Saturday, April 14, 2007

Weasels Ripped My Flesh...Nevermind

No, this isn't a photo of my latest misfortune. But it is the title of a favorite old Frank Zappa album. I was reminded of the title this morning when I attempted to use the razor provided to me by the hotel.

My luggage has not yet arrived. It has, apparently, been located, however. I received a phone call from a very nice woman at American Airlines yesterday afternoon, informing me that my bag had been sighted in Ottawa. There was some issue about clearning it through Canada Customs before they could forward it to me here in Phoenix, and she warned that just because they had found it, didn't necessarily mean it would ever reach me. But she offered hope.

By the way. Unbeknownst to me, my Wednesday night photo of the people on cots at O'Hare Airport could have included someone I know. My friend and fellow journalist Martin Day, enroute from the UK to Phoenix to attend the same COFES conference that has brought me to Phoenix for the weekend, was himself stranded at O'Hare. He says that he saw me dashing through the airport that evening. He ended up spending the night on one of those cots, an experience he doesn't wish to repeat any time soon (picture lots of crying children, arguing adults, loud snoring, and then alarm clocks going off from 2am on as people woke to go resume their travels.)

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