Getting Some Flaming Lip . . .

The kiddo and I had a wonderful time in DC with my family and we even saw a few friends while "back east." I was more than happy to be heading back to my regular life by Monday afternoon (I have a smidge of anxiety about changes to my schedule and routine (that is sarcasm)).

We boarded the plane in DC confident that, just six hours later, we'd be back in the loving, warm embrace of the three-one-six (as the Wichita gangstas' call it). Then . . . we got to Chicago.

We dropped in to the Windy City (given its name because of its boisterous politicians - not its moving-air-off-the-lake). and were greeted by winds, rain, damp snow, and very low temperatures. And that is where our travels for the day ended. After rescheduling for Tuesday morning, we boarded a bus heading for a hotel and a long afternoon of being stranded with no clean underpants in our suitcase. I digress.

I won't complain about the detour (the American Airlines people were amazing, the Hyatt people were great, even the woman at Starbucks who gave Ava a free hot chocolate made the day easy-breezy (that is a Chicago pun, folks)) but I would be remiss if I didn't share one random aside . . .

The lead singer from The Flaming Lips is an utter bore. How do I know?

He was walking in his super skinny grey jeans, grey suede bucs with day-glo green soles, his grey jacket/shirt/scarf combo and his grey hair while being a rock and roll singer and he, without even seeing her, crossed over my daughter's path - essentially tripping her up in the process (she recovered her footing - no actual injuries were involved). What did he do? Just sort of looked down with a relative amount of disdain that his overall grey appearance was crossed into by a child drinking a free hot cocoa from the nice Starbucks woman.

I don't know how I knew it was him (it was - he mentioned something to someone who seemed to be a fan about being in Ithaca the previous night and on the band's website it had them performing at Cornell's Barton Hall Sunday night) and I don't know why I care (if it had been any other random man or woman I would have just ignored it) but it bugged me. A colleague suggested he is probably just not used to having people be in his space (insert joke about his fixation with performing inside large, plastic balls here). But I can't imagine that is it. He actually seems moderately humble and good natured (my obsession with the interaction coupled with a long afternoon in a hotel room in the Chicago suburbs found me Googling him and reading/listening to stuff).

I don't ever want to be famous. You can't even walk through an airport and accidentally cut off a kid without some douchy bore blogging about it. Then again - I've never cut a kid off in foot traffic without apologizing to them and their adult escorts. Maybe that is why I'm NOT famous.