Neanderpundit

Across the street from the hotel is a muni airport, lot full of cessnas and mooneys and beeches. Air show coming up. Hundreds of folks in the hotel.

Last night I saw a couple coming back with several packages of Skyline Chili.

For anyone who has never had Cincinnati’s finest cuisine, let me explain it to you.

Skyline chili is leftovers. it’s “chili mac”.

No, it doesn’t taste bad. hell, it’s OK, if you like that sort of thing, but to me, Chili entails a solely meat dish. And it should fry the hairs off your afterburner as it exits in either gaseous state or as a solid. Maybe my major problem with it is the name, after all. When I get a bowl of Chili I expect it to be chili, and not a bunch of stuff that was left in the fridge after a party.

Now imagine that flight, today.
“hey,Frank, wasn’t that Skyline chili great last night?”
“yep, Honey, it was OK. Do you have my kneeboard over there? Ah, thanks”
“Are we gonna fly over the… Hey, what the hell was that about, Frank?”
“it just snuck out. I can’t help it.”
“Jesus, open a window”
“You can’t open the windows above 90 mph, you know that”
“Good god, Frank, now I have one coming”
“OH MY GOD! Dammit, woman, what the hell does your digestive system DO with food?”
“Hey, “I can’t help it” remember?”
“mmfh”(muffles face with handkerchief) “Good God, that’s foul”

And later:
“The bodies of a man and woman were discovered on top of a water tower today by someone in a hot-air baloon. Nobody knows how they got there but the man was wearing a kneeboard and it is suspected he was a private pilot. In possibly related news, a Cessna 183 crashed into an empty lot in Norwood. Fire department personnel have not been able to approach the wreckage to discover if there were any survivors because of the smell. A Haz-Mat team was called but they were busy containing a situation close to the river.”

I mean, it started out ok, and all, but ended up being the reason for a lot of pain reliever sales.

So far today I have been on fire, bled profusely, and had my toes run over by a golf cart.

At least i have a nice hotel room with good interwebbiness. Of course when I turned on the TV, Chuck schumer (dickhead, planet earth) greeted me with his typical lack of reason to continue to waste oxygen, so I had to go outside and walk around until the desire to crush had been driven from my mind.

I’m in a hotel on the evening of my 14th wedding anniversary. I wish I were home. I miss you, love of my life. And a monday without you at the end of it is doubly horrid.

What gracious hosts were the Algers you’d probably be surprised that there are only two of them. And dolly isn’t- at least technically- either one. The Mrs- also known as SWMBO, is a doll, and a full tilt blast to be around. She introduced me, at dinner, to HER daughter- who is more dangerously attractive than any girl has any right to be. So when you read BTB, remember that behind that slightly cantankerous Tim Allen Wannabe (and the chesty redhead) is a real person who is not a chesty red… who is not a redhead, and who makes it possible for Mark Alger to keep body and soul together well enough to post to BTB regularly. SWMBO is a fully integrated part of the entire Alger experience, which is almost, but not entirely, completely unlike the Jimi Hendrix experience. I hope she gets to meet the Ogwife someday, I’m confident they’ll get along famously.

Yes, Mark & I went to Home Despot 3 times during the project, and yes, I understand that in certain municipalities that means we’re betrothed.

Petrol stations are being pressed out of existence in the greater metropolitain Cincinnati area, I drove six miles to find a BP and a Shell huddled together on a tiny street corner, sharing even their signage. I tried to catch a picture but the light was such that it was impossible. Won’t someone help the poor gas stations in their struggle against the encroaching horde of home improvement stores and Starbucks?

Speaking of starbucks, it’s amazing how touchy their customers are. I mean, I just wanted a Carmel Frappuchino. Now, there were ten or twelve customers sitting outside having expressos, and I thought the yelling a bit excessive.

I suppose it didn’t help that I nearly missed the turn and hit the lot at about 58 mph. And powerbraked and drifted into the parking place, all four new dunlops squealing into position, inches from the curb by the patio.

Lay off the caffeine, you nimrods. I didn’t even come close to any of you.