My adventure begins at 10:05pm. Super Shuttle is incessantly calling my ass telling me they're right outside my door. In reality, they are halfway down the block. I struggle to close this distance lugging a suitcase (that's pretty much the size of me), briefcase, and Hobo bag in my wake. Yup. Hi - can't really answer the phone when my arms are full.
The driver ambles out of the van, leans against the back bumper, and watches my awkward procession down the sidewalk. "How's it going?" I inquire. "Oh...you know...so I guess you live back there, huh?" he replies, indicating the house with his elbow. "Uh, yeah. On the corner." I pant. No, jackass, 2449 is this vacant freaking lot you're currently parked in front of. The driver grunts out a "My bad," and finally makes an effort to assist with my luggage as I begin attempting to heave it in the back. I hop in the front seat.
I am heading to New York City for six weeks to stage manage for aMios's NY Cycle: Three thirty-minute plays written, directed, and acted in by my friends - former alumni of the National Theatre Conservatory. The closer I get to our first rehearsal, the more chaotic I'm realizing this adventure is going to be.
Whew. At least I'm in the van and on my way. Tying up one's loose ends at home and anticipating what one may need for six weeks away is NOT easy. A suitcase, briefcase, and purse? Not too shabby as far as traveling light is concerned.
I should mention that I have a clothing and shoe problem. The fact that I have weeded down my wardrobe to a single belt, five pair of shoes (sorry, Steven - I really tried for the three pair and found that my will-power simply wasn't that strong), two pair of earrings, four rings, two bracelets, one necklace, a leather jacket, two dresses, and three pair of jeans is simply incredible. Zero attachments, kids.
The primary focus of this excursion is creating: art, theatre, and photography. I will be using all my free time to write, write, and write some more (hopefully, novel #2 will take amazing shape); and photograph the world around me like it's going out of style. A month and a half away from home may seem like a long time now, but I'm fairly certain it's going to pass in the blink of an eye.
My flight is at 1:50am. I am pleased to see there is no line at the JetBlue baggage check. I chuck my massive suitcase on the scale and pass the attendant my boarding pass and ID. "Oh. You are going to JFK." she states after inspecting my ticket and ID. "I'm afraid your flight is delayed." Uh oh. And so it begins. "How delayed?" I ask. "Well...let's just say you'll be arriving in New York at 9:00am instead of 6:30am."
OK. No big deal. Just a temporary setback. I manage to accept this news cheerfully. The attendant then eyes the counter on the scale, "Uh, yeah...you're at fifty-three pounds. I need you to get that bag down to fifty-one or I'm going to have to charge you $50." I marvel at the fact that I was able to wrangle a fifty-three pound bag down the grand staircase of the converted Victorian I live in, not to mention halfway down my block without killing myself.
$50? For two measly pounds overweight? You have got to be kidding me. I tell the lady, "OK. No problem. Give me a minute and let me see if I can work some magic." I crack open the suitcase and begin "Tetris"-ing items into my carry-on bags. The Asian pear and apple I packed in the briefcase, recognizing that the situation is looking grim, attempt to escape across the concourse. I chase after them, leaving a trail of debris in my wake. Scarf, mitten, shoe...I manage to recollect my items and zip up my bags.
Once again I heave the suitcase onto the scale. The attendant eyes the digital readout. "Fifty-one pounds. Nice work." I breathe a sigh of relief. "Hey, one suitcase for a six week trip? I'd say that's pretty damn good. " She nods in approval. "Just don't throw out your back putting it on the conveyor belt," I add. She snorts, "Right?"
I drag my heavier briefcase and Hobo bag down the escalators and park myself on a bench outside of the security checkpoint and attempt to rearrange the items in my peripheral luggage, only to notice the zipper on my briefcase is strained to the point of no return and threatening to thwart me in my travels. Shit. By sheer force of will, I muscle the zipper to behave as it should and pray that it will hold out until I reach Park Slope.
I manage to set off all the bells and whistles at security, which is pretty amazing considering I am barefoot, beltless, and have nothing in my pockets. I am patted down. I am wanded. I am scanned. Finally, recognizing that I am no threat to National Security, I am sent on my way.
Denver, CO
May 17, 2010
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