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September 3, 2005
Are you in Birmingham, AL or New York, NY? A simple quiz:
- When you leave the airport, does the parking lot attendant ask you how you are today and then talk to you for at least three minutes?
- When you wake up at 8am, is it because there is a carillon playing "Amazing Grace" really loudly outside your window?
- If you ask for iced tea, and they offer something they understatedly call "Sweet Tea", could you float a golf ball in the sugar suspension?
- When you go to the "Wall Street Deli" to get a sandwich, is there the very New York touch of Bible-a-day quotes behind the counter?
If you answered "yes" to these questions, look around you. You are not in New York City. You are in Birmingham.
I have answered "no" to all these questions today; I'm already home. It was a very short business visit.
Birmingham was not in the path of Katrina's full fury; it's well inland to the north, due west of Atlanta. I was told that trees had fallen in surrounding environs and power was out for a bit, but by the time I visited on Wednesday night I saw no traces of the storm. I only got to see the city briefly in transit, it reminded me a bit of Lexington, Kentucky, where I danced in 1990-91. The most difficult aspect was the plane ride; two five-hour flights in two days was not great for my back. I'm resting it today. For the first time in a long time I needed to eat in the airport - Northwest only serves snack boxes and I got to the airport 3pm CDT and landed in NYC at 10pm EDT. It was Memphis, I got Barbecue. I tried to be good and get the Barbecue salad instead of more starch. It was a heap of pig on top of iceberg lettuce with BBQ sauce on the side. And no fork. I had already traveled far away from the BBQ stall, so I raced around the concourse desperately with my luggage and found a friendly Starbucks just as my connecting flight was boarding.
I also had the pleasure on my final leg from Memphis to La Guardia of sitting next to the stereotypical young Italian couple from Hell. Marcello and Sophia, or whatever their names were, went through this process: Chatter. Fight. Make Up. Suck Face. Chatter. Fight. Make Up. Suck Face. Repeat, at top volume (yes, even the face-sucking), ad nauseam. I must be getting misanthropic as I get older. I like having a pleasant conversation with my seatmate on a plane, but barring that, I just want to be left alone. They got on the M60 bus into Manhattan as well. I admit it gave me guilty pleasure to watch them wander off the bus in the middle of nowhere on 125th Street. Enjoy the Harlem tour, Marcello!
Posted by Leigh Witchel at September 3, 2005 3:05 PM
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Comments
Leigh - What ever happened to your choreography book idea?
Posted by: Meredith at September 12, 2005 3:44 PM