cheese danish and winter mist

Huddled in layers of black clothing, I hoard what will be my last high-speed connection to the Interweb[1] from a quaintly-decorated hotel room near the Columbus, Ohio airport. When I say “quaint”, I mean “disturbingly lifelike”, much like those authentic replica dolls you see for sale on QVC, the ones that are supposed to be female children but are dressed in evening gowns, lacking cleavage. It’s that sort of quaint. The Country Inns and Suites green should appeal to me: it is that generic medium forest green, benign and clean. Instead it becomes the painted decolletage of authentic replica dolls. And an hour later, I’m still waking up, hungover from the faux Lauren-style comforter and drapes.

Today we set off for the hilly wilds of outer Columbus, to a four-bedroom cabin. As I related to my friend Ian on the phone last night, my idea of “roughing it” means no Interweb access, so I suppose I will indeed be roughing it. Thanksgiving dinner won’t happen until Saturday, for me, so I’m pretending you all haven’t had it yet too. By the way, read FunkyPlaid’s “Ode to Thanksgiving” – it’s delightful! See you Monday!

[1] Calling it “the Interweb” arose after an amusing misspeak of my dad’s. Now I can’t stop. It makes me laugh. Don’t judge me.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.