The New Digs

We're in the Centennial Lodge now, and as I suspected, it doesn't even come close to earning the lodge title. It actually feels more like a pre-fab suburban cult compound. Not that I've ever been in one of those... Really, I haven't.

The room is roughly the size of a doormat. They've jammed it full of the most ungodly faux-mission furniture. There's a rocking chair in the room that I honestly think would break your back if you stayed in it longer than six minutes. I've fallen into thickets more comfortable than this thing.

We were pretty excited to hear about the queen-sized bed, so we could actually lie together as husband and wife. (That does mean spooning, right? I'm no theologian.) What we didn't realize is that a bed that size would require that all the other furniture be suspended from the ceiling. I think it may actually be a king-sized bed that continues beyond the wall into the next room.

Either way, when you sit on this thing, it triggers some sort of quantum singularity that draws all matter to the center of the bed. We just had dinner on the bed (where else is there?), and because of its unique physical properties, our BBQ chicken, sauce, beans, potato salad and buns all collapsed into a bowl of BBQ-comforter gumbo in the middle of the bed. We just scooped the stuff up with some empty breast milk bottles and chocked it up to character-building.

There is wi-fi in the building, but not in our room. So I'm frantically typing this in the "entertainment room" at the end of the hall before my batteries die on the iBook. In this case, entertainment is defined as small hole of a room hanging out over 9th avenue south with more god-awful mission furniture and a 24" TV. Whoo-hoo!

Battery dying. More later.