Sunday: The Travel
Jul. 17th, 2003 10:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elfsI know exactly how Burly Brawl (see the current music section below) was written. The Wachowski brothers went to Don Davis and said, "We have this fight scene at the beginning. It's six minutes and thirty seconds long. We want you to write music that will totally turn the audience on for this film and pound them into submission at the same time." And Don Davis smiled and said, "Yeah. I can do that."
I can't believe I haven't seen that movie yet.
Sunday we awoke and I cooked breakfast for the kids. Scrambled eggs on toasted muffins with hash browns on the side, all tossed together in about half an hour thanks to the Cuisinart. The hash browns were deep fat fried with real butter.
The kids were really good about getting into their day clothes afterwards. Omaha and I began the frenzy of cleaning, laundry, and packing that normally proceeds a long vacation. We made lists, compared needs, cajoled the kids into playing together (eventually shuffling them out the door since it was such a nice day outside), washed, cleaned. I went through our digital photo collection, removing all of the pictures that aren't of interest to the kids' grandparents: convention photos, people they don't know, scenes from the Wet Spot, and so on. We had about four hundred photos when I was done which I then proceeded to burn tent times onto CDs.
I also burned a couple of BBC productions of Red Dwarf readings onto CD for Omaha that someone had snagged off the radio. The quality is terrible but you don't really care that much for a books-on-tape production.
Yamaarashi-chan's mother came and picked her up an hour late, and damn near created a panic when she proceeded to shuffle Yamaarashi-chan into her car without so much as notifying the rest of the household that she was doing so. If Omaha hadn't noticed, we'd've all come out a few minutes later and, probably, called the police.
I labeled everything in the house with post-it notes for the cat care specialist who would be watching Dinah while we were out of the house. Post-Its on every can, her medicine, the dry food, and even on the refrigetator.
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fallenpegasus came over with an offer to trade a home-cooked dinner for a ride to the airport. So much better than a cab or driving there ourselves and paying the long-term parking costs. It was Omaha's meatloaf, done roundstyle, with steamed vegetables and egg noodles. Yummy.
We reached the airport and, to my pleasure, the TSA ritual was rather ordinary and without many surprises. We got to the airport where Kouryou-chan proceeded to charm everyone around her. It was 10 at night already and she had that ridiculous level of activity every child seems to have until the crash happens. We boarded the plain with few surprises.
Then the nightmare begins. We're in the front row of a segment. We have no legroom. We have no place to store our bags except the overheads. We are front row to the in-flight movie, which is the Steve Martin and Queen Latifah piece In The House. I have a three year old and the note states that "this film contains adult language, adult situations, and violence." Great. Just freaking great.
Kouryou-chan listens to A Child's Celebration of Song and Playtime Favorite Songs, but she can't keep her eyes off the video. Eventually, she crashes, but it's a fitful sleep. She woke up crying about two hours later, saying she had to go to the bathroom. I took her and she went, but she was still wet and miserable, having had an accident earlier in her sleep. Poor little girl. And it's not going to get better.
We reach Atlanta, where we walk the entire length of the one-mile concourse. I'm hauling every carry-on bag there is, and Omaha is carrying the sleeping little sprog. She curls up in a chair while we wait for the connecting flight.
This flight was less than an hour, and Kouryou-chan slept the whole time. We arrived in Tampa where a stewardess was kind enough to give us a wheelchair. Kouryou-chan slept in it as we made our way to the baggage collection. I got the car. It's kinda nice, actually, a little Ford four-door with a good sound system and absolutely no acceleration whatsoever.
I had forgotten what this place was like. The unbelievably oppresive humidity, the relentless heat, the way it all climbs into your clothes and sticks to your skin like an alien layer named Florida. Each breath fills the lungs with wet, hot, salty, stuff that barely pretends to be oxygen-bearing air.
When we get to Omaha's father's home, he doesn't hear us because he's in the back cleaning out the swimming pool so it isn't until we call him on the cell phone that he responds. We immediately all crash on the couches.
Eventually, I am roused and we go to lunch. It's a "family restaurant" lunch, way too much food, way too fatty. When we get back to the house, we sit around, napping more or going for a swim in the pool. I had forgotten what a pleasure it was to swim in a private pool, one without the obscene amounts of chlorine used in public ones. It's actually nice to be able to do laps without feeling like my lungs are on fire.
Kouryou-chan's cousin comes over and they play well together, despite his being a boy three years older than she. She's so tall and self-assured that it's hard to tell which kid is trying to run the show as they splash in the shallow end of the pool.
Dinner was at Red Lobster. Omaha is seriously disappointed that the Florida native blue crab isn't on the menu. What's up with that? My steak was overcooked; I should have sent it back. I also had my first daquiri in nearly six years and didn't feel a damn thing. Kouryou-chan doesn't act hungry.
A storm broke outside, making it a bit cooler. It was the classic Florida squall: it came in, dumped a ton of water on the roads, and then disappeared again. As it left, the lightning sparking from its backside made a heck of a sound and light show that Kouryou-chan found fascinating.
When we get home, we dress Kouryou-chan in her jammies. I play with her for a little bit, doing Legos until Omaha and I decide it's time for bet. Omaha reads Frog and Toad to her while I assemble her bed, and she goes to bed relatively quickly and without complaint.
And now it's time for me to try and work off the jet lag.
I can't believe I haven't seen that movie yet.
Sunday we awoke and I cooked breakfast for the kids. Scrambled eggs on toasted muffins with hash browns on the side, all tossed together in about half an hour thanks to the Cuisinart. The hash browns were deep fat fried with real butter.
The kids were really good about getting into their day clothes afterwards. Omaha and I began the frenzy of cleaning, laundry, and packing that normally proceeds a long vacation. We made lists, compared needs, cajoled the kids into playing together (eventually shuffling them out the door since it was such a nice day outside), washed, cleaned. I went through our digital photo collection, removing all of the pictures that aren't of interest to the kids' grandparents: convention photos, people they don't know, scenes from the Wet Spot, and so on. We had about four hundred photos when I was done which I then proceeded to burn tent times onto CDs.
I also burned a couple of BBC productions of Red Dwarf readings onto CD for Omaha that someone had snagged off the radio. The quality is terrible but you don't really care that much for a books-on-tape production.
Yamaarashi-chan's mother came and picked her up an hour late, and damn near created a panic when she proceeded to shuffle Yamaarashi-chan into her car without so much as notifying the rest of the household that she was doing so. If Omaha hadn't noticed, we'd've all come out a few minutes later and, probably, called the police.
I labeled everything in the house with post-it notes for the cat care specialist who would be watching Dinah while we were out of the house. Post-Its on every can, her medicine, the dry food, and even on the refrigetator.
fallenpegasus came over with an offer to trade a home-cooked dinner for a ride to the airport. So much better than a cab or driving there ourselves and paying the long-term parking costs. It was Omaha's meatloaf, done roundstyle, with steamed vegetables and egg noodles. Yummy.We reached the airport and, to my pleasure, the TSA ritual was rather ordinary and without many surprises. We got to the airport where Kouryou-chan proceeded to charm everyone around her. It was 10 at night already and she had that ridiculous level of activity every child seems to have until the crash happens. We boarded the plain with few surprises.
Then the nightmare begins. We're in the front row of a segment. We have no legroom. We have no place to store our bags except the overheads. We are front row to the in-flight movie, which is the Steve Martin and Queen Latifah piece In The House. I have a three year old and the note states that "this film contains adult language, adult situations, and violence." Great. Just freaking great.
Kouryou-chan listens to A Child's Celebration of Song and Playtime Favorite Songs, but she can't keep her eyes off the video. Eventually, she crashes, but it's a fitful sleep. She woke up crying about two hours later, saying she had to go to the bathroom. I took her and she went, but she was still wet and miserable, having had an accident earlier in her sleep. Poor little girl. And it's not going to get better.
We reach Atlanta, where we walk the entire length of the one-mile concourse. I'm hauling every carry-on bag there is, and Omaha is carrying the sleeping little sprog. She curls up in a chair while we wait for the connecting flight.
This flight was less than an hour, and Kouryou-chan slept the whole time. We arrived in Tampa where a stewardess was kind enough to give us a wheelchair. Kouryou-chan slept in it as we made our way to the baggage collection. I got the car. It's kinda nice, actually, a little Ford four-door with a good sound system and absolutely no acceleration whatsoever.
I had forgotten what this place was like. The unbelievably oppresive humidity, the relentless heat, the way it all climbs into your clothes and sticks to your skin like an alien layer named Florida. Each breath fills the lungs with wet, hot, salty, stuff that barely pretends to be oxygen-bearing air.
When we get to Omaha's father's home, he doesn't hear us because he's in the back cleaning out the swimming pool so it isn't until we call him on the cell phone that he responds. We immediately all crash on the couches.
Eventually, I am roused and we go to lunch. It's a "family restaurant" lunch, way too much food, way too fatty. When we get back to the house, we sit around, napping more or going for a swim in the pool. I had forgotten what a pleasure it was to swim in a private pool, one without the obscene amounts of chlorine used in public ones. It's actually nice to be able to do laps without feeling like my lungs are on fire.
Kouryou-chan's cousin comes over and they play well together, despite his being a boy three years older than she. She's so tall and self-assured that it's hard to tell which kid is trying to run the show as they splash in the shallow end of the pool.
Dinner was at Red Lobster. Omaha is seriously disappointed that the Florida native blue crab isn't on the menu. What's up with that? My steak was overcooked; I should have sent it back. I also had my first daquiri in nearly six years and didn't feel a damn thing. Kouryou-chan doesn't act hungry.
A storm broke outside, making it a bit cooler. It was the classic Florida squall: it came in, dumped a ton of water on the roads, and then disappeared again. As it left, the lightning sparking from its backside made a heck of a sound and light show that Kouryou-chan found fascinating.
When we get home, we dress Kouryou-chan in her jammies. I play with her for a little bit, doing Legos until Omaha and I decide it's time for bet. Omaha reads Frog and Toad to her while I assemble her bed, and she goes to bed relatively quickly and without complaint.
And now it's time for me to try and work off the jet lag.
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no subject
Date: 2003-07-17 11:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-17 11:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-18 11:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-21 08:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-17 11:40 am (UTC)I hear you about Florida. Went to Jax/St. Augustine a couple years back after getting thoroughly Seattleized and my gods, the heat... and this was AFTER Labor Day! It was Not Pleasant. We didn't even get the usual thunderstorms, as the high preceding a hurricane was on us.... at least, until the day we were supposed to leave; then the lead rain bands poured on us, and we took the rent-a-pickup back early and told Air Tran where they could stick their just-when-the-hurricane-was-supposed-to-be-there flight and copped a ride back to Atlanta with my brother-in-law.... it rained just about to Macon... whee.
no subject
Date: 2003-07-17 11:46 am (UTC)I hope it hasn't evolved sentience by the time they get back...
no subject
Date: 2003-07-23 05:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-23 05:27 pm (UTC)I'll ask Omaha
I hear you about Florida. Went to Jax/St. Augustine a couple years back after getting thoroughly Seattleized and my gods, the heat...
Omaha wants to stay! She's a very strange puppy. She thinks this is nice weather, the kind she'd like to stay in for the rest of her life. Gods, I should hope not. I'm miserable.
no subject
Date: 2003-07-17 08:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-21 08:07 am (UTC)That movie
Date: 2003-07-20 08:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-26 12:28 am (UTC)Sheah right. I called as soon as I knew I was going to be late -- unlike what you did Westercon weekend. And I apologized. And when I got there I sent Raeney into the house to bring you out so I could make sure you knew Stormy was going. I wouldn't have driven away without making sure you knew.