Shit on a shingle
I arrived in Orlando to the Shingle Creek Resort – lovely place – ahem. On my way to the airport, I stopped at the store on Metairie Road where friends had bought a bowl for Tin – it is a bowl that sticks to the table and it is invaluable for a little boy who likes to upend his bowls that don’t stick to the table. When I got back in my car I noticed a smell and thought some piece of rotten fruit was lodged under the seat. I had found a peach after a week from going to the farmer’s market so suspected that was the case again. But alas, no fruit. Then I boarded the plane and sat smooshed between lady to the left and boy to the right. After we were flying for a bit, I took out the sandwich that T had prepared me – WHOA – hard boiled eggs and Scharfe Maxx cheese on ciabatta – delicious but odoriferous. I worried about my row mates but lady on the left proceeded to cough, sneeze and wheeze her way through entire flight and the boy had such large head phones on that his entire left side of his face was covered. So I just enjoyed my way through the delicacy.
Then I arrived in Orlando where I’ve been bombarded by Mickey since arriving. I got to my “resort” hotel and one of the best perks of covering media is that the conferences at least have celebrity status – Leanne Rimes was entertaining the troops as I got here. But sadly, I got to the room at the end of a long journey through Wing 1, Wing 2, Wing 3, Wing 4 and finally arrived at lonely Wing 5 to find myself in a room that looks like it could be anywhere in the world and yet nowhere.