A Muse with a View

Originally published on MySpace on November 7, 2008.

Cabana Boy (CB) and I had to rise before dawn to make our 7:49am flight to NYC on Tuesday morning. There was nary a mention of my Ford F-150 baggage that morning until we had to drag all of the baggage out to the car in the rain.

We drove to the airport in peace, and parked in the Back 40 (long-term economy parking), so named because you have to take a bus from the parking lot to the terminal.

We didn’t originally have seats together on our long flight from Portland to Washington D.C. You see CB actually has some clout with United so they put him in the Premier section, and put me in Row 16. When we arrived at the airport we informed the United desk clerk of our situation and she immediately said to me, “Would you like six more inches of legroom for $59?” WTF? That’s almost $10 an inch! Then she informed me that since I was basically considered a beggar on this flight (since I have no United clout) that I would also be charged a fee for the ONE bag I was checking. Excuse me? Then she decided to be nice and check my bag under CB’s name since he apparently can check as many bags as he damned well pleases. (CB would like to note here that his bag was small enough to be a carry-on and he had no intentions of checking anything until The Muse showed up with the bag that ate Manhattan).

“We don’t have any seats together right now, but you can check with the gate agent,” she said with a smile that said, you’ll be sitting in the back with some chatty 2-year old while your boyfriend is up front enjoying his extra six inches of legroom. Ha!

We walked to the gate, making a brief stop at the Coffee People kiosk to grab a couple of triple shot lattes before the flight. I approached the gate attendant to see if she could move me into the long-leg zone with CB, or move him back to the knee-binding zone with me. No luck getting me into the Premier section, so CB would have to sit in the back with me.

We boarded the plane and settled into 16A and 16B. I graciously gave CB my window seat since he graciously gave up his extra six inches to sit with me in the back. Unfortunately it turned out not to be such a gracious gift after all, as the woman in front of him immediately fully reclined her seat into CB’s knees as soon as the 10,000 foot ding sounded in the cabin.

Once we took off a flight attendant with a voice that could have put an ADHD 12-year old to sleep came on to announce the in-flight services. “Today we have food-for-purchase available. We have a blue box, a red box, a yellow box a green box. Coffee, soft drinks, beer, wine and cocktails for $6,” blah blah blah. We perused the in-flight magazine for the contents of the colored food boxes and settled on the “Right Bite” which contained hummus, pita chips, lemon-pepper flavored tuna (yeah it was stinky and bad), crackers, Lorna Doone shortbread cookies and a square of dark chocolate. It was basically the only box that contained any semblance of protein.

During the flight we amused ourselves by doing three things:

1. Writing the first NYC blog by passing the laptop back and forth between us, made infinitely more challenging by the woman in front of CB who had fully reclined her seat.
2. Doing the crossword puzzle in the in-flight magazine. I will admit that when I get on a flight I immediately look for a magazine that has a completely untouched crossword puzzle. There’s nothing more annoying than starting a crossword puzzle that’s half done. Having expressed this sentiment to CB, he decided to write a little note on the crossword page when we finished it. The note said, “Get over it!” pity the poor soul who gets that magazine next.
3. And last but not least, we passed much of our light time hatching a plan to punk CB’s work colleague Carl.

Punking Carl deserves a blog unto itself (it’s coming). Suffice it to say that we spent at least an hour midflight trying to figure out how we were going to make poor Carl uncomfortable. You see, Carl has never met me, and in fact didn’t even know CB and I were dating, so I thought this a ripe opportunity for some improv of the highest order. Should I show up at a bar as CB’s long lost ex girlfriend from London? Should I be a Russian woman he shared a cab ride into the city with?

In the end we chose the scenario of the Russian woman that CB shared a cab ride in with and could now not get rid of…;^) Let the games begin!

To be continued…

Originally published on MySpace on November 4, 2008.

Cabana Boy: Travels with The Muse

(This is a collaborative effort. The first paragraph is written by Cabana Boy, and the second is written by me, etc…)

“Who else is coming with us?” I asked as The Muse wheeled in the largest suitcase I’d seen in years – the expandable gusset already deployed. “You know we’re only going to be in New York for four days, the other day and a half we’re on an airplane.”

“I’m a girl!” I said, “I need shoes and bags and coats. What if the weather changes?” It was true. My bag was the size of Ford F-150 packed for a 6-month road trip with a family of five. I had packed 2-week’s (okay, well, maybe three) week’s worth of clothing for a 4-day jaunt to New York.

When I travel for business I like traveling light. No checked bags, get in, do the work, get out. The Muse looked a little sheepish and I quickly realized that her mobile Macy’s wasn’t worth picking a fight over. Besides, we had a king sized bed waiting at the Roosevelt Hotel and who knew what secrets this vault of hers would yield up?

Macy’s? Hmph! Nothing but Nordstrom and Sak’s Fifth Avenue in my bag! Well, except for the vintage black wool swing coat I bought at Value Village for $9.99. Hey! This coat once graced the racks of I. Magnin. It says so right on the tag. Anyway, back to the subject at hand: the size of my bag. Size matters when you’re going to NYC.

At The Muse’s recent Sex and the City movie party I was invited to come as Mr. Big – but that’s another story. Guys, just so we’re clear, the I. Magnin wool swing coat wasn’t in the bag, but worn on The Muse’s rather fetching shoulders. Note no mention has been made of the computer or the handbag. We weren’t traveling light; we were prepared for an all out assault.

You can’t wear black shoes with brown pants! I had to bring the black shoes, the brown shoes, the running shoes, the four dresses, seven tops, three hats, three purses (because you can’t carry a brown leather bag when you’re wearing a black and white dress), the red patent leather flats (because I just might not be able to wear the stilettos for more than a New York block). “Honey, do you have a problem with the size of my bag?”

“No, dear, of course not.” I replied. To be continued…

I’m back in Tahoe this weekend, but instead of a houseful of kids and dogs it’s just me and my Cabana Boy. WTF? Cabana Boy? I’m calling him my Cabana Boy even though he is far from being a boy and actually has a few years on me. He wishes to remain nameless and faceless, so you’ll just have to wonder…

But now onto the story…

My CB and I dropped off Lili the Wonder Pug at a fabulous doggie B&B on Thursday morning and headed to the airport, trying to make an 11:25am flight to Reno.

We arrived at the Southwest gate after a slight delay having to do with the back of my heel and the wheel of my luggage crashing into each other as we raced from the parking bus to the terminal. I managed to procure a Bandaid from the Southwest desk agent before I bled all over the floor. Good to go.

We breezed through security even though I realized afterwards that I had forgotten to take my regulation plastic baggie of liquids out of my purse and send it through in a plastic bin. We checked the display board and noticed that our flight was boarding, so raced down to the gate. What’s the point of being in the A group on Southwest if you’re late for boarding?

As soon as we got to the gate I notice my friend Kevin at the gate with a couple of his friends, so I went over to say hi.

“Kev! What are you doing here?” I said as I gave him a big bear hug.

“We’re heading to L.A. to play some gigs,” he said, then introduced me to his friends. “This is Dane and this is Andrew. All drummers.”

Kevin and I used to work together, and he’s also my web designer, and he is also an awesome drummer who plays with the likes of Animotion and Missing Persons.

Our group started boarding, and I promised to try to save my drummer friends some seats once we got on the plane.

My CB and I settled into the emergency exit row, and Kevin and his friends were not far behind and ended up in the row directly behind us.

The rest of the story is best told in pictures…

That’s Kevin Rankin on the Right and Andrew Greene on the left. Andrew plays drums for a Guns & Roses tribute band called Appetite for Deception.

Left to right: Dane Haase (drummer for Abandonstage), Andrew Greene, Kevin Rankin, Me.

Me playing journalist and interviewing Kevin (taking notes on a barf bag).

“So, Kev what’s your schedule like this weekend?”

“Well, our flight lands in L.A. at 2:30. We have to be to a studio in Torrance by 4:00 to lay down some drum tracks. Then there’s a sound check in there somewhere and playing House of Blues at Disneyland at 7pm. Have a little meeting with Spawn drums on Friday, because they are sponsoring me and may be sponsoring Andrew. Then we’re playing the House of Blues on Sunset Boulevard on Saturday night.”

There was also something in there about having dinner with Miley Cyrus’s drummer (Nate Morton), and meeting up with the keyboard player from Berlin and the Googoo Dolls. I couldn’t keep up. I was taking notes on a barf bag!

After the interview…

We were having so much fun that the flight attendants wanted to get in on the action. Well, okay, we kind of roped them into the action.

This is Candace, who was reluctant to have her picture taken because she had been up since 3am, but doesn’t she look great?

And this is Stacey, who was not so reluctant once we convinced her we wouldn’t use the photos for evil purposes.

That’s another drummer named Nick (in the background), whom we randomly met on the plane. He was on his way to Reno to see Kiss.

I think we should play “Caption this Picture” with this one. Is he getting scolded or what?

And one more for Stacey.

I spent the past week at my family cabin in Incline Village, Lake Tahoe. The kids and I spent the first half of the week with my two sisters and my niece, and the second half of the week with a friend and her two kids.

One activity I haven’t done in many years is go “rafting” down the Truckee river. I use the term rafting loosely because it’s less like rafting and more like a slow float down a river with 50 of your drunken friends. I went once with my sisters early in the week, and then again with my friend and her two kids at the end of the week.

We arrived at the Truckee River Rafting check-in in Tahoe City at 2:15pm with a carload of people ready to raft the might Truckee River. We pulled into the parking lot and greeted the parking attendant who looked at me and said, “Weren’t you just here the other day,” to which I answered, “Yes, and I brought a new group with me this time.”

I sat there perplexed wondering why the guy remembered me. Was I obnoxious last time? Did I have toilet paper stuck to my shoe? Why would the guy remember me out of the hundreds of people that come through that parking lot every day?

We parked the car, grabbed some life vests and piled into the boat to drift down the river.

About halfway through the float a group of 20-something rafters came up alongside our boat and started a conversation. One of the drunken shirtless men in the boat looked at me and asked, “Are you Annika Sorenstam?”

For those of you who don’t know, Annika Sorenstam is a very well-known professional golfer. I knew who she was, but I had no idea how much I actually look like her.

Is this uncanny or what!?

I wore that Titleist hat on both rafting trips. I wore no makeup, which made me look even more like Annika.

When I told my sister Tracy, a big golf fan, what happened, she said, “They obviously aren’t big golf fans, because if they were they’d know that Annika is sponsored by Callaway not Titleist.”

So, now I know why the guys at the rafting drop off remembered me. They thought I was Annika Sorenstam!

Note: Annika actually has a place in Tahoe. I am also now the proud owner of a Callaway visor thanks to my friend Janet.