Redwood City #3

Urrrgl. Mlurt. Fnorghr.

Zhlumpfkh.

And this isn’t even me posting immediately after downing a glass of Grand Marnier.

Not much to report from the vista: it’s still brobdignanian and empty. What I do have to report is that I finally succumbed and had a burger, a week after I promised myself one. An elite Sofitel burger. An elite Sofitel mini-burger ($13 instead of $16: Sofitel is not an instance where the food is surprisingly cheap.) Surely, a refined and delicate reentry to burgerdom, after six months without.

The Grand Marnier was timely; yes, I needed un apéritif. It worked as un sédatif as well, and I was dead to the world by midnight. I was up at 4 am with a tummy ache (which has not gone away by 10 am, when Yr Obt Svt is writing these lines). I’m giving serious consideration to not ingesting any more solids while in NorCal. Especially as I have been promised pie in Seattle.

I didn’t mention Seattle last post, where I’m heading this evening; and that’s remiss of me. Truth be told, I’m not visiting Seattle, I’m visiting Diana Wright (of Surprised By Time and nauplion.net); that she is now in Seattle is a bonus. Not that I had any objection to visiting her when she was in DC.

I don’t know how much of Seattle I’ll see this time, it being a lightning visit. But when I last went there ten years ago, I was so exultant at getting the hell out of Orange County (I’d only been there four months!), I got a riff in my head, and started composing again: MIDI, PDF. I’m not saying I ever became a good composer (you can survey my oeuvre yourselves), and the Seattle piece is sloppy minimalist doodling. But getting on a plane was like switching on a light.

Airports in the ’90s to me were misery: it’s where farewells happened, where I saw people for the last time. They were freedom and light while I was living in the States. Now that I travel mostly for work, they’re a mild nuisance—although they’ll be a lot milder if I ever get enough Frequent Flyer points for free membership in the Qantas Club. Not that the Qantas Club is *that* salubrious; but at least it’s comfy chairs, free internets, and nibblies.

With no burgers. Mini or otherwise.

Krnarlblumpk. Shtrulphr.

Mlurt.