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Wicked tired
We went to Boston this weekend for the big marathon and enjoyed some beautiful weather.
We actually flew into La Guardia and drove up since Frank had business in NYC. After a somewhat eventful landing in which the plane actually bounced back into the air after hitting the runway, and people were gasping and "oh my god"ing, we got on the road to Boston.
While on the drive I saw my brother, cleverly disguising himself as a suburban husband with glasses and a boring sedan.
This is the second time I've caught him in his web of lies. The first time was in Venice on a water taxiboat but he was looking at me so menacingly that I was afraid to take his picture/ blow his cover.
I'm onto you, Scott, and I'm everywhere. EVERYWHERE.
Since the weather was so great, we walked miles each day, stopping to take pictures once in a while.
One of the highlights of our trip was our insane cab driver Sunday night. Frank decided to save his legs for the race the next morning - and we didn't complain - so we took a cab to our restaurant. Our cab driver's voice was a mix of Sol Rosenberg (of Jerky Boys fame) and Woody Allen, but he was spitting venom like any good cabbie at some renegade cab drivers who were - illegally, he said - invading his turf. He was muttering at first and then yelling, much to Christopher's amusement, and decided to place an anonymous call to the dispatch of the other cab guy. His end of the conversation went something like this:
"What the hell is this cab number 12 doing all over downtown?"
"He's driving like a gd maniac! He's almost run me off the road 3 times already! This is a felony!"
"Yeah, it's chaos and anarchy down here! The whole system is breaking down!"
"I'm getting VERY agitated over here."
"Who am I? I'm an interested observer, that's who I am."
After he hung up, he saw Evil Cab #12 again and lurched across several lanes and threatened to RAM the other cab.It was pretty close. He rolled down all the windows and shook his little fist at the other cab driver and yelled, "You'll get yours!!! Did your mother raise you to be a thief, ya crook? You'll get yours!"
And then continued to drive dangerously for several blocks in his attempt to block Cab #12 from pulling to the curb to pick up fares, muttering all the while.
Christopher had a FANTASTIC time. He laughed about it for a long time afterwards.
We got home at about 12:45 last night, so Christopher was pretty much a zombie. We flew from Boston to Houston, waited 1.5 hours, then flew to Austin. Here's C in the Houston airport:
And here he is on our plane, before take-off:
He was somewhat less than pleased to be awakened upon landing, and as we exited the plane he kept climbing into seats to try to sleep. The flight attendants kept saying "awwww, someone's tired" and smiling at him sympathetically, but his response was to glower at them. He's pretty good at it.
The evening wasn't finished, though, until my luggage came off the belt. Open. The zipper had busted and stuff was just starting to fall out when I grabbed it. I had to get some packing tape from the nice lady at Continental to wrap it up in order to get home, while Christopher moaned in a chair.
All in all, despite the anecdotes above, we had a really, really good time.
Oh, and Frank did great in the race! 3 hours, 12 minutes. I'm sure he'll write his own version of events here.Labels: boston marathon, trips
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