The World We Live In

Erika won a trip to Rome.

Seriously, she did. She entered a contest and won the grand prize.

You know what sucks? Instead of being elated at the thought of a free trip, I immediately thought, "Okay...so...what's the catch? We have to sit through a timeshare sales pitch? Is this just a scam from some very creative identity thieves? Do we have to provide transportation to Rome ourselves? Are we going to have to pay thousands of dollars in taxes to claim our prize?"

Why am I such a suspicio-phile? Well, for a couple of reasons. First of all, Erika had her identity stolen about a year ago, and I had my credit card info stolen a week ago. Neither ended up costing us a thing (thank you banks for protecting against fraud -- we crapped all over you about lending practices and the bailout bonuses etc., but when we really need your help, you're usually pretty cool). Also, when we went to the Wedding Expo two years ago, we signed every single contest entry form we could...and we got calls for the next month from telemarketers who told us "we won a trip to______! All we needed to do to claim our prize was attend a brief meeting in Renton..." at which point I'd hang up.

Scams always start out with a "too good to be true" scenario...which is why, when something that actually is too good to be true comes along I'm suspicious (instead of psyched).

So after speaking with the woman over the phone (and being on the cusp of hanging up because she was suspicious that it was a telemarketer) Erika received an e-mail from a bona-fide employee of Los Angeles Magazine (verified via several online sources) detailing the prize, and containing a Word document affidavit to be filled out and sent back within 5 days (or the prize is forfeit). All right. So far so good.

Line # three of the affidavit? "Social Security Number."

Uh oh.

Why would they need that?

Is this a normal thing?

We're not signing up for a credit card, just claiming a prize.

So we're just supposed to fax her social security number to some random fax machine?

What's with the five day deadline?

Are they just trying to scare us into sending it right away? Keep us from verifying the source?

Am I just being super-paranoid?

So, maybe you all could help me. I desperately want to believe this is the real deal, and so far, the SSN requirement is the only thing buggering me up at the moment. I found the identical contest prize offered on the MSN New Zealand website. Same prizes and everything. The SSN thing has freaked me out a bit.

But other than that, I can't possibly fathom how this could be a scam. They already had Erika's information when they called. And it wasn't an "unlisted number" that showed on the caller ID -- it was a local 323 number (same area code as the LAMagazine offices). And the contest came from a full-page ad in Los Angeles Magazine (Erika found the original advertisement), a credible publication that would probably never allow a phishing advertisement to be published (for fear of a lawsuit). And the three people CC'd in the prize e-mail are all actual Los Angeles Magazine employees. And Erika is invited to a VIP screening of Angels & Demons at Sony Studios tomorrow. And if they're going to steal an ID, why target an actress who made less than $15,000 last year?

I mean, if this is a scam, these people put a hell of a lot of work into getting Erika's social security number, from fake LinkedIn profiles, to rerouted official LAMagazine e-mail addresses, to getting tickets to a VIP movie premier...I say, hell, if they put that much effort into getting a silly SSN, they can frigging have it.

But, you see what I mean? Used to be someone would win a "major award" and they'd receive a lamp shaped like a leg in the mail, open it, and show the whole damn world what they won. If that were to happen nowadays, the winner would have the crate x-rayed before opening to check for nail bombs, then they would make sure they weren't getting billed for just opening the crate (the old Columbia House scam), then they'd make sure that shipping was already paid for (so they didn't accidentally accrue COD charges), then they'd go over the "rules and restrictions" with a fine toothed comb before cracking the crate displaying the leg lamp for the entire neighborhood.

Scam artists have ruined the good ol' "jump around and scream after you've won a prize" feeling. That really bites. But...maybe a free trip to Rome will temper that temporary feeling of doubt...maybe.

New News

Okey dokie. Just realized, that the more space I put between my "blog postings," the greater chance that my "blog posting" will just be a lame "HEY GUYZ!!! HERE IS WHAT I IZ DOING NOW!!! LOWAL!!!!" -type post.

Having said that, here is what I iz doing now.

First up, for those of you not checking my Facebook status updates with regularity, I have some pretty cool news. I've been cast in The Cherry Orchard and Cymbeline at The Will Geer Theatricum Botanicum. What is the Theatricum Botanicum, and why is the name so weird? Well, I'll explain...

Better yet, I'll give you a link to the History of Will Geer's Theatricum Botanicum. But from my perspective, the theater is the most popular outdoor theater in the Los Angeles area. It's also a professional Equity theater, which means that A) I'll be making enough money to pay the rent until late-September, and B) I'll finally be able to join Actor's Equity (for those not familiar, it's the theater actor's union, like SAG is the film actor's union).

Anyway, I start rehearsals on March 30th, and rehearsals and performances run until September 27th. If you're in the Los Angeles area around this time, I'd highly encourage you to come out and have a gander.

But things are generally good for the Rhoades/Godwin/Evans household. Lindsay was also cast in the Theatricum Botanicum season in "A Midsummer Night's Dream." Chad recently appeared in an episode of "The Bold and the Beautiful" (FYI, I consider Chad to be both bold and beautiful). And Erika has been cast in 2 (!) plays, "The Woolgatherer" and "Marat/Sade." So...yep. We've been doing plenty of that "acting" crap, which is good...being as that's what we're here to do.

What else? Damn...I get all these ideas of stuff I want to talk about, then I get in front of my stupid computer monitor and forget everything. Ah...here's one -- our dear friend Matthew (of "Y Tu Nana Tambien" fame) has created himself an Internet meme. I dare you to watch these videos and not use the phrase "POWER STRIKE" in the coming week:

Also, to assist my YouTube channel's hefty "8 Views," here's a video I did to audition for a part in the TV Show Bones:

But I tell you what, all kidding aside (well, "most kidding aside"), it finally feels like I'm beginning to "act" here in Los Angeles. Maybe getting cast at Theatricum had something to do with it...but maybe I'm just being a little more vigilant about putting myself out there. And helping write and produce "video shorts" with like-minded individuals (because if no one else is going to cast you, why the hell not just distribute stuff on your own?). Sure, I'm not getting as many auditions as I'd like to, and I'm nowhere near getting cast on anything with a "national" kind of distribution, but it still feels good to be working consistently -- even if it's "for free."

Well I've gone on long enough for tonight. I'll try to be a bit more vigilant with this here bloooge. Or, at least I'll be vigilant about saying "I'd like to be more vigilant with this blog." Crap, did I spell vigilant right? Is it "vigilent?" Must investigate that further...

What I Been Doing

Hi!

How've you been?

Is "how've" a proper contraction?

But "Hi" regardless.

So, what have you been doing? Oh. That's cool.

Me?

I'm glad you asked.

Well, I'm doing stuff. I've made the ill-fated proclamation that 2009 was going to be a "good year." And it's been...pretty decent so far. I'll recap, the only way I know how -- in a rambling, digressive fashion.

First up I'm trying a little something new -- I've decided to start "writing" more. I put quotation marks around the word "writing" because I like quotation marks. This new compulsion came about partly from the prodding of my brother Tim, my wife Erika, and my roommate Chad...and partly from having too much time on my hands. Basically, when I'm working as an extra, I have a three-fold plan of attack to avoid the bored-sies:

1. A book...tough when you're "between books" as I so frequently am, but it's never looked down upon as my other materials are, such as...

2. My cell phone. Or, as it should properly be named, my "Monopoly/Chess/Risk Gaming Device That Is Occasionally Used For Phone Calls To And From My Wife." However, there are some sets where the use of my portable video game system is looked down upon (because some people are convinced that one is oblivious to the world when one is looking at a cell phone screen).

3. My laptop...the dinky, Dell Inspiron 1000 (a two-star budget laptop which retails for an astounding $225 today) which I use because it can run Word, and (occasionally) the Internet. The only real problem with this little guy is that he runs out of batteries so quickly...and oftentimes we're being held somewhere with no available external power sources.

So when I was tired of reading and whipping computer opponents at Risk, I decided to write a couple of shorts. Nine, to be precise. At the insistence of my wife, I arranged a "reading" with our group of friends...

And it went off pretty well. So well, in fact, that we decided to film one of the shorts I wrote (which is currently sitting in a "post production" status...I will post it here when it's finished).

But I figured that, since I enjoy writing (156 blog posts later), and I've got nothing better to do, I may as well try to go the "Ben Affleck/Matt Damon" route and write myself into the business. I'm overreaching, of course, but that's the general idea. I've not put acting on hold, by any means, this is just a way to fill in the gaps of "not acting" that have been far too large this last year.

What else...what else...? Well, not a hell of a lot is interesting besides that. I had a national commercial audition for Cici's Pizza with my wife (we were auditioning as a couple....which I highly recommend to people, if you have the chance), and we made it to call-backs...but ultimately we did not book the job (for those of you who are curious, national commercials pay tens of thousands of dollars for about 3 days worth of work...plus, it would have been my ticket into SAG). That's fine with me -- Cici's probably has crappy pizza anyway.

And, for those of you interested in this stuff, I've worked on the following shows this year: Grey's Anatomy, Without a Trace, House, Prison Break, Lost & Found, Chuck, Samantha Who?, Cold Case, Private Practice, NCIS, and Medium. All told, I watch exactly 0 of those shows when they're on, but hey...some of you may watch one of them...and if you do...just be aware that I worked on that show in the background, then go about your day.

All right, I think that's good for now. I've got a really exciting day ahead of me -- I'm going to go to the bank, then I'm going to walk a friend's dog, then I'm going to vacuum my bedroom. Maybe I'll blog tomorrow about how awesome and exciting this was for me. Hollywood, baby...Hollywood...

My Bones Audition Tape

(I'm re-posting this bulletin entry to my blog...for those of you afraid to be friends with me, but still curious enough to read my blog)

No, it's not a real audition -- it's a contest on if.net. The person with the most votes gets a spot on a show.

So, if you've got a crap-load of time on your hands (it takes a good two minutes to sign up for the website, so be prepared) I'd love your vote. Here's the link:

http://www.if.net/contests/general/491981?cid=989441

2 Questions

I'm proud of being from Seattle. And, what's more, it seems to give me a certain amount of "street cred" from folks around here, which I like. Long story short -- Seattle is pretty universally well-liked. And since most of you reading this have links (of some kind) to Seattle, I thought you ought to know that.

A writer is a writer because he writes.

Now, once I get into the "fascinating details" of my life with the various folks I meet, I'll typically get one of two questions: "Do you miss Seattle?" And "How do you like Los Angeles?" I thought I'd take this opportunity to address those questions, so that, instead of vocalizing something in the future, I could scoff, turn my nose up, and say, "Read my blog, fool. READ IT!"

First off, do I miss Seattle? Hmm...maybe I should have figured out a quick answer to this question before I started blogging. Ah well.

Here's the long-winded version (because I'm feeling verbose tonight): sometimes. Those sometimes are typically between the months of May and October, when I'm on the verge of dying from heat stroke.

What I do miss are the people. And not just the obvious ones -- family, friends, and enemies. But the people in general. Seattle is a smart city, and I like smart people. In fact, intelligence is something of a virtue in Seattle, and I like that. Physical appearance, wealth, and popularity are not (generally) as important in Seattle as intelligence and success. And I dig that. I don't know if you've heard this or not, but Los Angeles attracts a large number of...shallow folk. And dumb folk. Seattle has those too...but it seems like not nearly as many as there are down here. And I like that.

Having said that, I was in Seattle over Thanksgiving and Christmas of last year, and while I had a great time with some amazing people that I'm proud to call "friends, family, and enemies," it never really felt like "home." In fact, I can't recall ever having felt "homesickness" in Los Angeles up to this point. So, while I'll always have a soft place in my heart for Seattle, and given the choice, it's where I'd prefer to live and raise a family. But the reality is, I can't do what I want to do with my life living in Seattle. Maybe what I want to do will change...but for now...it's Los Angeles or bust.

Which brings me to question #2: how do I like Los Angeles? Well, we lost a good man recently -- Mr. Matthew "Spap" Owens pulled up stakes and sidled on back to Seattle. His farewell blog entry is here, for those of you who were interested. It makes very clear his feelings about Los Angeles...and without my wife here, it's very likely I would have been similarly burned out after a year-and-a-half.

But...Los Angeles. City of Angels. Yes, I'm stalling. Here's the thing about LA -- I don't really feel one way or the other about living here. Because, to me, I'm interested in the film industry. If the film industry was located in Dallas, then I would live in Dallas. The city is immaterial to me. I haven't gotten caught up in the LA culture too much, and I've not done a tremendous amout of sightseeing (though I've got this cool shot of Erika and I at the top of a frigging mountain)



So there's stuff to love. It's just...for me...a place to sleep at night, and occasionally play video games in. I don't love it, I don't hate it, it's just...the city I currently reside in.

As a side note, I'm pleased to report that I'm doing a little bit of writing, and this coming Saturday, something I wrote is going to be filmed. I'm pretty excited about that -- I'll post stuff here when it's in a "post-able state."

2008 -- A Year in Review

Well well well...well well well well. Well.

So that was 2008, huh? Okay. That's cool.

I feel impelled to recap this last year's events, because that's what people typically do when a new year starts. Because, to me, nothing says "fresh start" like the beginning of an arbitrary man-made set-period of time known as a "year."

Anyway, on with the show.

Well...what a year, huh? For the longest time, the idea of Los Angeles always seemed like a strange little concept. If I hadn't married the woman I married, I'm sure it would have remained an abstract idea, and I would have hunkered down in the safe confines of the Pacific Northwest ad infinatum. If you couldn't already tell, I was "receptive" to the idea of moving to Los Angeles, but I wasn't necessarily "gung-ho" about the idea. To me, it was another in a long line of life options where I shrugged and said, "Meh...what the hell...why not?"

So we found a place -- a lovely apartment in a lovely part of town -- and moved. We didn't really have a set plan, goals, or deadline for things that had to be accomplished. This is an adventure, dammit...and nothing kills that sense of adventure more than "knowing what you're getting yourself in to."

But we had the basics taken care of -- food, shelter, clothing, money. From there it was simply a matter of making more of that elusive "money" stuff, before all of our stored-up money went away. And finding a way to keep busy.

Enter "extra work." Or as the entitled like to call it: "background artistry." Yep, when I think of my professional life as an actor, I think of mostly background work. I spent 62 days working as a background actor on 45 different shows and movies in 2008.

All told, I made $5,000 working as a "background" actor, and $3,050 working as an "actor" actor. As you can see (and for all the IRS agents monitoring this blog) I made about $8,050 (after taxes) in salary last year. That's down about 80% from what I was making a scant 2 years ago. Ladies and gentlemen, if you think that actors are at all over-paid, I will direct your attention to this last paragraph.

This brings me to my next point. I'm poor as hell. It took me 2 months now to make what I used to in one paycheck. But I'm very proud to say that I've survived...and I continue to survive. This is a big deal for me. I came to Los Angeles with less than $10,000 in savings...and I was convinced that I would need to get a "real job" in three months -- four if I was miserly -- five if I robbed a couple of banks to make ends meet.

But I got all the way from January to December without getting a real job. I survived a Writer's Strike, a threatened Actor's Strike, and several weeks-long vacations away from Los Angeles. The business of "Tyler Rhoades - Actor" did not go bankrupt like my former employer did last year (R.I.P. Washington Mutual). I got through on guile, perseverance, and some well-timed generosity from my wife, my family, and my wife's family (who are really "my family" now, but I thought I'd make the distinction).

That's been my proudest accomplishment of this last year. I survived. I made money working in the business -- in my chosen profession -- and it was enough to sustain me for an entire year. Honestly, to me, that's very cool.

Now on to specifics -- my individual achievements are fairly humble at this point. Here's the part where, if you're ever asked the question "What's Tyler Up To Now?" you should pay attention...because these are the braggable things. And so you know; extra work is not braggable. A trained monkey can do extra work. In fact...a trained monkey makes better money than a human extra...by a quite a bit. My appearing in the background of a bunch of television programs is worth mentioning, but it's not something that would -- or should -- impress anyone.

Having said that, the big one for me was my international "Sprite Commercial." That was an audition that my agent got me, and that I booked. On my own. I wasn't "in the right place at the right time," I didn't "get lucky." I came in, gave a great audition, and booked the gig. Of course, this happened way back in the beginning of April, and I've had few auditions since I booked that one...but for me, it's good to know that I did book one project through the quality of my audition, not based on my appearance in a photograph, or through some fluke "right-time-right-place" happening. I'm quite proud of that.

A second accomplishment -- the establishment of a base for conducting the business of "acting." I know it's not a cut-and-dry as the commercial, but it's very important. I have an agent, who believes in my talent (even when I don't, from time-to-time). I've educated myself on the business. I have smart, funny, talented friends who are passionate about acting and film making. I've got up-to-date headshots. I'm registered with all of the necessary websites. I even created my own dinky little website. I've attended a couple dozen auditions. I've taken several months of acting classes, and a couple casting workshops. And I've filmed several little projects (Gorilla, Cougar, Death Match, Y Tu Nana, Party Pooper). All of this is stuff that I can build on...and any one of them might be the thing that propels me to the next level. I'm not looking for the lucky home run, I just want to put my nasty little finger in a bunch of different pies...and maybe one of these times it'll come out with a plum attached...to the tune of a couple thousand dollars. But until that time, I'll continue to build my base...

Finally, as my last accomplishment, I traveled a hell of a lot last year -- I certainly logged more miles driving than I think I have in any previous year (back and forth to Seattle three times, not to mention side trips to Idaho from Seattle, and Las Vegas from LA). And, of course, there was that whole "21-blog-post-long" honeymoon to Europe that was -- in spite of what you might have read -- one of the greatest experiences of my life. And let's not forget about a month in Bellingham, where my wife and I helped put up three shows (in 5 days) which were, by all accounts, quite successful.

Now for the hardships. For me, things went pretty well wrong shortly after (and during) Las Vegas. My hefty tax refund, and the paycheck from my Sprite commercial evaporated in a puff of tainted transmission fluid. Now I'm puttering around Los Angeles in a car with a rebuilt transmission, a dying alternator, an exhaust leak, tabs that expired in August of 2008, and a driver who is too poor to fix those problems.

On top of that, I'm fairly stagnated professionally. I haven't had an audition since September. I'm still on the outside looking in with SAG (currently possessing 0 of the 3 required vouchers to join SAG so far). My lack of funds has prevented me from getting more reprints of my headshots, a refill of my contact lenses, or another round of acting classes. I've slipped a little further into credit card debt hell (though not nearly as far as I have been historically). And my hairline continues its steady, inevitable retreat up my forehead.

Hmm...maybe I should have started with the good stuff. Now I'm all bummed out. Anyway, all-in-all, thing went pretty well. Better than I expected. Even when I back-load all of the crappy stuff, it still looks pretty decent from where I'm sitting. I don't know.

If I happen to fail miserably, and my aspirations are crushed, and I leave the acting profession bitter and resentful...I'll still have to be proud that, dammit, I gave it a shot. I'm here. I'm trying. I won't have to spend a lifetime thinking "what if...?" I know what if, now. If it works out; awesome. If not; I did the best I could with my extremely limited talent, looks, and brainpower. And hey, that's all I can do, I suppose...

Day 21 & 22 – Paris to…London…to Los Angeles

I woke with an irritated groan. It was one of those nights of sleep where you don’t feel like you actually slept at all…even though there is a definite waking up, and an obvious passage of time. But, if you did, in fact, sleep, you don’t know when the sleep actually happened. And if sleep did happen, it was split up by multiple moments of “annoyed wakefulness.” So…I could have slept for 8 hours, or 2 hours. It sure as hell felt like 2. Plus, when I did wake up, it was bone-chillingly cold. The sweat had dried into a thin, greasy sheen…my eyes were bleary…and my aching teeth were in desperate need of a good, thorough brushing. It was not a pleasant way to wake up – I actually found myself missing the sugar ants and uncleanliness of our Roman hotel room.

The train was slated to arrive at 9:15 AM, which meant that, once we’d disembarked, we would have about 4½ hours to get across Paris to catch our flight out of Charles de Gaulle Airport at 1:45 PM. It was cutting it a little closer than I would have liked, but I figured it’d take, maximum, about 1½ hours to cross Paris, which gave us 3 hours at the airport to find our terminal, check in, eat some lunch, and board the plane.

Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men.

I asked Erika was time it was. She looked at her phone – 9:00 AM. And the train was cruising along at a good healthy clip. I was expecting to see the Parisian suburbs, but I only saw some scattered farms, and the occasional unidentified train platform. We should

be slowing down soon, right?

But I didn’t worry about it. The train was about 30 minutes late, so maybe we were going to get in to town 30 minutes late – it was probably pretty tough to make up time on the rails. So I got up and decided to clean myself up as best I could.

I used one of the “sink rooms” to brush my teeth and wash my face. Now, I don’t like it when the faucet has one of those signs that warns that you’re not supposed to drink the water. I don’t know what that means – are they recycling the water that goes down the drain? Is it reconstituted sewer water? Can I brush my teeth with it? Or is it only good for washing hands (with a generous portion of soap)? Made me nervous…but I went ahead and washed up as best I could. It was going to be another 20 hours or so before I’d get the chance to scrub up again…I may as well risk the danger of bacterial contamination.

Returning to our room, I saw that the scenery was still flying past. Odd. I asked Erika for the time, and she told me it was 9:30. Surely if we were running half-an-hour late, we’d be slowing down.

But we didn’t. 10:00 came and went. Then 10:30. Then 10:45. I was getting pretty nervous – silently doing the math on our windling
“get across ....Paris....” cushion. 11:00. 11:15. Finally, the train slowed down. We had 2½ hours before our flight left. We’d planned on taking the RER back to the airport, but with our dwindling window, that was out of the question now – it had to be a taxi. 11:30 rolled by, and the suburbs of (what I could only assume were) ....Paris.... were also rolling by the window.

Mercifully, at 11:40, the train pulled into the station…two-and-a-half hours late. Our fourteen hour train ride had turned into a sixteen-and-a-half hour nightmare. And now we had to scramble out the front of the station and get into a cab for a ride across the city.

The train station was totally deserted. We had arrived at a station called the “Bercy” station, and (apparently) it was reserved exclusively for the ....Paris-to-Rome.... train. There was a single taxi waiting in the front of the station, and about 300 people were disembarking from the train. We hopped in the taxi queue – about 14 people back from the front of the line. Surely there were going to be a flood of taxis arriving shortly, once word got out that there were about some juicy fares sitting around Bercy, just waiting to be
picked up.

That is, of course, if Parisian taxi drivers were interested in working. But, instead of a flood of taxis, there was an agonizingly slow trickle. I looked behind us, and there were probably about 70 people in line. And a taxi would arrive about, oh, say once every seven minutes.

Doing the math there, that meant that we had to wait about 45 minutes before our cab would arrive…which put our departure from the deserted Bercy station at 12:25. Add a 30 minute ride (hopefully with no traffic) to the airport, and it put us in the ticket line right around 1:00 PM. I kept thinking: we’re screwed. We’re totally screwed. And it’s all because I wanted to take the train out of Rome. Stupid. Stupid.

Agonizingly, we worked our way to the front of the line, and
eventually our cab arrived. Now, this driver was not so good with the English, and we’d dutifully forgotten all of our French once we’d left the country. So we stumbled over our communications, and the driver asked us the million-Euro question: which terminal were we going to.

“Air ....France.....”

“One, two, three?”

“Um…is there more than one Air France Terminal?”

A hesitation…I was saying too much.

“Yes. Where are you travel today?”

“....London.....”

“Okay, okay.”

“Do you know which terminal that is?”

“No. But we stop and see.”

The idea of stopping when we were freakishly low on time was…less than palatable. But it sure as hell beat getting dropped off at the wrong terminal at that gigantic airport.

So we cruised down the freeway, which was thankfully moving
along quite nicely. After about 20 minutes, we came upon a little rest-area at the side of the road near the airport that had a big sign displaying terminal information. It wasn’t manned by anyone, but if I could crack the French code I should have been able to find out which terminal I needed. Our driver pulled up to the sign, and motioned for me to go look.

So I did. It was big, and confusing, written in all French, and it lacked detail. I saw our airline (which was apparently pretty popular in "France"). And I saw that it did, in fact, fly out of terminals one, two and three. Shit. There was another area with “destinations” on it, but most of the destinations were crazy international spots…like ..Morocco.., or ....Australia..... And they were sorted by airline, not terminal number.

Thinking about it now makes my head spin. But my best guess was Terminal 2. I can’t remember why, exactly – it just seemed to be the one that made the most sense at the time.

Hustling back to the car, I told the driver “Terminal Two. Deux.” He made a confirming noise, and we merged back on to the highway.

I got lucky. Or maybe I made a good choice. Either way, we
pulled into Terminal Two, unloaded our luggage, and checked out the readerboards for our flight information. In the Charles De Gaulle Airport, there isn’t one “central” Air ....France.... ticket
counter area, there are a half-dozen in Terminal Two alone. I found our flight, and got us to the correct ticket counter…which had a line with about 30 people in it.

I asked Erika for the time. 1:05. Shit. We’re screwed. Why bother? But we waited…and the line moved much quicker than we thought it would. Eventually we made it to the front, and after checking our ticket information, the woman told us that we were on “standby.”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!” my brain screamed (forgive my profanity, all you non-swearers out there). No seats on the plane. No flight home. We’d have to get a hotel room and tell our ride that we wouldn’t be coming back today. We were screwed.

So we sat sullenly, with a couple other stranded passengers. Time was clicking by, steadily, and taking with it our hopes of getting home that day.

One of our fellow rejects was a woman…who dressed like she was French, but spoke English with no trace of an accent. She located a different ticket agent, and asked about our status (because we were supposed to have had a definite answer from the staff ten minutes ago).

The new ticket agent seemed surprised that no one had taken care of us…which was nice, because apparently we’d been forgotten. She brought us quickly to the counter, printed off two boarding tickets, and sent us on our way. I’m not sure exactly what the mix-up was, but regardless, we had our tickets…and the plane was leaving in fifteen minutes. We had fifteen minutes to get through security, find our gate, and get the hell on our plane.

Luckily, Europe has figured out “airport security,” so we breezed right through. Our gate was at the far end of the terminal, but we had a good ten minutes left to do the “Home Alone” sprint to our gate.

Even luckilier, there was a sizable line at our gate – no chance the plane was leaving on time.

Long story short (TOO LATE!!!LOLOELOEL!), we made it on our flight, thanks to Parisian “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles” (thereby fulfilling the second instance of my “late 80s movie references” requirement).

It was an hour-and-a-half-long flight…we were at “cruising altitude” for, maybe, 20 minutes…but in that time they served us a full dinner…with airline food that actually tasted good.

We landed at Heathrow Airport with three-and-a-half hours to catch our connecting flight. Plenty of time…but, since we had had a bad run of luck with “cushions,” we figured we’d get our tickets and find our gate before exploring the wonderland of Heathrow Airport

Our connecting flight was with Delta Airlines. So we checked the monitors and saw that Delta flew out of Terminal 4. We were in
Terminal 2, so we needed to take a shuttle bus across the massive airport.

We got on the bus, and had that cheeky American reaction when the bus drove on the left-hand side of the road. L to the O to the L. An introductory video narrated by a stentorian British man was playing on a television at the front of the empty bus, right behind the bus driver.

We got off the bus at Terminal 4. It was empty. We went through the security checkpoint without seeing another passenger – the employees were just standing around.

This made my Spidey Sense tingle. I mean, if you’re all alone at an airport, either you’re early or you’re in the wrong place. Turns out, it was option B.

We asked about our boarding passes at the counter, and were politely informed (I only say “politely” because everything sounds polite with an English accent) that our flight was indeed with Delta…but it was operated by Air ....France..... We needed to go back to Terminal 2.

Back on the bus. An identical introduction by the stentorian British man. More “wrong side of the road” comedy. We still had 2 hours until our plane left. No problem.

We arrived back at Terminal 2, got through the security checkpoint, and followed the signs to the “Air ....France....” wing. The airport was undergoing some kind of renovation – but we were grateful that we were finally able to read the signs posted everywhere.

So with about an hour-and-a-half until our flight left, we arrived at the Air France ticket counter…which was mobbed with people. We waited…and after a good 20 minutes, we made our way to the front.

Apparently, Air ....France.... does not reserve seats on connecting flights. I’m not sure why this is – maybe it’s an “international travel” issue – but they were running out of room for our return flight. The nervous Air France attendant was in constant communication with someone at the gate, and we could overhear his growing concern that there were far too many passengers, and not enough seats.

Consequently, when our boarding passes were printed out, we
were seated several rows apart. This could not stand – we did not want to fly for 12 hours sitting at opposite sides of the plane. So Erika informed the frazzled young attendant that we were willing to volunteer to give our seats up to catch a later flight.

“Oh my God, thank you, thank you,” he said politely. He tore up our boarding passes, and leaned in conspiratorially “Take a seat over there, and I’ll be right with you. Are you guys willing to stay over night to fly out tomorrow?”

A night in England sounded just dandy. “Of course.”

“Great, thank you. I’ll be right with you guys…but be discreet. I don’t want everyone here volunteering to give up their seats.”

So we waited, and once the line had cleared he came over to
us and told us what we were getting. A night in a fancy “airport” hotel, a ticket on the flight home the following day, and 150 euros. We just needed to get our “package” from the lady at the ticket counter…by the baggage claim.

The scene at the ticket counter was…let’s say…“tense.” An American couple who had missed their connecting flight after arriving from Greece was arguing futilely with the French-accented desk worker (turns out Air France has another unpopular policy
of denying boarding passes for those checking less than an hour before their flight is scheduled to leave…something that didn’t affect us in Paris, for some reason…). There was a line forming
behind us, with one particularly irate French woman demanding that the ticket counter hurry up so she could catch her flight to Paris. (maybe she’d never heard of purchasing tickets online). But the lady helping us was a nice as could be expected of someone in her beleaguered position. We got our vouchers for a hotel room, meals,
money, and shuttle to and from the hotel.

Long story short (heh…take that, 78 pages of European blog-ness), we got to our hotel. Our stay in the outskirts of London was completely unremarkable – we’d touristed as much as we could stomach in the previous three weeks, and a night watching BBCs 1-4 was good enough for us (though we did make one disastrous hour-long excursion out of the hotel to find a clean shirt…though a driving wind and with a corresponding 30 degree chill).

So we ate, slept, ate, made it to the airport, flew, and (eventually) arrived in Los Angeles We got through customs completely unscathed (in spite of our irrational fears that all of our receipts would be checked, our liquor would be poured out, our gifts and knick-knacks would be destroyed, etc.), and greeted our incredibly patient roommates for a half-hour ride back to our home.

And that was our honeymoon in ..Europe... It looks like, save for my closest family members, I’d wager that most of my viewing audience petered out around Day 10 or 11. Which is fine. Hell, it took me almost three months to finish writing the damn thing…I can’t imagine that most people could plow through this much amateur prose without getting a little…bored.

But having said that, there’s more to come. I’ve already posted several photo albums on Facebook, and I’m going to do a “best of” entry. Eventually. Why? Hell…I don’t know…I have a
lot of time on my hands, I guess…

As for this blog…well… there’s a lot of stuff that I have planned for this blog. First and foremost, I’m going to branch out a bit. It appears that most of my friend list has abandoned the great experiment known as “MySpace,” and migrated to the much better “Facebook.” Alas, I am just as guilty…as MySpace is no longer a “check multiple times a day” website for me. Since I’m guessing this is true for most of you, I’m going to expand my internet horizons.

I’ll still update my MySpace blog…but I’m going to copy my 153 blog entries into a “as-of-yet-unnamed” blog site. Perhaps blogspot…or livejournal…or…wordpress…or…hell…who knows.
We’ll see. Either way, I’m going to keep writing. Why? Hm. I
honestly have no idea. I never really considered myself a writer…or, at least, a “good” writer. It’s fun to do, and I like talking about stuff, and I like when people read the stuff that I write. But…all right. I’m babbling. Fortunately for you all, this project is (mostly) completed…and I can focus on the really important things…like Lean Cuisine reviews…or complaints about Los Angeles…or blog entries about extra work. It should be
completely and utterly fascinating for all of you. Until then…