Emchap’s Shit from the Internet 9/5/18 🍠
I am writing this from Portland, Oregon, a made-up pretend town where I am currently staying in a very fancy converted motel where the carpet feels like low-grade astroturf, anticipating a week of personal excitement/meeting the tender-hearted weirdos of the internet. I have been here since a little after noon this morning, after making the terrible mistake to try to Be Chill and Take The Flyaway.
The Flyaway, for those not versed in ways to get to LAX on public transit, is a shuttle bus that runs from several locations around town to the LAX airport (which is across town from where I and everyone else I know live). The idea is that rather than paying $50 for a Lyft, you can—if you live where I live—take the train down to the central hub and then pay something like $8 to take the bus over. It is Chill. It is Cheap. It is Fine.
I am, as anyone who has ever traveled with me can attest, a gigantic weirdo about air travel. It stems from my incredible general anxiety around the idea that I might miss a plane, and then people will be mad at me, and it will be terrible. (I have missed maybe two planes in my entire life, one when I was a child and one when a relative was undergoing chemo and thus ill. It's an unreasonable fear.)
I get to airports 3 hours early even though I have pre-check. It's fine; I enjoy a leisurely breakfast. I enjoy airports and their nature as closed systems, and I eat my expensive eggs and charge my phone. People I've dated have made fun of me for it; coworkers I've traveled with have agreed that they'll just show up at a different time than I do and we'll travel separately so I don't have some sort of breakdown on the way there. My family and I hardly travel together anymore, so I don't have to negotiate that. It's fine.
Anyway, as I said: I was going to take the Flyaway this morning, since I'm traveling for pleasure and thus paying for it myself. I realize, intellectually, that my thing about airports is ridiculous. So, I decided to Go For It. I would take the bus, it would be fine.
I left at 7am for my 10:20am flight. I laughed at myself and how of course this was ridiculous. I hustled my half mile to the train; I waited the 15 minutes for the train to show up; I arrived at the final train sation 10 minutes before the bus was supposed to show. And then, I waited. For a half hour.
"The freeways are backed up," said the shuttle company employee who was sent out to assuage the angry group gathered. Which, fair, but it is hard not to feel like that might… always? be true in LA, and if one is—just to pull an example out of the air here—a company that exists just to drive shuttles to and from the LA airport, one might accomodate that.
The bus eventually showed, and I got on it, and laughed at myself at how 8:30am was still So Much Time, I would Be Fine, it was Silly. I kept telling myself this all the way to the airport, through the crowded freeway, right up until we arrived at Terminal 1 at 9:30am.
"It will be fine!" I screamed to myself, as the bus filled with vaguely hostile murmurs from people also running late to flights. "This is Chill! Surely it can't take so long to get to Terminal 6!"
Reader: it did. We rolled up to Terminal 6 at 9:45am, for my flight that started boarding at 9:50am. I snagged my bag from the bus driver (resolutely refusing to acknowledge that any of us had been inconvenienced), dashed in to the airport, and lugged my suitcase up a flight of stairs (the escalators were broken, obviously). I cut the line around a man who didn't realize that pre-check allowed him to keep his shoes and belt on, on the assumption that a middle-aged dude was not going to start some shit with me in the airport, and bounded on out to my gate.
Every single zone had already boarded. It was my nightmare.
It was fine, of course, in the end. I showed up to the plane sweaty and panicked, but I got overhead bin space and a seat and didn't miss the flight. Nothing bad happened. I was met at the airport by who I meant to meet.
But! The chances of me taking the Flyaway have, I must say, been somewhat diminished for the future.
Shit to read
I found this piece on how people don't talk about how the logical extension of egg freezing is IVF (an expensive and often unsuccessful procedure) really compelling.
A Practical Wedding often has good advice, and I enjoyed this look at what to do if your partner isn't the biggest fan of the work you produce (while still being the biggest fan of you)
A Facebook friend just went to Meow Wolf, and in between his photos and this essay, I want to go there, very much
Labor day is a scam
Always here for deep dives into what the fuck John Krasinski is up to
I love this BoJack Horseman oral history in part because it reveals how unsettling the original concept art is
Shit to eat
Make or purchase good crusty rolls. If you don't know how to make them, I suggest this recipe, which I used. They freeze well.
Heat a roll, or take one off the baking sheet fresh from the oven.
Split it in half, hamburger style.
Add an ounce of cheddar cheese to one side, and leave it to melt.
On the other, spread some mustard. Good mustard. Dijon at least, and the kind that's just mustard seeds if you have it.
Once the cheese has melted, add some pickles. Cut up spears or the flat ones for sandwiches or whatever's in your fridge.
I mean I guess you could make pickles if you wanted; I'm just not on that level.
Put the two pieces of bread together.
Eat, on your porch, staring contentedly at the blue sky and the breeze and the fact that the summer sun has finally died off just a little bit.
Shit to listen to
This Tiny Desk Concert is great
Please I beg of you go watch this video of Stephen Colbert talking about rap and the Silmarillion. It's great. He's great.
Shit to buy
I bought these sandals and I love them
I read this true crime book last week and it is FANTASTIC
I just ordered some more of these sheets, which are decent and are cheap af