JetBlue Fucking RULES!
Despite the many inherent difficulties involved, coming back to NYC from Portland has already been way way way way way way easier than going out to Portland was. Of course, this is partly due to the fact that I had already gotten rid of 90% of my material possessions when I first went out west. And even though I once again left myself a ridiculously short amount of time to get everything squared away, including working around the previous commitment of a three-day session to edit my pal Larry's video documentary about rebel clowns, I still managed to find the time to go through every scrap of clothing, every scrap of paper, and almost every little bit of nonessential detritus in my life, some of which was obvious garbage which had somehow managed to come with me every single time I moved since I first left home after High School! A cassette tape of Chicago's Greatest Hits that I've been carting around from apartment to apartment for 20 fucking years? NO MORE! If I suddenly get nostalgic for the music I was listening to 20-25 years ago, I'll download some bloody mp3's or some shit. Jeez!

I once made a list of every single place I've lived for more than two weeks. It was an almost shockingly long list. And it isn't like I was an army brat or the son of foreign service agents. I only lived in one place from the time I was 2 to when I was 18. But from 18 to now, I've paid rent in something like 25 to 30 different places, and had easily over a hundred roommates. And I have loved them all. Though I only had sex with two-thirds of them. But I had scraps of garbage and cassette tapes and who-knows-what other little bits of consumer plastic nonsense that I packed up and dragged with me to every last one of those five-story walk-ups, or damp smelly basements, or drafty old houses. I gotta tell ya... getting rid of that stuff feels like having a huge tumor removed. I am now a lean mean fucking machine. Well, I can run up stairs two at a time anyway. Though, I could do that before. Okay, well maybe I'm no different. But the point is, it feels good not to be weighed down with useless crap from a past that is gone and never coming back! Live in the now!

Hmmm... I smell eggplant parmigiana. Does anybody else smell eggplant parmigiana? I must be hungry. But I think the aroma is for real. Ahh... Brooklyn.

Also making things a million times easier was that I had my pal David's help bringing boxes to the post office (which he is still helping with, actually, since I left four boxes in his charge). And he drove me out to the airport with my big bag (68 pounds -- I had to pay an extra 20 bucks) and two carry-ons.

Getting through JetBlue security was surprisingly easy. Since I was flying one-way to NYC, I assumed that would raise a bunch of red-flags and I'd be pulled aside and cavity searched. But all I had to do was take the video camera out of the camera bag and take my shoes off, both of which I was fully expecting. And I also knew to wear pants that don't require a belt, since my metal belt buckle always sets off the alarm. I breezed through with no hassles.

Then, at the gate I looked around and played that whole "I wonder who'll end up sitting next to me for the next 6 hours" game, hoping it wouldn't be the pregnant woman with the unruly two-year old boy who kept wheeling a plastic wheely toy into my shins. Instead, I hoped it would be the cute blonde in the chuck taylor sneakers who sorta resembled a girl from Long Island I dated for a little while. But once in my seat on the plane, my neighbors turned out to be even better... nobody! I had the entire row of three seats to myself! So I stretched out and used my carry-on bag as a pillow. It was glorious. I felt like an executive. But I thought... if only I had earplugs and an eye-mask to block out the glow of all the little DirecTV's. And less than a minute later, who should show up but a flight attendant handing out little packages of complimentary gifts from a spa in NYC called "Bliss" and included in the bag were hand lotion, breath mint chapstick stuff, earplugs and an eyemask! JetBlue is run by mind-reading Geniuses! (Bliss spa might be as well.) Suave efficient mind-reading geniuses! After happily accepting the free comfort enhancing items, I felt like royalty. I popped the going-away vicodin that my pal Nate gave me the previous night and all was right in the world.

Best red-eye flight ever.