magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

On the return trip from the east, you get back the hours from the night that you lost in going, but you get them back in the middle of the day, leaving you with one very long day. Which started at about 7:30 GMT and ended around 22 hours later, a little after midnight EST.

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Before I packed up my computer I had the lucky little bit of foresight to check the weekend status of the underground lines. I had been planning on taking the Piccadilly Line train from Green Park, three blocks from my hotel, all the way out to Heathrow. It would be a longer trip than the Heathrow Express train, but not involve transfers, and cost about 1/5 as much. However, a large stretch of the Piccadilly Line was shut down for construction and replaced with shuttle busses, just like when The L doesn't run between Lorimer and Broadway Junction. So instead it was the Jubilee Line to the Hammersmith & City Line to the Heathrow Express. On the plus side, they were allowing you to ride the Heathrow Express with a normal multi-zone fare tube card, and I got to see the very cool Baker Street Station.

As usual I set the metal detector off in the airport, even having again removed nearly all of my bracelets. I think that the button-fly jeans must be the culprit. Yesterday at City Airport was the only time in recent memory that I didn't set one off, and I was wearing dress slacks. 95% of the time, and every other time I've been in an airport in the last few years, I'm wearing button-fly jeans. Unlike in the States though, they didn't go through the whole procedure of sitting down, raising one leg, raising the other leg, standing, holding my arms out at my sides, turning around, proving that I had, in fact, taken my belt off, etc, but simply patted me down and let me get back to my stuff. They did however, have to remove everything from my orange bag, and swabbed it all with an explosives-sniffing device. And to be fair there were a lot of wires, plugs, power adapters, chargers, a 100' tape measure, the aforementioned bracelets, my phone, my camera, and who knows what else crammed into that little bag.

I hadn't noticed from the itinerary, but I was in the same seat for the return flight as I was coming out. 34G. The favourite number of the person who booked the flight? An aisle seat on a generally unpopular row? This time the plain was a little less full, there were quite a few empty seats including the three between me and the woman on the other aisle. It would have been a lot easier to spread out and sleep, but it was also the middle of the afternoon.

The vegan meal (lunch this time) again wasn't bad. Maybe even good, given the reputation of airplane food. But the snack box towards the end of the flight was almost entirely non-vegan.

I watched The Weather Man on the tiny little screen, and then flipping through the channels was hijacked by the sight of Claire Danes and ended up watching the second half of The Family Stone.

Landed in New York. Made my way through customs. Didn't declare the bag of granola that Cora had asked me to bring back, but no one called me on it. Got on the AirTrain monorail to the E to the A and by about 4:00PM EST, I was home.

Rather than simply falling asleep in the late afternoon though, after saying hi to Chesterfield, who was noticeably upset that I had been gone for the better part of a week, and just sitting in my own space for a bit, I went back out in an attempt to readjust to New York's time zone. Thai food with Chris and Cora. And then a gallery opening in Chelsea where Hugh (from RISD) was supposed to be bartending, but the opening at just ended and there was no sign of him. SO a bar down the street and a few rounds of drinks, and eventually home, to my own bed, around midnight.