(I broke the train into two parts. The first part of the train (part six of the story) is here.)
We take the long walk toward dinner. Now we’re a little less sure on our feet. Mom’s getting tired, and I’m a little tired, and it’s darker. We make it to the bar car, which we have to go through to get to our dinner car.
We open the door. It’s different in the dark, more mysterious, more like a lounge, like you’d imagine. The piano abruptly stops and — “Sentimental Journey” begins playing. And Mom’s crying again, but this time she can’t sit because we’re on our way to dinner, so she kind of sits at this stool near the head of the piano, perched like she’s about to launch into song. But she’s crying and smiling and nodding, and I’m rubbing her back and it really must have looked like she was here on a Make A Wish. Continue reading
I am not the best when it comes to names and faces. I will remember one or the other, but I cannot seem to put them together. And I’ve even tried the thing where you hear someone’s name and then you imagine them wrapped up in their name, like “Monica Berg” becomes a cheeseburger moaning in ecstasy or whatever, but the next time I see that lady, you can bet I’ll somehow end up calling her “Patty Cheesescream,” right to her face.
Normally, Dave Cole does not drink. In fact, until the last few hours of 2008, I believe he’d never touched a drop. The Power of Anna Beth worked again (see: everything anybody has ever done that wasn’t their idea and might not have been the best idea but made everyone else happy), so at her suggestion, Dave and Tara decided to split a bottle of champagne for their New Year’s Podcast.
But before the podcast, there was Dave’s drunk post, which let us know we were in for some fun:
Tara just said that people are facebooking my drunk dials. They don’t know the historical signifcance of what just happened. It was the interrsection of awesome and me and drinking. One day Pamie will be sad she wasn’t around to take the call. Pamie was probably out making a skirt. Continue reading
my initial impressions
We got into New Orleans late last night. The plane was late getting out of Houston because they had “cargo on board that had to remain in Houston.” I shouted out to the plane, “Okay, who brought the drugs?” but no one answered. I calculated that staying on the ground for an hour and a half has cost us over thirty dollars in drinking and laughs. When the plane takes off they start offering drinks. Eric gets a beer and I order a white russian. The drinks are on the house… or plane. Whatever, they’re free.