RAMBLING ON BA FLIGHT 112 OR WEEK 44
I am sitting on British Airway flight 112 to London listening to a surprisingly good Red Hot Chili Peppers album on my Ipod. As always I am wide awake for an overnight 8 hour flight. “Just in case something happens.” It’s not like I am going to open my shirt and find a red “S” and a cape and save us if the plane goes down. I am going to fall out of the sky like everyone else “if something happens”. God, I hate flying. With that said, this is my making an effort to to get back on track with the blog entries. On track means that i need to put a little more into this. My last entry was in week 5 roughly 44 weeks ago. Classic right? I could blame it on the rigors of a 7 month stint in Iowa shooting politics and that I have been busy being one of the producers of another blog, but let’s face it I get distracted. As we lurch at 30,000 feet across the pond. I can’t help but think of how I got here. I got a call a few weeks ago to ask if I would be going to Kenya for Operation Smile. I had done some work for them in Brazil a few years ago. They do great work and it’s the type of thing that can get overlooked between the floods, campaigns and earthquakes. It’s small and a cliche, but to see the look on some child’s face that’s suffered with all kinds of deformities is one of the happiest moments I have had. On top of that It’s kind of hard to pass up a free trip to the mother continent. I have spent the majority of the last year covering the election and since returning to New York, I’ve had the feeling I was spinning my wheels. I’ve been walking round with a frown on my face lately. Something is missing. That's not to say that I hate my city, but it is a little bit of a downer after spending so much time covering the presidential campaign in Iowa. Funny right. It’s strange to miss a sleepy state where you can’t get dinner after ten. I came home with a bit of contempt for my once beloved New York. I hate your crowds, the attitudes, the velvet ropes at your bars, the two hour wait for a table at a restaurant that used to be my place and now you pay attention to everyone but me, the the publicists that look down on me(I’m a nice guy), On top of it I say Reuters not Rooters you moron. God, what do I see in you New York? I have so got to get out of here has been my battle cry. This trip comes at the right time. The perfect summer romance during the slow season for the New York freelancer. Oh Kenya you are so beautiful with your fragile power sharing government, your repatriation efforts. In the worse case scenario, I’ll go on safari. You will be my summer love. Since I was on taking this trip I needed to stock on a few things. I had to look good for my new love right? Off to Paragon I went. I needed a dry fit hat, travel locks, a new bag, a travel sleeping bag, and that oh so special last minute impulse buy, wash and wear synthetic underwear. How can I survive with out those. Wash them in the shower and supposedly they dry after a few minutes in the sun (we’ll see). After spending way more than I intended. ($150 sunglasses did the trick), I headed back to Broadway to find myself in the middle of the New York Dance Parade. Kind of silly right? Not really. I saw ballet, flamenco, salsa, tap, and my personal favorite roller dance. I tossed on my press pass( why stand behind the barricade when you can walk the street with the marchers right) and took my new 50 mm for a spin. Funny how a sunny Saturday can turn around here. It’s not much but, it was just what I needed to turn that frown upside down. Crowds, attitudes(the ones that give you character), dancing in the street. How can I hate you New York. You have always given me everything. My wife, my friends, the work I love, culture, diversity, a community of the like minded, dinner after 10PM, even the temperament and abilities for someone to call me and send me to Kenya. I have no idea what my problem was. What was I thinking. I still love you New York. I’ll see you later in the summer.