Monday March 18 2013

Tea Pot Slop Wop (March 18 2013)[i]

Sleep on the China bus does not constitute as sleep. Even with earplugs, a cheap eye mask, and one of those clever neck pillows there’s just no comfort to be found. My neck is leaning over. The heating system on this bus turns on in spurts so after a few minutes of pleasure you’re back to the body quivering. About seven hours later I hear the familiar sounds of the hustling bustling city of New York. We shove off the bus into the frightfully cold air. I witness a squabble between a crazy old Chinese man and a black man. Rigging up my guitar onto my suitcase so I can just roll everything along.

Taking the subway to Nathan’s apartment off Seneca Avenue in Queens. Just need a place to rest and charge up.

A few of his roommates let me in. Eating a Peanut Butter Bagel with an Apple. Then washing it down with a few sips of an intense Espresso Ryan made a pot of. I can’t get acclimated to the strange flavor.

Napping for a little over an hour on the couch.

Business online – communication and scheduling with others in Russia. There’s a fiery anticipation between Aysena and I. We haven’t seen each other in person since last October. Boy am I excited to see her cute Yakutian face. This will be a pivotal visit, one that will gauge the spark her and I have mildly maintained since our last venture.

Mesquite Almonds. Hawaiian Chips. Chamomile Tea. Banana.

Taking the L to the J to the AirTrain to the JFK airport. Then going through security. And after two and a half hours I’m now sitting at the gate just waiting for the plane to arrive so we can board. Airport life is the life for me! Hurry up and wait. That’s my motto.

On the J (March 18 2013)

Gulping down an Airborne in hopes it will keep my immune system alive. 

As part of my flight plan, instead of using a Russian airline, Priceline booked Alitalia, an Italian airline. So instead of getting the whole Russian plane experience I’m given the Italian. The flight attendant refers to me as Senor Smith but with an emphasis on the “t” cause of her Italian accent. The introduction instructional video consists of creepy cutout animation sequences, complete with sound effects, on how to buckle your safety belt and the rules of the aircraft. [In broken Italian English] “In case of aircraft failure please remove your high heel shoes before exiting on the slide...” I hear a few chuckles from American passengers nearby. Unfortunately the New York snowfall has caused a delay in take off. We have to wait while the outside crew de-ices the plane. In the process I watch as they splatter a green slimy substance on the roof, which oozes over the windows, a perfect set up for a horror movie. I imagine being attacked by a ridiculous blob monster or something like that. We’re all subjected to no circulating air and forced to fan ourselves. Impatience fills the cabin. As well I have to listen to this ridiculous conversation coming from the row behind me, some young American skiing coach blabs on and on to a mother and daughter about his ample knowledge of almost anything in the world and all his properties scattered across the states. His boastful voice carries. I’m not amused by his stories. I put on headphones to drown it out.


After about an hour and a half the plane finally takes off. I’m reading The Stranger.

After another moment’s silence, she mumbled that I was peculiar, that that was probably why she loved me but that one day I might hate her for the same reason.


A few hours in it’s mealtime. I’m privileged enough to get my in-flight dinner first but only because I marked for the vegetarian option when booking my flight. For whatever reason they bring those out before everyone else’s. I can feel the jealous eyes around me. And I do feel bad because I finish eating before anyone even gets their food. But boy, this is one of the best in-flight meals I’ve ever had I must say. Asparagus, Carrots, Peppers, Spinach, and Rice topped with a Portobello Mushroom, a Side Salad, a Fruit Cup, and a Dinner Roll. And the cute little plastic red, green, and white dinnerware makes it aesthetically pleasing. Except for the salt/pepper and sugar packets I consume everything on the tray. Then I wash it down with a cup of White Wine. My Italiano friend next to me requests three cups of red wine and downs them in a matter of minutes. I’m not sure if it’s rude to floss next to him but I do it anyway. I’d rather not disturb him by making him get out of his seat.


Time for sleep. And don’t ask me what time it is cause I don’t know and I don’t care. All I know is that it’s dark as we fly over the Atlantic ocean.

[i] Images by me.

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