Ram the ramparts! Trump the TSA!

I made a meme!

The fucking dipshit ACTUALLY SAID THIS

“The Continental Army suffered a bitter winter of Valley Forge, found glory across the waters of the Delaware and seized victory from Cornwallis at Yorktown. Our Army MANNED THE AIR, it rammed the ramparts, IT TOOK OVER AIRPORTS, it did everything it had to do and at Ft. McHenry under the rocket’s red glare had nothing but victory. When dawn came, the star-spangled banner waved defiant.”

—Stable Genius, July 4, 2019

I! AM! HOME!

Remember how last year my Big Birthday Broadway Bash Blowout! was delayed NINETEEN HOURS

because of bad weather and broken planes and canceled flights and I ended up DRIVING IN A CAR WITH COMPLETE STRANGERS ALL THE WAY TO O’HARE to get on the last possible flight to NYC and I ended up getting there at 2:00 am and I missed my Jimmy Fallon taping and my window for a show the night of my flight in? Remember? REMEMBER?

IT’S. HAPPENING. A. GAI. N. N. Nnnnn.

Our goddamn plane broke between the gate and the O’Hare runway and then officially was declared out of service and we came back to a different gate and got kicked off and the guy seated behind me had already established himself as totally goddamned obnoxious because He Was The Most Important Person On The Plane Who Therefore Will Kick Me Repeatedly In Every Way Possible Even From Under My Seat and Now He Had To Get Off Immediately Because Fuck All You Little People so I made a point of getting in front of him as we got in the aisle and OH NO IT TOOK ME A VERY LONG TIME TO BEND OVER AND PICK UP MY CARRY-ON FROM UNDER THE SEAT IN FRONT OF ME AND THEN OOPS I FORGOT MY BOOK SO I HAD TO SEARCH FOR IT IN THE SEAT POCKET HMMM WHERE DID IT GO OH THERE IT IS so that part was at least kind of awesome but anyway American just happened to have a spare of the almost exact same plane just sitting around—kind of like I do with peanut butter and lack of boyfriends—so our flight wasn’t canceled but we had to move to yet a different gate WHERE THE DAMN GATE AGENT ALSO PRONOUNCED IT CONCI-AIR and now we’re on the plane and we lost our exit row and Cap’ Assholepants has resumed kicking me plus the guy next to him is playing shitty music really loudly because of course he is and I’m doing the math in my head and I’m pretty sure I’ll still get there in time for a matinee but in the mean time look at my selfie and say our new gate number really fast and you’ll know what I think about my Big Birthday Broadway Bash Blowout Bad Breakdown Bummer Bane Bungle Burden Bullshit Boobies.

I might have added boobies at the end just to see if you were still paying attention. Or to complete the rhythmic alliteration. Or because I’m catastrophically immature.

Nine years ago today I saw A Little Night Music on Broadway

If my flight arrives on time today, I intend to see Hadestown this afternoon AND All My Sons tonight (with Burn This as a backup if I can’t get tickets to one of those).

But the O’Hare gate agent keeps pronouncing it conci-AIR as she’s calling our boarding groups so we might have to have an ugly altercation and I might not be allowed to get on our plane.

CID > exit row > breakfast in my lap > new book > ORD > probably another breakfast > totally another exit row > BECAUSE I’M ROYALTY > LGA > Manhattan > Big Birthday Broadway Bash Blowout! > crippling debt

Let’s hope we get there faster than last year’s 19-hour PR ...

You know how there’s dumbass and there’s HOLY SHIT YOU’RE A DUMBASS?

I just waited patiently for my boarding group to be called and then waited patiently in line to board my flight, only to find out I WAS AT THE WRONG GATE. In my defense, our gates shared the same waiting area and were boarding at the same time. But still.

Also, this wins everything:

What the hell is your problem, American Planes Connecting At Charlotte?

This is the second vacation in a row where we’ve landed so early that we can’t pull up to our gate because it’s still occupied. So we’re sitting on the tarmac like quarantined European shrubbery waiting to get the OK that we won’t bring Austrian Oak Borers into America.

OK, so that was a bad metaphor. But there were no cinnamon rolls at the shitty-Pepsi-only CID kiosk so I’m hungry and I have to pee and I’m not thinking clearly and I WANT TO GET IN THE TERMINAL BEFORE I STARVE TO DEATH AND GET EATEN BY AUSTRIAN OAK BORERS AND AM MYSELF TERMINAL.

The boarding pass I’ve stuck in this book to eventually use as a bookmark tells me I’ve been schlepping it around unread for over two years

So I guess I’ll finally read it now before the receipt expires and I can’t return it to the bookstore.

Also: I hate that the only kiosk at CID sells only Pepsi products. And that it’s already out of cinnamon rolls.

Also: The tall, tan blond dude with the alluringly thick thighs who is sitting three seats away from me wearing Tretorns at the airport gate is totally gay and totally objectifying me. I hope.

Also: Bright yellow Mickey Mouse running shoes!

Also: Last night, after now 14 months of research and meetings and writing and scanning and formatting and copyfitting, I finally got the last of the stray information I was waiting for and finally made my last decisions about the pages I wasn’t sure I had the information and photos to support and I FINALLY released to the printing gods the massive book I’ve been editing and producing to commemorate First Lutheran Church’s 150th anniversary. Plus I finished two epic program-notes essays for Hancher Auditorium in Iowa City. Plus I finished a smallish work initiative a day early since I’m leaving right now on vacation. Plus I know all my lines and music for Elf the Musical. I feel like I’m finally out from under an enormous cloud of endless obligations and I can finally, actually breathe for the first time in forever. Which, totally-not-planned coincidentally, is a song from Frozen. Which is a musical by Disney. WHICH IS WHERE I’M GOING ON VACATION RIGHT NOW.

Whew.

WHEELS DOWN! At the correct airport! Whose name is just NATIONAL, damnit!

The Lusitania is still afloat! My watch is still on Iowa time! Saying WHEELS DOWN just made me sound like a seasoned aviator!

Let the beachhousities begin!

VACCINES KILL

It’s true because it’s on a T-shirt worn by a completely-trustworthy-looking dude wandering Terminal E of Charlotte Douglas International Airport. The shirt is scarlet. As in fever.

Also: Charlotte Douglas International Airport is the size and shape of a charming-Belgian-hamlet-size spider squashed by Bob Fosse.

Also: I’m in the mood for a totally-not-abs-friendly snack, but I’ve trekked the full extent of Charlotte Douglas International Airport’s splayed-and-Fosse-angled spider legs and I haven’t seen a single damn gooeyfrostedcinnamonrollerie.

Also: I just followed a distractingly-latted-and-boyfriend-age-appropriate man in a contour-hugging gray T-shirt all the way from Terminal E to Terminal C on the far end of the Fosse-squashed charming-Belgian-hamlet-size Charlotte Douglas International Airport, but he stopped at Terminal C2 and I depart from Terminal C8.

Also: Stupid Terminal C8.

Also: My supposedly-auto-time-zone-synching running watch is refusing to auto-time-zone synch.

Also: Stupid supposedly-auto-time-zone-synching running watch.

Also: The cashier at Sbarro keeps aggressively demanding that every customer have a great day.

Also: DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO MY WATCH WON’T AUTOMATICALLY CHANGE TIME ZONES AND I ACTUALLY WANTED A GOOEY FROSTED CINNAMON ROLL INSTEAD OF YOUR SUSPICIOUSLY SUSPICIOUS PIZZA AND I JUST HAD TO SIT POINTLESSLY ON A TARMAC FOR 15 MINUTES AND GRAY SHIRT GUY IS FLYING TO DALLAS FORT WORTH YES I LOOKED IT’S TOTALLY NOT CREEPY SHUT UP AND MY PARENTS ARE TRYING TO VACCINATE ME TO DEATH SO IT’S WAAAAY BEYOND POSSIBLE FOR MEET YOUR AGGRESSIVE AND FRANKLY CRUEL GREAT-DAY DEMANDS.

WHAT IS THE POINT OF PROUDLY CELEBRATING THE FACT THAT YOU LANDED EARLY IF YOUR PLANE HAS TO WAIT ON THE TARMAC FOR THE OTHER PLANE AT YOUR GATE TO LEAVE BEFORE YOU PULL UP TO IT AT YOUR PLANNED ON-TIME-NOT-EARLY TIME?

Also: The Lusitania hasn’t sunk and I’m already on the fifth chapter. So I’m cautiously optimistic.

Also: Rogue-Iowan-in-Charlotte REPRESENT! Booyah!