Text 29928, 100 rader
Skriven 2012-09-27 23:07:00 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: original of 296 311
===========================
I have bought "Get Data Back" and a spare huge (750G) drive
so I can make a full drive image of the damaged one and
restore/experiment off the backup one. Nothing like shutting
the barn door, eh. Anyhow, the first thing I recovered was
my original prelude to the Washington trip (recreated as
#296). Aside from a couple details forgotten I am surprised
and/or gratified at how similar the two are. Here goes.

There was a brass band at the airport serenading a bunch of
wheelchair-bound and cane-equipped WWII veterans coming in
for a convention or something. It was fun, if noisy, while
it lasted. A pretty snazzy rendition of Stars and Stripes,
with I seem to recall the tuba taking piccolo part.

I decided to give Sam & Harry's another visit; I'd been pretty
pleased before, in contrast to the general reviewer. Many of
the negative reviews on the Internet refer to the badness and
chintziness of serving of the seafood, but I'd had several
steaks lately, so I decided on the mussels appetizer for $13.
Figured it wasn't too much of a risk. I should preface this
by noting that I got there at 5 or 10 before noon, and there
a few diners but almost no visible staff, including no bartender.
I scouted about and found a lively and apparently jolly staff
meeting taking place in the back. Seated myself at the bar and
waited a few - I decided that 10 would be about right, and as
the place was just about to wear out its good will, a bartender
appeared (the meeting was still audibly going) and took my
order. The $7 large Sam was I believe 2 oz smaller than the
previous one, and when the mussels came out - they took their
time - there were 19 small ones and a few empty shells. I
didn't know whether this represented 1 1/2 dozen plus or
2 dozen minus. Anyway, 60-something cents per small mussel is
not generous. The taste was pretty good, all were edible and
most reasonably fresh, the broth enriched with garlic, lots
of cheap white wine, and a couple pats of butter eminently
drinkable. A basket of two rolls came with - the rolls had
obviously been leftovers dipped in water and reheated, which
is usually acceptable, except that the bottoms of these were
soggy to the point of falling apart: someone needs to learn
elementary technique. On the whole, okay, but if it had been
my first experience there would be no reason to go back.
Whereas the steak from the other day is good to generate at
least one more visit (I will of course get meat next time).

There was nobody in the PreCheck line, so I decided to use
it - it's saved me a few minutes in the past. This time my
boarding pass didn't beep, and I was sent ignominiously to
the regular line, which was pretty long, and during which
wait I heard six people rejected from PreCheck and only one
accepted. Still, even with a secondary patdown, security took
only about 10 min. Later I decided to watch from the club
above and in my sample of ten only two got to use the
expedited check. It's easy to tell - people get pointed one
way or the other, and (new development) there's a TSA guy
dedicated to opening the tape for the lane, which he does
once every couple minutes. It appears that's all he does.

At the club, e-mail and the famous Food Should Taste Good
sweet potato chips: almost as good as Terra chips, but not
quite, and I'm pretty sure I could taste the difference.
Bud and Bud Light are free, but it is customary to tip the
bartender a buck. I refrained from all.

US 718 DCA PHL 1515 1624 319 10F

Adding injury to insult, my upgrade didn't clear. Luckily
I had the right throne (there are two), with more room than
any human needs. A very tall pilot plopped himself in the
aisle seat; he looked a little scrunched, so I asked if he
wanted to switch seats (the aisle has a little better legroom,
but nothing like mine). He said, oh, no, this was perfect. I
doubt it was actually perfect, but not my problem. When we
got off, I measured me against him. My eye level was about
halfway between his elbow and his shoulder. I'm still 5'9.
What does that make him? I'm guessing 6'8.

Philadelphia: we were in terminal B and leaving terminal B.
My club and bartenders are in terminal D; and instead of
10-oz Yuenglings they serve 12s and 16s (used to offer 20s
as well, but someone in Corporate decided that cost money).
So I went to the alien club, which offered tomato-red pepper
bisque. It was frickin' delicious, especially with a tot of
Tabasco sauce. There were dice of unidentified vegetable,
which turned out to be carrot, as well. I headed down to my
gate and discovered to my hideous chagrin that the restroom
was closed for repairs.

The gate agent, an agreeable brunette in her fifties whom I
had flirted with in the past, greeted me with a big smile and
by name.

US  18 PHL SEA 1800 2058 321 4A

A personable young (male) FA named Sayyid or something.

Choice between chicken with mushroom sauce or bowtie pasta
with mozzarella. Envisioning sawdust or poison I told Sayyid
that I didn't care. (continued at #297, see above).
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