1st TAKE/2nd LOOK:#8
What's on my Not-a-Bucket List?
Do you do what I do when I have a something-kinda-shitty to do in the middle of a bunch of cool shit that I’m doing? I romanticize it as being on my BUCKET LIST. It happened this past weekend.
My last post was about this trip to Boston for The Youngest Daughter’s Softball Senior Day. Her Swan Song as it were. Read about it here.
Planning a cross-country trip to Boston in the middle of a full-on economic boiler-maker puking on the Wild Turkey chaser has to have some romanticized elements to it. Right?
A couple of years ago, this same trip cost half of what it does today. Those savings could’ve gotten a couple of nights at a hotel back then. Maybe it has something to do with the message they keep shoving down our throats we keep not understanding.
The Comfort Inn is now $216 per night. Somehow, the free frozen breakfast burrito and expired Lil Debbie’s Donuts package don’t compensate. The Putin Effect? Or Brandon?
So, bring on the romantic travel options that will make this an adventurous trip. How can I plan it out to take advantage of every cent and not waste a dime?
That’s it! It’ll be awesome and fun. An overnighter in the airporter. Sounds so cool, right? Yeah no. What the hell was I thinking?
One of the standards of married life with children and traveling is making it as fast and painless as possible. Non-stops and no layovers, please. Make this easy on me. Convenience is so worth the extra cost.
Flying solo lowers standards, so to speak. Or is it the $216 a night hijack? Either way added 25 minutes to an already 7-hour layover. Fuck, really? Add that to the roomie dropping me at LAX 5 hours early to save the $150 ride fee!
I can’t remember landing 30 minutes early ever. Great, by the time I boarded at 645 am the next morning, I had spent 3 hours on a plane and 13 hours in airports. So far, so . . . so far from romanticized travel!
At least I had a squad of somnolent sorts: couple-dozen sleepy souls pleading and praying for an ounce of comfort on those teasingly-tortuous slumberous-denying benches. My hopes were sadistically inflated at LAX. They have these cool-blue-squishy-loungy-pillowy things that are awesome.
Silly me, thinking this to be universal airport furnishings. Yeah, again no. Funny how one can’t get a train to LAX, but they got great overnight sleeping furniture!
I just counted my blessings that MSP had benches without the bum-back-breakers. Counted too early, though, those petitions turned remonstrations echoed in the silence. The 24-hour unaccompanied bag warning every 10 minutes incessantly refutes any suggestions of slumber.
Fully aware of the first-world nature of the discomfort, I slogged on to the destination. The weekend rolled on without a hitch. The Daughters and Cousins are all grown up. The Next-Gen is present and accounted for. What stands out to me is how close they are to each other. And now, all collected on the East Coast. I have no worries about them or their future. This Gen-X Dad is proud. And very appreciative. Of them and of myself.
Now the important stuff: Food
Walking the streets of Boston is a spiritual sojourn in a way. Or at least it was for me over the weekend. Staying just a couple of miles from the college, and re-investing the ride fees into the local community, street-walking is not just for professionals anymore.
My boarding house was built in the 1870s. Why do I love these old accommodations so much better than the sterile-chain-hotel model?
The Fuck-it List
A little housekeeping. Knowing first-hand the situation at hand with finances and the economy and all, most writers here at Substack are looking for ways to ask for money without asking for money.
A delicate task, to be sure. If Necessity is the Mother of Invention, Desperation is the Bad Step-Dad. But their union does have a way of creating needed things. Like new apps and systems to make supporting others easier than ever.
Check out this cool thing:
Instead of a monthly bill, readers can make a one-timer. Buy me a cup o’ coffee. Chip in for a beer. Send a good tiding. Most of all, thanks for your time and eyeballs. Means a lot to me.
Also, knowing how Spotify is a triggering agent to some, I ripped off an idea from my fellow Substacker and friend Kevin over at On Repeat by Kevin Alexander, who has a great platform all about 80’s music and culture. Please check him out.
The idea is SongWhip. Commitment-free (hmmm, Uhm, never mind) choices of music platform. Click on the album cover and pick your poison.
I will include one song on these Monday posts (I know, it’s Tuesday, and I missed the deadline. and I was freaking until I said fuck it. and slept. sue me) that evokes a feeling for me that I hope comes across in my writing.
Music is so interpretative and the same song can mean many things to many people. The goal here is to open the window of my interpretation through song and word. Take a look in the window, you sick peeping tom! I like it.
So, paraphrasing Grandpa Smitty, sleeping in an airport is at the apex of my new fecal roster: The Fuck-it List. Have you made yours yet?
No joke, Man. I spread the word on the road today and met some very interesting folks. That’s what America is to me. Glad I’m on the road with you all.
Ric
Thanks for you the mention! Songwhip has been a Godsend for me. I still haven't figured out all the bells and whistles yet, but it sure saves me time and makes my page look a little cooler...
Not for nothing, I tried to sleep in an airport last week, too. No luck...and I work in one, so I'm used to the repetitive announcements.
Travel aside, it looks like a wonderful trip to cap off your daughter's softball career! I'm glad you could share it with her.