What I did at the weekend
Aug. 1st, 2006 04:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kingandyAs avid readers will know, I took Friday off work to go to New Orleans.
The trip down to London was fine - took a plane from Manchester Airport, because it worked out slightly cheaper than buying a train ticket at the last minute. It's absurd, really.
The flight out to Newark was also fine, with the small niggle that my armrest controller for the in-flight entertainment system (which these days is an LCD screen in the back of the seat in front) was non-functional. So, no in-flight entertainment for me. This was not such an issue, as I had several Sudoku from the complementary issue of The Mail, and anyway had intended to catch up on my reading. For the majority of this flight I read The Eyre Affair, as recommended by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wiserabbit, which is a whimsical romp through a world where literature is bigger than religion and Wales is a socialist republic. Enormously clever and rather funny too.
At this stage, I thought I had brought too many books.
Newark Airport was not so much fun. I knew I would be there for at least six hours, so spent some time milling around the shops not buying things. Some planes were delayed or cancelled for the weather, but I kept checking the board and it said the 7PM plane to New Orleans was still "On Time".
It still said this as the boarding time, and then the departure time, rolled around and past.
It still said this as the lady at the desk made a cursory announcement about how the plane was cancelled, and people should go to customer services (or the black courtesy phones) to arrange a seat on a later flight.
I don't know if this is always the case but it seemed to me that the staff of Newark Airport, while very deft at making the standard announcements and constantly warning people about the smallest safety issue (automated announcements advise with alarming frequency that you should keep your luggage and bags with you at all times, as any unattended baggage will be taken away by airport security and may be damaged or destroyed), go all to pieces when they have to make any sort of non-standard announcement. Delays and cancellations were hesitantly stammered out. Information about such was hard to come by and not reflected on the information systems. That sort of thing.
Anyway, having booked a replacement flight (at 11:40 the next morning - 22 hours after I arrived) I was told to see customer services about arranging a hotel room. I have mixed feelings on this particular experience. On the one hand, it gave me something to do for three hours. However, the queue moved shockingly slowly, was enormous anyway, and when, halfway through the queue, we were told there were more attendants on duty at the international desk upstairs, we were sent to the wrong place. After a certain amount of queueing there, a service lady took it upon herself to march downstairs and see what the hell was going on (apparently there is little to no dissemination of information among the staff). Subsequently she returned and took us to the actual check in desk. At which point I was told that they only offer to pay for hotel rooms if the cancellation is their fault, and since this was air traffic control's idea I could gohang arrange my own accommodation at a slight discount. To which I thought, screw that for a game of soldiers, and elected to stay in the terminal.
So you see what I'm saying. Despite the fact that aeroplanes are cancelled all the time, and it had apparently been happening all that week due to the weather, there was mass chaos and confusion.
Newark Airport is not such a bad place to spend a day. There are plenty of shops, many fine eating establishments and CNN is piped through widescreen TVs. It is not such a great place to spend a night. There's nowhere comfortable to rest, all the shops are closed and CNN is piped through widescreen TVs. I can see they would not want to encourage people to live there full time, but all I wanted was one chair that did not have an armrest, or a blanket, or something. I did manage to get a few fitful half-hours of sleep here and there - to be woken by the recorded message about baggage - by assuming various positions on these horrible chairs or against various structures. There were several other people around the place with similar ideas; some of them were simply staying awake, others had had the foresight to bring a blanket and managed to secure one of the thicker carpets to curl up on. I envied them and their carpet-blanket beds.
When I was not trying to sleep, I was reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, which I bought on Thursday when I was thinking about how many books I would need. At this stage, I was worried that I had perhaps brought too few. Luckily, Goblet is a vast book, filled with entirely too many unnecessary subplots and indulgences, and padded out the time admirably.
(I feel it's worth mentioning that, though the UK covers of the Potter books are considered so childish as to warrant special adult editions for those who wish to read them on the train and remain respectable, Goblet's cover is worlds ahead of its American counterpart. This dark tale of murder and intrigue is fronted by a chirpy chappie indeed. Mr Potter does not, to my mind, experience such unfettered joy even once within the pages of the book.
(I've been reading the books after watching the movies, to see whether the movies stand up as works in their own right; I am of the belief that films should not come with required reading. Goblet has a ton of stuff that was excised from the movie. Some of it is in order to make the book a standalone - you don't need to read HP 1-3 to pick this one up, because there's pages and pages of recaps and reminders.
(I think, on balance, the movie is a better story. It's got a stronger narrative drive, several guns are loaded in the first act and there's a lot less dithering. Rowling is very fond of pulling something out of her ass at the last minute and while she is slowly improving (the existence of the missing Death Eater is flagged once or twice, and his identity is pretty clearly pointed at provided you already know who it is) it's still very much too obscure. Oddly, there are too many clues, but they're all so small as to be trivial unless you already know what you're looking for, and they're the clues to the wrong question.
(However, one thing the book does win on is a sense that something has happened. The movie was very much a whirl, with a confrontation and rapid retreat; it's a middle movie, that serves only to mark the transition from whimsy into something more epic. The book, on the other hand, goes more into the ramifications of these discoveries, spurring Dumbledore into action and very much setting things in motion. There's a sense of achievement. Additionally, of course, these diversions and indulgences do make for a good long read; the joy of a book is that you're not limited by screen time and can take the time to say as much or as little as you wish. So, at the end of the day, I suppose the movie makes a better movie, while the book makes a better book. Which is as it should be.
(The house elf plot, however, does seem to lift right out. But I digress.)
The monotony was broken around 7AM, when there was an earlier plane leaving to Nawlins, and I got myself on the standby list. This flight was, however, overbooked, with little to no chance of a ticket for little old me. The flight came, the flight left, and I sat on my ownsome in the terminal until 11. There was brief excitement when it turned out the next flight was not at the gate advertised on boarding pass, screen and departure board, but rather halfway across the terminal. I ran the whole way and almost died. But I made the plane, which was nice.
Amusingly there was a very large family trying to get onto this very small plane. Amusing, because I'd earlier overheard an item on the CNN-feed about how the increase in the weight of the average american was driving airline prices up. This short flight was quite enjoyable, as the seat was more comfortable than those in the airport and the steward was easy on the eye. I fancied that we engaged in low-level flirting, but this may have been entirely within my own mind.
At New Orleans International Airport (named for that stalwart of the Jazz world, Louis "Satchmo" Armstrong) I rang my friends to see whether I should meet them at the hotel or some other establishment, and was surprised to find that they had journeyed to the airport to meet me. We had such larks, roaming the streets of New Orleans and consuming the local delicacies. A fine, fine afternoon ended when I realised I was too exhausted to accompany my chums out for an evening of debauchery, and had a nap (along with several of my fellows) while I awaited for them to return, drunk and merry. They did, and demonstrated that I was ever in their thoughts buy purchasing for me some Cajun Cock hot cock sauce, along with a hot cock sauce T-shirt. I intend to make good use of the hot cock sauce tonight. Hot cock sauce.
Then I slept proper. Then we got up and checked out, and then we proceeded directly to the airport. We spent some short time hanging out there (eating), then it was time for me to check in - about 22 hours after I arrived - and leave.
The journey home is notable only for being via Houston, Texas, but was otherwise without incident. The in-flight entertainment on the long haul worked this time. I got the train back up to Manchester (having booked in good time, on Thursday).
I might mention in passing that as I moved through Victoria Station I recalled the last time I had cause to be there. I spent a minute of my time searching the departure board for a train to Carshalton Beeches. Just to see it. Then I moved on.
Then I got home and squandered the rest of the day playing Knights of the Old Republic II. The end.
The trip down to London was fine - took a plane from Manchester Airport, because it worked out slightly cheaper than buying a train ticket at the last minute. It's absurd, really.
The flight out to Newark was also fine, with the small niggle that my armrest controller for the in-flight entertainment system (which these days is an LCD screen in the back of the seat in front) was non-functional. So, no in-flight entertainment for me. This was not such an issue, as I had several Sudoku from the complementary issue of The Mail, and anyway had intended to catch up on my reading. For the majority of this flight I read The Eyre Affair, as recommended by
wiserabbit, which is a whimsical romp through a world where literature is bigger than religion and Wales is a socialist republic. Enormously clever and rather funny too.At this stage, I thought I had brought too many books.
Newark Airport was not so much fun. I knew I would be there for at least six hours, so spent some time milling around the shops not buying things. Some planes were delayed or cancelled for the weather, but I kept checking the board and it said the 7PM plane to New Orleans was still "On Time".
It still said this as the boarding time, and then the departure time, rolled around and past.
It still said this as the lady at the desk made a cursory announcement about how the plane was cancelled, and people should go to customer services (or the black courtesy phones) to arrange a seat on a later flight.
I don't know if this is always the case but it seemed to me that the staff of Newark Airport, while very deft at making the standard announcements and constantly warning people about the smallest safety issue (automated announcements advise with alarming frequency that you should keep your luggage and bags with you at all times, as any unattended baggage will be taken away by airport security and may be damaged or destroyed), go all to pieces when they have to make any sort of non-standard announcement. Delays and cancellations were hesitantly stammered out. Information about such was hard to come by and not reflected on the information systems. That sort of thing.
Anyway, having booked a replacement flight (at 11:40 the next morning - 22 hours after I arrived) I was told to see customer services about arranging a hotel room. I have mixed feelings on this particular experience. On the one hand, it gave me something to do for three hours. However, the queue moved shockingly slowly, was enormous anyway, and when, halfway through the queue, we were told there were more attendants on duty at the international desk upstairs, we were sent to the wrong place. After a certain amount of queueing there, a service lady took it upon herself to march downstairs and see what the hell was going on (apparently there is little to no dissemination of information among the staff). Subsequently she returned and took us to the actual check in desk. At which point I was told that they only offer to pay for hotel rooms if the cancellation is their fault, and since this was air traffic control's idea I could go
So you see what I'm saying. Despite the fact that aeroplanes are cancelled all the time, and it had apparently been happening all that week due to the weather, there was mass chaos and confusion.
Newark Airport is not such a bad place to spend a day. There are plenty of shops, many fine eating establishments and CNN is piped through widescreen TVs. It is not such a great place to spend a night. There's nowhere comfortable to rest, all the shops are closed and CNN is piped through widescreen TVs. I can see they would not want to encourage people to live there full time, but all I wanted was one chair that did not have an armrest, or a blanket, or something. I did manage to get a few fitful half-hours of sleep here and there - to be woken by the recorded message about baggage - by assuming various positions on these horrible chairs or against various structures. There were several other people around the place with similar ideas; some of them were simply staying awake, others had had the foresight to bring a blanket and managed to secure one of the thicker carpets to curl up on. I envied them and their carpet-blanket beds.
When I was not trying to sleep, I was reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, which I bought on Thursday when I was thinking about how many books I would need. At this stage, I was worried that I had perhaps brought too few. Luckily, Goblet is a vast book, filled with entirely too many unnecessary subplots and indulgences, and padded out the time admirably.
(I feel it's worth mentioning that, though the UK covers of the Potter books are considered so childish as to warrant special adult editions for those who wish to read them on the train and remain respectable, Goblet's cover is worlds ahead of its American counterpart. This dark tale of murder and intrigue is fronted by a chirpy chappie indeed. Mr Potter does not, to my mind, experience such unfettered joy even once within the pages of the book.
(I've been reading the books after watching the movies, to see whether the movies stand up as works in their own right; I am of the belief that films should not come with required reading. Goblet has a ton of stuff that was excised from the movie. Some of it is in order to make the book a standalone - you don't need to read HP 1-3 to pick this one up, because there's pages and pages of recaps and reminders.
(I think, on balance, the movie is a better story. It's got a stronger narrative drive, several guns are loaded in the first act and there's a lot less dithering. Rowling is very fond of pulling something out of her ass at the last minute and while she is slowly improving (the existence of the missing Death Eater is flagged once or twice, and his identity is pretty clearly pointed at provided you already know who it is) it's still very much too obscure. Oddly, there are too many clues, but they're all so small as to be trivial unless you already know what you're looking for, and they're the clues to the wrong question.
(However, one thing the book does win on is a sense that something has happened. The movie was very much a whirl, with a confrontation and rapid retreat; it's a middle movie, that serves only to mark the transition from whimsy into something more epic. The book, on the other hand, goes more into the ramifications of these discoveries, spurring Dumbledore into action and very much setting things in motion. There's a sense of achievement. Additionally, of course, these diversions and indulgences do make for a good long read; the joy of a book is that you're not limited by screen time and can take the time to say as much or as little as you wish. So, at the end of the day, I suppose the movie makes a better movie, while the book makes a better book. Which is as it should be.
(The house elf plot, however, does seem to lift right out. But I digress.)
The monotony was broken around 7AM, when there was an earlier plane leaving to Nawlins, and I got myself on the standby list. This flight was, however, overbooked, with little to no chance of a ticket for little old me. The flight came, the flight left, and I sat on my ownsome in the terminal until 11. There was brief excitement when it turned out the next flight was not at the gate advertised on boarding pass, screen and departure board, but rather halfway across the terminal. I ran the whole way and almost died. But I made the plane, which was nice.
Amusingly there was a very large family trying to get onto this very small plane. Amusing, because I'd earlier overheard an item on the CNN-feed about how the increase in the weight of the average american was driving airline prices up. This short flight was quite enjoyable, as the seat was more comfortable than those in the airport and the steward was easy on the eye. I fancied that we engaged in low-level flirting, but this may have been entirely within my own mind.
At New Orleans International Airport (named for that stalwart of the Jazz world, Louis "Satchmo" Armstrong) I rang my friends to see whether I should meet them at the hotel or some other establishment, and was surprised to find that they had journeyed to the airport to meet me. We had such larks, roaming the streets of New Orleans and consuming the local delicacies. A fine, fine afternoon ended when I realised I was too exhausted to accompany my chums out for an evening of debauchery, and had a nap (along with several of my fellows) while I awaited for them to return, drunk and merry. They did, and demonstrated that I was ever in their thoughts buy purchasing for me some Cajun Cock hot cock sauce, along with a hot cock sauce T-shirt. I intend to make good use of the hot cock sauce tonight. Hot cock sauce.
Then I slept proper. Then we got up and checked out, and then we proceeded directly to the airport. We spent some short time hanging out there (eating), then it was time for me to check in - about 22 hours after I arrived - and leave.
The journey home is notable only for being via Houston, Texas, but was otherwise without incident. The in-flight entertainment on the long haul worked this time. I got the train back up to Manchester (having booked in good time, on Thursday).
I might mention in passing that as I moved through Victoria Station I recalled the last time I had cause to be there. I spent a minute of my time searching the departure board for a train to Carshalton Beeches. Just to see it. Then I moved on.
Then I got home and squandered the rest of the day playing Knights of the Old Republic II. The end.
