I'm a little dumbfounded.
34,000 feet above the bless'ed ground, and I'm sitting here in seat 26 C futzing around on The Internets. Will wonders never cease?
So, I've just been in Pennsylvania for a meeting. It is a lovely place. Also, one of my friends named Katherine (I have several) calls it Doodoo-vania. At first I wasn't sure why, but then I went there this week and found out that it's because the weather turns to bullshit around the middle of November and doesn't improve until April. I think the same probably goes for Doodoochusetts and Doodoocticut and Doodoompshire. Anything above the the Mason-Doodooxon Line, actually.
Okay--those jokes? They weren't good. I know that.
Anyway, Bryan has opinions about cold like you find in Doodoo-vania. When we lived in Montana, he kept saying I just needed to relax into the cold, accept it for what it was, pretend like the cold was my big, icy best friend who's really awesome but just has super smelly feet or something. But I never got the hang of it. I understand relaxing into the heat; it's just a matter of closing your mind and pushing through it. But there's something about the kind of cold I felt this week that's just wrong. It was like torture. The cold wanted my soul.
Oh, Christ. We're experiencing turbulence. And I can see the suburbs of Atlanta out this here starboard window.
Sweet, sweet Atlanta. You're so ridiculous and messed up, but so warm! I love that about you.