I Made It

I'm in Spain!

My Quiznos Air flight to BCN was fuller than I'd hoped but not so full that I couldn't surreptitiously switch to an empty row just before takeoff so that nobody was seated directly next to me, which turned out well for all parties involved because we were traversing angry air for most of the journey and I didn't dare sleep (somebody's gotta watch the wing) and was consequently that guy who still had his overhead light on at 4:00am so he could feverishly scribble ZzzQuil-fueled "ideas" onto a cocktail napkin.

Because the flight took almost twelve hours and cocktail napkins are small, I also had time to watch part of the latest Spider-Man movie for the first time and all of Thursday's Will & Grace episode for the second, read twenty percent of Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe and wash down two glasses of shitty red wine with a bag of rice cracker mix.

I’ve still got four more hours until my Ryanair flight departs for Seville and I’ve already done all the things that I needed to do and more, including:

  • get a new stamp in my passport
  • poop
  • brush my teeth
  • wash my face
  • change out of my dirty clothes
  • repack my suitcase to make a section for said dirty clothes
  • sample the local fare (a Whopper and fries from Burger King)
  • take off my shoes
  • think seriously about downloading Scruff just to see if any of my fellow homos were milling about but ultimately decide against it mainly because I don’t have very much iPhone battery left and I never got around to procuring one of those plastic outlet converters
  • poop again

Even though the Spain parts take place in Pamplona and San Sebastián and not Barcelona or Seville, I've wanted to visit this country ever since I first read Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises as a teenager, so being here now is sort of surreal, especially because I'm sitting in view of a Claire's and Taylor Swift's "Bad Blood" is playing through the overhead speakers.

While it has essentially nothing to do with Spain or even Scruff, poop, Burger King, Taylor Swift or pretty much anything else that I wrote about above, below is my favorite passage from the aforementioned novel.

"Oh, Jake," Brett said, "we could have had such a damned good time together."

Ahead was a mounted policeman in khaki directing traffic. He raised his baton. The car slowed suddenly pressing Brett against me.

"Yes," I said. "Isn't it pretty to think so?"


As yesterday afternoon's web log post might've suggested, I should be slugging sangria and slaying tapas in Seville with my homies right now, but instead I'm sitting at my dining room table in San Francisco typing this entry and wondering whether or not the two-pound chicken burrito from Whole Foods that I chose for dinner last night was a good idea considering how I'll be trapped on an airplane for like a dozen hours starting at 6:45 tonight.

What happened yesterday was that my flight out of SFO got canceled due to weather conditions at LAX (always sunny my flat ass) which caused me to miss my connection to London and then subsequently Seville. And because I booked a portion of my trip through one of those janky discount sites they wouldn't reschedule or refund my flights, so for a good two or more hours I didn't think I'd be going to Spain at all. But then I went home, took a deep breath, called my sister, popped one of the anxiety pills that my doctor prescribed for flying but that I've only ever actually taken on the night that Trump got elected and started scouring the Web for a decent fare for today, which I found through Quiznos Air (or something of the like) out of Oakland.

Barring anymore unforseen setbacks, I should be livin' la vida loca in Spain tomorrow night and the only damages I'll have incurred aside from the heavy psychological toll this will ultimately prove to have taken are that I'm out a good bit of dollars and I'll miss a day and a half of my vacation.

(I'm fully aware that perspective has never been a strength of mine, but even I know this hiccup isn't so major. If the new flight I'm on crashes, however, please know that before impact I'll have sung a different tune.)

I think it's important to point out that some good things did come out of this, too. For instance, my college roommate Danielle and I enjoyed a lovely and long-overdue FaceTime catch-up sesh and I got to see the latest episode of Will & Grace as it was meant to be seen, on the couch next to Bevan and Buddy. I also had an opportunity to rethink my packing choices (three bathing suits for five days was a little excessive, even for me). And finally, I had one whole additional shower to fine-tune my version of "Michael in the Bathroom" in the event that Barcelona calls on me to perform in a surprise tourist-only episode of "Spain's Got Talent" while I’m in town.

Alright, I've only got seven and a half hours before my flight takes off, so I've gotta go get hammered now. If I don't post ever again, blame Quiznos.


In this moment I'm sitting on a chair in T2 at SFO sipping red wine out of a plastic cup and waiting to board a commercial aircraft that will (hopefully) take me to the sky and then to the City of Angels where I'll spend the bulk of my hours-long layover attempting to weasel my way into one of those lavish lounges where (I assume) rich people gorge themselves sick on an unlimited supply of alcohol and appetizers for zilch currency (American).

So, um, wish me luck!

On an unrelated note, P!nk's new album is DUH-OPE. All of it. The whole thing. From top to bottom. So far my three favorite tracks are as follows:

  1. "What About Us"
  2. "Beautiful Trauma"
  3. "I Am Here"

Also, for the first time in my hundreds of airplane flights I'm carrying on my own pillow from home. So far I appear to be the only person in the airport who's doing this and I'm a little self-conscious about it but honestly I'm just tired of putting my face on airline-supplied pillows because they're the same consistency as a fuzzy condom stuffed with bar napkins (I assume).

God my face is wrinkly.

I'm Taking Reccos

I've just been informed by Goodreads that upon completion of Turtles All the Way Down I've satisfied my reading requirement for 2017, which means that I’ve got two and a half months to read whatever the effin' eff I want.

If you’ve consumed a splendid article, book, poem, short story or any other thing made of words and you’re dying to share it with someone, please share it with me. I'll love it, and if I don't, I'll lie (convincingly) and say I did.