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I had originally planned on seeing Glasgow by myself, on Saturday. Not because I wanted to see it by myself, that's just kinda how it worked out. Except... it didn't, because I didn't arrive on Saturday!
But Tina was bound & determined that I **would** see Glasgow. At that point, I would've been quite happy just to get some sleep! But, in hind sight, I'm glad we did see Glasgow. We took a "hop on, hop off" tour on a double-decker bus, with the top deck open-air. It was a little cool and breezy, but we had a great time!
Here are some photos:
Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.
Tina was insistent that we visit the Glasgow City Council Building. To be honest, it didn't really sound that interesting, but I decided to just go with the flow. And boy, am I glad I did! Here I thought it would just be some boring governmental building... WRONG! It was so incredibly ornate and beautiful... who knew? (Obviously, Tina did.) I learned an important lesson: if Tina says something is interesting, it most likely is.
Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.
By the end of the day, I was wiped out... and slept nearly the whole three-hour drive from Glasgow to Fort William.
(Special thanks to my friend, whose blog I got the link to the flickrSLIDR photo slideshow from. No names; she knows who she is!)
The plane had finally landed!
I'd made my way into the Glasgow airport, along with my fellow passengers. I'd gotten through Immigration, and then Customs.
Suddenly, she called out my name, walked right up to me, put her arms around me, and kissed me. Right then and there, I knew that the past two days had all been worth it.
Tina and I "met" over the Internet in mid-January, through a dating site for plus-sized folks (although I've told her all along that she just barely qualifies). By the time I set foot in Glasgow, we'd been e-mailing, chatting, and talking on the phone for 5½ months. Some of those conversations literally went on for hours (I may have my gripes with AT&T Wireless, but they do have some decent rates for international calling). The upshot is that we got to know each other probably much better than we would have, had we been dating in the traditional sense -- in other words, living in the same area. (NOTE: Tina is the person who made that observation first, so I must give credit where credit is due, although I wholeheartedly agree with it.)
She is British, but has lived in Scotland since 1990 (UK residents can move about the country, just as we in the States can; you'd be surprised at how many people I've talked to that didn't realize that Scotland is part of the UK). She is younger than me (I won't say by how much; a gentleman does not disclose a lady's age). She drove a hundred miles to pick me up at the Glasgow airport. That doesn't sound like much to us here in the US, with our interstate highway system... until you learn that most of the roads she had to travel to get there are narrow two-lane roads, and it's nearly a three-hour trip.
Like me, she's a military veteran. Like me, she is divorced, and has a son in his early 20's (in fact, they are almost exactly one year apart in age). She is sweet, gorgeous, funny, smart, strong and sexy, and I can listen to her talk at length (her accent is LOVELY). Not to mention that she thinks I'm a good-looking guy...
I keep wondering why she's avoiding the optometrist.
;-]
We were close to Glasgow, and I was getting antsy.
As we descended from the upper cloudosphere, I looked out the window and down towards the ground... and I was simply awestruck.
Everything was green.
And I don't mean just a little, here and there. A lush, vibrant, beautiful green.
This was my first glimpse of Scotland. Long before we were low enough to make out cars, buildings, road, natural landmarks, or anything, really... the color green was almost overwhelming.
A lot of people are talking about "going green" these days. Scotland was green when green wasn't cool.
Although this is NOT my photo, it will give you at least an idea of the degree of Scotland's greenitude.
(Photo is property of Osbornes Estate Agents, and they retain all rights.)
It was about 6 am. Not 6 am Eastern Time; 6 am in the United Kingdom. (And, from this point until further notice, all times referenced will be UK times.)
We'd been airborne for about four hours. It was daylight. I didn't even know what time it was, until I finally flagged down a flight attendant (and somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm still wanting to call them stewardesses... well, except for Larry).
I'd had no interest in the in-flight movie, 27 Dresses. Thank God for my MP3 player...
... but even then, you can only listen to music for so long. Once I found out what time it was, it almost made it worse. I guess, since it was such bright, blazing daylight, I'd hoped it was closer to landing time. But no, it was still about three hours away.
*Sigh*
A page on Northwestern University's web site explains that escape velocity is "the speed that an object needs to be traveling to break free of a planet or moon's gravity well and enter orbit".
For some reason, I felt a similar need to break free, to fight against unseen forces that were seemingly conspiring to keep me from departing the United States, and to finally get to Scotland. As I got on the plane in Philadelphia, I actually dared to hope that this would indeed be that breakaway. Finally, as we taxied away from the terminal, the tension built, until finally...
The captain came over the intercom, and explained that we were eighteenth in line to take off. EIGHTEENTH. Seriously. OK, so I'm thinking, WHY does the FAA allow the airlines to book so damn many airplanes to take off at the same time?
I lost track of time, mainly because I was trying not to worry... but after probably 30 minutes or so, we finally took off. Not long after that, we left U.S. airspace (ironically, on a U.S. Airways jet). So, now all I had to do was occupy myself for the next seven hours, and let the pilot and co-pilot do their jobs.
But, at last... I had indeed achieved escape velocity.
(alternatively titled, "How to Kill Seven Hours in an Airport Terminal Without Killing Yourself First")
Of course, it would WHOOSH right by, right? I mean, it's only seven hours, how bad could it be?
Bad. Really bad. The resident flies should be thankful I didn't have a magnifying glass. Seriously, the highlight of my day was finding a wall outlet with which I could re-charge my cell phone and my MP3 player.
It was just SOOOOOOOOO boring. At least it was nice and cool... for which I was very thankful.
By the way, did you realize that you can nap in a phone booth? OK, technically, more like a phone cubicle. Yet another good use for the inflatable neck pillow I bought at Wal-Mart.
Let me pass on a valuable tip: If you should ever find yourself having to spend a long time in an airport terminal with heavy and/or obnoxiously-sized luggage (such as a guitar), DO get one of those airport carts. Well worth the 3 bucks.
Anyway, the seven hours eventually DID pass... and I didn't kill myself, nor anyone else...
Not even a fly.
After a very long wait at the baggage claim area to retrieve my checked bag, I walked outside the terminal to catch the shuttle to the Wyndham Hotel in Mt. Laurel, New Jersey (which is a suburb of Philadelphia... kinda sorta). I saw it whizzing by, I yelled for it to stop -- but, as I was later to learn, I wasn't at the proper pick-up area, so God forbid that some shuttle driver might consider bending the rules just a tad. So, I made my way to the "proper area", to await the shuttle's return. While waiting, I spoke to an English couple whom I'd briefly talked with in the queue at "the podium". The discussion eventually turned to my guitar, and I mentioned that Beatles songs were part of what I liked to play. That's when they told me that they were from Liverpool. What's more, they said I could stay with them if I was ever in Liverpool (not an idle threat, the lady gave me her business card). Well, I was truly blown away, to say the least.
Another gentleman whom I spoke with was a new grandfather. He and his wife were returning home to England after visiting their daughter in Boston (who had just given birth to twins three weeks earlier -- the daughter, that is, not the city of Boston -- keep up with me, people). He was a pleasant and very interesting individual who bore more than a passing resemblance to the late Rodney Dangerfield.
So, there was some good to be found in my extended wait for the shuttle. That helped to offset the bad, which included the heat (somewhere around 83 degrees), with very high humidity.
The shuttle finally made its way back to us around 10:45. By that time, there were roughly twice as many people waiting as would fit in the shuttle (such as my new friends from Liverpool), and one couple who had a special-needs daughter. I asked the driver when he'd be back around. He said in about an hour, so I decided to let those traveling together go on, while I waited inside where it was nice and cool.
(NOTE TO PHILADELPHIA AIRPORT MANAGEMENT: Time to steam-clean the carpeting, peeps. It stinks!)
I went back outside around 11:35, thinking the shuttle would be back soon. Silly me! New Granddad (not to be confused with Old Granddad) and his wife were still there, having also opted to wait for the next shuttle. (Hell, we probably would've had better luck waiting for the space shuttle!) "Wait" being the operative word here. The shuttle did finally make it back... at about 1:00. After a 30-minute shuttle ride, we finally made it to the hotel in Mt. Laurel. By the time I checked in and got to my room, it was going on 2 am. Sheesh!
An announcement came over the PA system, requesting that all US Airways passengers for Manchester come to the service desk. (Actually, they called it "the podium", but it didn't look like any podium I'd ever seen.)
It was there that we received the lovely revelation that the flight to Manchester had been cancelled. After a very long wait in line, I was the recipient of a good ol' fashioned "good news, bad news" kinda deal: The good news is, my new flight is a direct flight from Philadelphia to Glasgow. The bad news is, the flight doesn't leave until 9:00 tomorrow evening! Oy!
They did provide hotel and meal vouchers, which did serve to lessen the sting... just a bit.
(NOTE: Title denotes heavy use of sarcasm. Proceed with caution, and observe all relevant safety protocols.)
I was very glad to get off of the plane in Philly, city of cheese steaks, cream cheese, and brotherly love (not necessarily in that order). Little did I know what was to lie ahead for me; if I had, I have no doubt that my unhappiness alert level would've been raised to at least tutti-frutti.
The problems began with the fact that the first leg of my journey is domestic, whereas the next is international. That was the cause of a long walk, a bus ride, and another (even longer) walk... throughout which, I never even left the airport.
After all that (and I hadn't even reached my gate yet), I was pretty much wiped out. So, in an attempt to reduce any unnecessary walking, I phoned US Airways for an updated status, only to be informed that my flight to Manchester had been pushed back from 8:50 pm to 2:00 am.
Arrgh!!!
The 30-minute delay on the tarmac eventually grew to be a 45-minute delay. But finally, we took off. For the first time since 1984, I'm flying.
It fascinates me how the ground looks from the air, and how it looks to be looking down through the clouds.
This flight turned out to be bumpier than expected (understatement), probably becuaus it was a commuter jet. You know how it is on a roller coaster, just after you've crested the top of a hill, and you feel like you're free-falling? There were a few times when it felt like that... and let me tell ya, I said my prayers more than once. I talk to God on a regular basis, but it still felt good to re-affirm things.
NOTE TO SELF: Don't ever bring a guitar on an airplane again. The snippy little flight attendant, Mike, was threatening to have me bumped to another flight, saying that the overhead compartments on this jet were not big enough for a guitar. Luckily, there were a couple of empty seats on the flight, so my guitar got its own seat.
So... even though a couple of things about this flight made me nervous, nothing of any significance really happened.
Finally on the plane...
... and then we have to sit and wait for a new route, due to bad weather.
Ugh.
So now I have to check my bag again, do the "take off your shoes" security screening thing again, and make the long walk to the departure gate again. The US Airways agent was great. Weather was starting to cause problems again, so he put me on an earlier flight, to get me out of Detroit ASAP. Unfortunately, that will result in a 6 hour layover in Philadelphia... but better that than to miss my connection again.
As it turns out, my flight from Detroit to Philadelphia has been postponed, due to weather conditions. This means that I won't make my connecting flight from Philly to Glasgow. So, Danielle from US Airways starts burning up the keyboard, trying desperately to get me to Scotland. I even overheard her on the phone, trying to route me through Germany -- but, no luck, the Lufthansa flight was full. Finally, she tells me tha my new flight will leave tomorrow afternoon, flying from Detroit to Philly to Manchester to Glasgow.
The good news is that I'm now able to get to the AT&T store to pick up a replacement cell phone, so there's your silver lining. That's good, as it partially offsets the money I've lost in non-refundable reservations in Glasgow (bus ticket, tour, hotel room).
In this case, though, all that changed was my departure gate... and even then, it just moved to the gate next door. Not a problem with my plane -- the one ahead of mine is delayed. So far, my flight is still on time. Let's hope it stays that way, I've already had my "hitch" today.
Sitting in the airport terminal (get it?), still musing over the loss of my cell phone. The airlines know that people have to sit and wait for long periods of time. Why don't they provide something to do? Hell, there could at least be a clock on the wall!
No long trip, or other large undertaking for that matter, can ever go off without a hitch. I think it's some kind of unwritten rule, like a law of nature, or some such nuisance.
But hey, why put things off? Why not get your "hitch" out of the way early, freak out, get it over with... then you can relax, settle down, and enjoy the rest of your trip? Great plan, right? Well, that's exactly what I did.
My son was riding with me, so that he could drop me off at Detroit Metro Airport (which is, ironically, about 15 miles from Detroit... but I digress) and take my car back home. Although we didn't realize it at the time, when we'd only traveled about two miles from home, my cell phone decided that it had had enough of riding on top of the car, and leapt to its death on the unforgiving pavement below.
If we had been aware of my phone's suicidal departure, we could have at least saved the SIM card (and thus, saved all of my phone numbers). But alas, this was not to be. It was not until seven or eight miles down the road, right about the time we were entering the airport complex, when my Bluetooth gave me the "Help, I can't find the phone" tone. At first, I thought to myself, "That's peculiar" (in my head, I can hear Eddie Murphy doing his bit about the Amityville Horror). After about 10 seconds of that, a realization slowly came over me:
"Oh shiite, where's my cell phone?"
(Insert freaking out here.)
OK, all is not lost. Breathe.
My son will call the phone company, explain what happened, and get a replacement phone shipped to me in Scotland. I will have him email me all the important family phone numbers, so all I have to do is hit an Internet cafe in Glasgow tomorrow.
But, as of this moment, I feel disconnected. I don't even know what time it is, as I haven't worn a watch in years. Looks like I'll be buying a cheap watch and a cheap alarm clock in Glasgow (as my cell phone had previously performed these functions).
Oy.
My vacation starts this evening... I'm flying to Scotland for two weeks.
First time since 1984 that I've:
-- Been on a "real vacation" (in other words, you leave home for longer than an extended weekend);
-- Been outside of North America;
-- Been on a plane.
Don't worry, I'll take pictures (maybe even one of the Loch Ness Monster, if I'm lucky).
;-]
This is the e-mail I sent to John McCain this past Tuesday:
Dear Senator McCain:
I know that you currently have people trying to help you decide who should be your running mate. While I'm sure that all the choices are honorable individuals, I think a better idea would be to discard them all, and choose a virtual unknown: me.
I'm 47 years old, close to Obama's age, so counters the "too old" line; a lifelong conservative (Reaganite). Like yourself, I'm a Navy veteran (I was a payroll clerk, so I'm good with figures). Currently, I'm a computer programmer; have a bachelor's degree in Computer Information Systems, so tend to be tech-savvy, to an extent. I come from a blue-collar household, and I've done a number of different jobs, so I can easily relate to "the little guy (or gal)". I'm very intelligent, I have a good sense of humor, learn well on the fly, do not stress out under pressure, and I am quite comfortable carrying out orders to a "T" (also have held leadership positions, so either way works for me). Finally, I really care about people, and I absolutely LOVE this country.
It would be my great honor to be your VP. Outside the box? Sure, without question. But maybe that's what could put you over the top. (I shudder to think of what's in store for the U.S. if Obama wins.) Just think, it could be "Mac Attack Times 2"!
Anyway, I know you have staffers who intercept these messages; I hope one of them will be open-minded enough to pass this along to you. Either way, I am voting for you in November.
Best wishes and God bless,
Jim McKee
So, it's official now: I'm running for vice-president (at least, until the Senator give me the "yea" or "nay"). I think it's a job for which I am IMMENSELY qualified.
"Vote for me, and I'll set ya free..."
Hey, hey, Hockeytown!
It was NOT easy, but they finally got there. The Detroit Red Wings have won the National Hockey League's 2008 Stanley Cup Championship, beating the Pittsburgh Penguins four games to two.
In a tip of the hat to Jami, I have to give congratulations to the Penguins. They fought so hard, even when they were down, and nearly tied the final game in the last couple of seconds. For a young team, they showed a lot of character, and I can only imagine that they'll be contenders for some time to come.
But really, this is our day. For a brief, fleeting moment in time, the world is exactly as it should be.
Once again, Detroit is Hockeytown !!!!
http://redwings.nhl.com/
Oh, I almost forgot... Special thanks to Pittsburgh goalie Marc-Andre Fleury's ass, for scoring the winning goal. That was, without a doubt, the best ass-goal I've ever seen.
;-]
Then click here...What is it? It's my new web site, Anatomically Correct, wherein I pontificate on the subject of politics. I've always wanted to keep this site fun, and not get it bogged down in politics, which I am very interested in personally, but which I also realize leaves some people extremely bored. Also, it's a little bit of my computer geek peeking out, as it gives me a chance to play in the WordPress sandbox.So, a new site, for politics. Don't worry, JimMcKee.com is NOT going away. I still have way too many people left to torment!http://anatomicallycorrect.wordpress.com/
