4/19/2010
Good Day, Kolas-- I'm here getting ready to head into Chi for yet another lecture event. This time I'm only 1/3 of a panel, so the pressure's off. I had the worse week for fitness and health ever. Well, not all week. I had an amazing time in Yakima, WA. Huge crowd at the talk, and a 250 people luncheon. The theater in Yakima is gorgeous and old, and it's haunted. You know what I like. I like haunted buildings. This one's haunted by Shorty the stagehand who committed suicide there in 1938.
In the greenroom, the walls are autographed from the 20s burlesque to the present. Bob Hope, Gene Autrey. Salman Rushdie. Lisa Ling. Naomi Judd.
I got to tour some of the arhchard business in the valley. Amazing visit to the apple-processing plant. You never imagine how much high tech goes into your lunchbox apple. The charming and capable Rosa (from Mexicali) led me through the maze of robots and computers and moving doodads and scanning dealybobs. Gala apples moved in a river of red.
Then my hosts kindly took me to their wine cave. Great racks of fat oak barrels. Hundreds of gallons. The vintner was there and took me deep inside andgave me samples. He knew the personality of every barrel, the nature of every generation of oak and grape. Frankly, after about 6 samples, I thought it all tasted GREAT. We ended with a killer port that was still hyper-alcoholic...you know how the youngstrers are. Rambunctious. Bold, yet insinuating, with a slight bouquet of spring flowers in its nose, while breaking in a buttery fashion across the tongue, leaving a misty aftertaste. Uh. Or something. I was trying to walk straight.
TOO BUSY TO WORK OUT. Too freakin' tired. But there was a jacuzzi in my room. It was big enough for us all to have a party. I bubbled myself to sleep in there.
Up at 4:15 for a long flight home and up in the morning for a long drive to Champaign to watch Eric's Junior Recital. He KILLED it. I was stunned at how good he was. Go, sonny boy! But...the worst motel ever. Out in the sticks. Smelled like an old folks' home. Bad beds. Bad water. Dirt and dust.
Bad college boy food all weekend.
I lectured on Sunday at the library, and we drove home--caught in traffic delays almost two hours. Look, if you're trying to get healthy, don't hang out with college boys. Bad pizza at 10:00? Really? I'm dying.
So, back to trainer Wed. I'm going to be destroyed. Smoke is going to come out of my body. Because I have sinned. And retribution is coming. Sigh.
Oh well. Made mucho dinero this week.
AND TODAY WE DELIVER THE FIRST HALF OF HUMMINGBIRD'S DAUGHTER II TO MY EDITOR.
It is a good day.
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In the greenroom, the walls are autographed from the 20s burlesque to the present. Bob Hope, Gene Autrey. Salman Rushdie. Lisa Ling. Naomi Judd.
I got to tour some of the arhchard business in the valley. Amazing visit to the apple-processing plant. You never imagine how much high tech goes into your lunchbox apple. The charming and capable Rosa (from Mexicali) led me through the maze of robots and computers and moving doodads and scanning dealybobs. Gala apples moved in a river of red.
Then my hosts kindly took me to their wine cave. Great racks of fat oak barrels. Hundreds of gallons. The vintner was there and took me deep inside andgave me samples. He knew the personality of every barrel, the nature of every generation of oak and grape. Frankly, after about 6 samples, I thought it all tasted GREAT. We ended with a killer port that was still hyper-alcoholic...you know how the youngstrers are. Rambunctious. Bold, yet insinuating, with a slight bouquet of spring flowers in its nose, while breaking in a buttery fashion across the tongue, leaving a misty aftertaste. Uh. Or something. I was trying to walk straight.
TOO BUSY TO WORK OUT. Too freakin' tired. But there was a jacuzzi in my room. It was big enough for us all to have a party. I bubbled myself to sleep in there.
Up at 4:15 for a long flight home and up in the morning for a long drive to Champaign to watch Eric's Junior Recital. He KILLED it. I was stunned at how good he was. Go, sonny boy! But...the worst motel ever. Out in the sticks. Smelled like an old folks' home. Bad beds. Bad water. Dirt and dust.
Bad college boy food all weekend.
I lectured on Sunday at the library, and we drove home--caught in traffic delays almost two hours. Look, if you're trying to get healthy, don't hang out with college boys. Bad pizza at 10:00? Really? I'm dying.
So, back to trainer Wed. I'm going to be destroyed. Smoke is going to come out of my body. Because I have sinned. And retribution is coming. Sigh.
Oh well. Made mucho dinero this week.
AND TODAY WE DELIVER THE FIRST HALF OF HUMMINGBIRD'S DAUGHTER II TO MY EDITOR.
It is a good day.
# posted by Luis @ 1:26 PM 
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