the computer, but when I got to the stop 2 minutes late and waited another 5, I figured the bus wasn't coming. The iPhone said it was a mere 1.6 miles to the shore by a road called Paradise, so I took it upon myself to walk.

It was a 30 minute walk and a marvelous one. I got to look at the houses and the cars driving by with the sun warming me. When I got to the water it was great. I plopped down on a bench and watched things go by while eating an apple.

I was in the mood for my customary 3-eggs-over-medium-with-a-slice-of-cheese but I couldn't find a diner so I went to a seafood place and had clam chowder loaded with clams - pretty good! A po' boy sandwich loaded with fried shrimp, and two glass bottles of Coke to round off my meal.

Stomach full, I went and watched the water some more, read about Whitman under the shady trees by the Swampscott Public Library, and played with a winsome ladybug. The walk home was pleasant but uneventful.

The evening was spent reading DH and hanging out with Slavik and Lady Jane.

All in all, I really appreciated not dealing with the stresses of traveling. Today was a real vacation and I'm glad I was able to round off my trip this way. Tomorrow is my last day in the east and I'm going to try to enjoy it.

Charlie ticket, the back of my 7-day pass

Sunday August 2

Today was a worthy way to end my journey. Woke up at the normal time and Lady Jane and Slavik were already waiting for me with a tofu omelet breakfast and a plan. We would go to the beach (since the weather was good), take a walk and lunch in Salem (which is very close to Swampscott), visit Babushka Zina at the nursing home, and then: airport. A good, tight day.

At the beach I swam, for the first time, in the Atlantic Ocean. I considered trying out the water yesterday when I sat watching it for awhile, but decided against it - today I floated in it. It felt colder than the Pacific with different kind of seaweed and pieces of grass floating around. The beach we went to was a small piece that, apparently, many of the Russians in the area go to. For a little while we stood chatting with some elderly immigrants. They were talking about watching Russian television shows by transferring it from the computer to the TV - I said you need a TV card and a round blond lady promptly said no. I shrugged, being no expert.

Salem is, of course, known for its paranormal past, in regards to witch hunts, etc. What I saw was a nice little town, like Boston, having an old-new vibe. The buildings had a relatively subdued style, some older than others, but mostly I didn't feel the weight of history. Perhaps this is because I didn't care to go to any of the witch, pirate, or otherwise museums (I actually did want to go to the Peabody Museum with it's Dutch Seascape paintings, but time didn't allow it). As far as those other museums, I felt they were more designed for the tourist's dime than the mind of mine. Either way, walking in Salem was fine - there's a "weird" contingent in Salem, like in Portland, but it makes sense what with witches and everything. Where else would the "weird" people of the area be? For lunch I ate some decent oysters and a delicious grilled swordfish – Lady Jane, Slavik, and I toasted my trip. Everyone was happy except the waitress (not ours) who burned her hand on some coffee and walked quickly to the kitchen with her eyes tearing up.

[I have a non-descript picture which I'm not going to post because it's just a reminder, of a store called "Bunghole Liquors." Just wanted to throw that out for all of you Beavis and Butthead fans. TP, anyone?]

Visiting Babushka Zina (my mom's cousin's mother, or my grandfather's brother's wife) was supposed to be a difficult experience - she is in a nursing home, cannot walk, with a broken shoulder, and generally in a bad way - but it wasn't. Babushka Zina still has plenty of presence physically, and of mind. She relayed to me a memory of my brother and I when we were still in Ukraine (maybe 4-5 years old apiece) and went to Brest to visit Zina and pick up some provisions for our journey to the U.S., as we were waiting for our father and Zina to get something from wherever they were, my brother (though it could have been me, since she could never tell us apart) scratched the car we rode in. My father got back, was very angry, took whoever it was by the ear and scolded him. We took the car the shop, but the scratches remained. I don't remember this at all.

She also remembered the last time her and her husband (my grandfather's brother) Naum visited us in Los Angeles in 2002. Curiously enough, she remembered the layout of the house quite well, except for the jasmine outside, which she mistook (in her memory) for lemons first, then grapes.

I told her briefly about graduating from the University and going to work in a library. Details were unnecessary since density of information was not the key here. The most important part of the visit was the joy I felt at seeing her, something completely unexpected, and the joy I felt in return (something that was expected). It is clear that she is at the tail-end of her life, and I am glad I was fortunate enough to see and be seen by her.

The airport was fairly crowded when I arrived. I meant to get a shot glass for Polina at a souvenir shop but with all the security and everything it completely slipped my mind. Instead I bought a bottle of water and brownie. I knew they wouldn't feed us on the 6-hour flight so it came in handy.

Out of all the flights I've been on in the past month (to-and-from Portland, to Boston - so three, and with this one: four) this was the most unprofessional. First, their mode of communicating with passengers was completely befuddled. We boarded the plane and were ready for take-off only to learn that we were waiting for a co-pilot who was going to land in "20 minutes." This information was conveyed a number of times by flight attendants and the pilot, yet it wasn't 20 minutes before we took off - it was more like 40. On top of that, they were out of the first two items of the purchasable food the flight attendant was selling - couldn't they have made that clear from the beginning? Second, they started the safety movie as we were taking off. Some people like to pay attention to the take-off without being distracted by a movie they should have shown earlier. Third, the attendant that made many of the announcements repeated things so often and spoke in such a patronizing tone that I thought to throw my shoe at her. United Airlines could have done better.

On the bright side, I finished a book (Dakota Diaspora by Sophie Trupin), watched a funny show called "Parks & Recreation" starring Amy Poehler, and chatted with a German couple who were visiting their niece in Santa Barbara.

Everything out of the way, I was really happy to land in Los Angeles and make the endless walk from my gate in terminal 7 to "Ground Transportation" where the illustrious Igor picked me up. A successful trip. Indeed.