Story from Columbia.

Wanna hear a story? I just heard it and found it interesting. It’s about the two kids of Pablo Ximenez, a graduate from Columbia University. He has two children with him at Gate 3 and their names are Juliana, and Juan Carlos. They are sweet little blond haired blue eyed kids doing their homework at the children’s table behind the ticket counter. They are on their way to Minnesota. How did I find all of this out you ask?
Well, Pablo needed to go to the bathroom, so he looked over to the most harmless looking person sitting in the terminal named Mary, and asked her if she could watch his kids for just a few minutes. As he was walking away he said that they should be no trouble as they are doing their homework anyway.

Once he left, Mary asked what kind of homework they were doing. Juliana said she was doing math Shapes and Juan Carlos the younger one said he was doing spelling. Then Mary asked if either of the children needed help, and Juliana said, “no. I’m almost through.” And then in a Child like FYI she said, “We’re going to Minnesota for a funeral.” The area I’m sitting at has about 9 women of various ages and one or two men including myself. There was an immediate “Awwww. I’m sorry.” Juliana then said sadly holding back tears, “My grandpa died.” Another “Awwww. I’m sorry.” Follows. Then Juan Carlos says, “he’s in heaven now.” Then, almost in unison, each of the women, and me too a little bit, say, “yes he is.”

Then they went back to their school work. I then watched the women in the area, and at least one man, start to dry their eyes collectively. When the dad came back, many of the people at that gate gave their condolences. Pablo was taken aback by the kindness, and was maybe to a lesser degree uncomfortable with the attention. He said thank you and they were off to their gate.

To say the very least, it amazing to see the little microcosms of life in an airport. I don’t know if it “Takes a Village”, but it is nice to see random acts of kindness in complete strangers.
Have a great day.

HulKolin

I’m in a good mood today, although I probably shouldn’t be. Over the holidays I ate with reckless abandon so now my clothes fit like Saran Wrap. I’m afraid if I sneeze, I’m going to come out of my clothes like an Albino version of the Incredible Hulk. I looked at the Treadmill this morning and said, “I wonder if John Doe is on Face Book.”, and did that instead. My little 14 year old teenager told me last night that her stomach is a little sore because she just did 75 sit ups. She does 75 every day. I told her that I feel like one of those fat older women that I dislike that say every 5 minutes, “If I just look at Cheesecake, the weight goes straight to my hips.” I know looking at Cheesecake didn’t cause my pants to fit like Spandex. It’s eating like I’m trying to find some sort of life saving antidote in whatever I’m eating. Like I have to get my fat reserves up or I’m not going to be able to feed my cubs or make it through the long winter. Here’s some Alanis Morrisette Irony for you:

• My wife is so enthusiastic right now about getting in shape.


• I get emails once or twice a day from a company sponsored marathon training group. (They have a better chance of seeing my Lord and Savior run in a Marathon!)


• I went home a little early to pick up my daughter from high school. I asked what she wanted to eat. She said “Something with Hamburger.” That I can do. I wanted to do the healthiest thing, since she’s an athlete, so I took some lean ground chuck, covered it with gourmet grill seasoning, and grilled it over mesquite coals. So far so good. I should’ve quit while I was ahead. I brought the beautifully browned 12 oz. patties back in the house to everyone’s “ooos and ahhhs!”. I stuck them in Tortillas that were grilled with a pat of butter. Kinda like a meat pastry. I cut one of the Tortillas in half and stuck it in between each 6 oz half moon, slathered, (yes I said slathered) mayonnaise and served it up to the family. The family (wife was out doing shopping) said it was better than the Burgers they ate at Bigz, a local burger joint that is rather famous for their burgers.


• It’s hard being good when I’m so good at being bad. (Good title for my next Country song)


• I have a 50 million dollar gym in the basement of the building I work in.


• I topped off my Tortilla burger last night with Low Carb ice cream, one of the greatest contradictions of terms.


• My boss, whose not from this country, (He’s from a country that rhymes with “Bindia”) the other day said, “Colin, did you know vee have a gym downstairs? Hah hah hah! It’s Wery Wery Nice.” in a “Bindian” accent. I replied very loudly, (in my mind) “Really? Do you pass it on the way to your Speech Pathology class?” Outwardly I said, “Yes sir. I just haven’t had any time to get down there as yet.” He said, “Oh you should. It is wery vorthvile. Plus, you get to shower with your co-vorkers.” I made the last one up. I may still be a little bitter about having my “Veight” brought up at “Vork”.
  ;-)

IL Sprito Burpo

Have you ever eaten anything Italian, and then burp? That's what the inside of my glass smelled like on my Diet Sprite a while ago. Gross right? Since I finished the "La Sprito Burpo" my hands have swelled up, and I'm a little irritable. No music sounds good. I can't read from my favorite author. And there's only one annoying person on the plane and she's asleep. (When we were lining up to board, the steward said "Everyone line up in numerical order. A's first then B's."He said it with a lisp, but I understood it. The annoying lady said, "jesus, I thought you said B's so I got in line." The incredibly patient steward said, "yeth ma'am. But you're number fifty-theven." The annoying older skank said, "jesus! Why didn't you just announce it that way!?" She's asleep now across the aisle. I tried to hold her nose to kill her but she just started sputtering. When she looked at me suspiciously, I pointed at the gay flight attendant, and she mumbled something about how she knew it and how she should've flown the less gay airline Continental©.)
I have sitting next to me a Captain or something. His last name is Saurers or something like that. He's drinking the SouthWest Airline Cola. I bet it doesn't smell like an Italian jock strap. Anyway, it always makes me feel a little safer when you fly with other pilots on the plane. It's kinda like a false security. Like the "flying pilot" won't actually crash the plane, because one of his fellow pilots is on board. Or he'll make sure he touches down perfectly because he doesn't want to be made fun of in the Pilot locker room. I wonder if they actually haze each other. Do you think Dan the Pilot ever tells Pete the pilot that he just looked over his passenger list and Brad Pitt and some guy named Osama bin Ladle are on his plane. Do you think they ever put woopie cushions in the pilot chair? They sure seem straight laced. Like their idea of a good joke would be a yellow tie. Or another would be one pilot turning to his co-pilot and saying, "I just announced that it was mostly cloudy in San Francisco, but it really partly cloudy!" Then him and Preston share a really loud "belly Laugh". They all have the same haircut. They all wear the same silver colored watch. Most of them look the same age. Very few are chubby or fat. Most of whom I bet have horror stories that would make my skin crawl. "Bob, one time I took of the runway, and the landing gear stayed there. We emergency landed in a Serta perfect sleeper factory. Thank God!" or "One time, we had a bunch of strippers on board, and when we pressured up the cabin, their chests exploded. It was awful."
I'm about to land I think. People are making "mad dashes" to the tiny tiny water closets. I swear one guy wearing an AT&T shirt is literally holding himself like a three year old. The really cute blond perky flight attendant just told him, "sir , we can't form a line to the potty. You either need to sit and wait until that little red lite over the potty turns green, or wait in the back. Ok then? Thank you." But in a Southern, almost chocolatey sweetness. I almost wanted to wait back there with him and I don't even need to go to the "Potty". That nasty skank lady is awake. She's putting on lip liner. I've never seen that put on ... I've heard of it. I thought only Hispanic "Chola" gang members used it, but now I know I'm wrong. 50 something skanks on their way to Vegas wear it too. She's looking around the cabin to see if anyone saw her put on. I've tried this before (not the lip liner)but I don't remember it working, but here goes. "Hey you nasty, rude Danielle Steele reading, skank! Can you hear me? You sicken me. You really do." Nope. She didn't hear me. She just looked over at me though, like she heard what I was writing. I'm smiling at her. She does one of those quick, but" I really don't mean it" smiles. Like some people give drive thru people. "Would you like your receipt?" You do that fake "I really don't mean it" smile; "Yes please." She's back to reading her Steele book. I think it's entitled "Pulsing Member" or something like that. I should probably quit picking on her. She's probably reading a romance novel because she hadn't had any since she ran off Herbert, her husband of 31 years. I'm sure he left on the 31st anniversary of their wedding day, because he just couldn't handle it anymore. Anyway I said I would quit picking. I'm about to land in Vegas. I'll see if I can pick this back up after we take back off to Oakland. Until then.

I'm back. I just had to write this down. Right after I turned off my laptop, and right before we landed, a funny thought occurred to me so I listened to it. I turned to the pilot that was sitting next to me and said, "I just wrote about you." But with a sheepish grin, like a mental patient. He smiled and looked at me like I just told him I had naked pictures of him, and said so patiently even though he did hear me, "I'm sorry what did you say?" I said, "I just wrote a blog about pilots." Now he's looking at me like I have naked pictures of one of his distant relatives that he's always had questions about and I've somehow just confirmed one of his long suspicions. "Oh." He said, still a little uncomfortable. I explained the blog to him and he laughed. Nervously.
Have a great day!