Phew!

Got back from the oddly interrupted fireworks extravaganza (erp! computer error! stopped the whole thing five minutes in...). Got a message from C on my cell but not till this morning (awww, she missed me, heh). Stressed because there's so much to catch up on, and my daughter is bored and wants something... but, good girl, she's just picked up Quidditch Through the Ages and is reading it intently like every 8-year-old should do.

So watching the fireworks, my mind is not on them; instead, it's going a million miles an hour figuring out plotlines and solving plot problems and thinking in character and I can't turn it off and I can't help it, and it's just what I do and it's just the way I am. And then I'm sitting in the hot tub (C: 'en-suite') and again lapsing into character, eyes shut, ignoring the children splashing pretending it's a good place to do cannonballs and thinking and thinking... and yeah! came up with a perfect plot point to explore later.

I'm obsessed. But it's OK. Those who know me take the insanity for granted. Those who don't--it doesn't matter. My brain is on time-share today.

Oh, don't take me so seriously. Siriusly.

Dave

And I forgot to talk about Dave. We first saw Dave in the kid's fun area, standing guard with the world's most dour expression on his face by the kiddie inflatable slide. One of those things that you have to weigh under 120 lbs to ride, and only four children allowed on at a time. He was surly.

Last night in the coffee shop/restaurant at the hotel, Dave was our waiter ("Dave! You're doing double-duty!"). And not a very accomplished one. 'Dave, England' read his little name badge; being the intrepid world traveler that I am, I asked Dave where in England he was from. Birmingham, it turned out, and when I asked what brought him to lovely cosy Portland Oregon, he said 'oh! Married an American girl, 22 years ago. Met her in London. No kids, us, but we've lived all over. Cleveland twice.'

Cleveland twice. A badge of accomplishment.

Dave was not a very good waiter, although his accent made him that much more tolerable. I'm a sucker for a good British accent, after all. Finally he came back and promised our food in five minutes; I told him I was timing him and his tip would be docked for every minute after that during which the food did not arrive. He wasn't amused but gave a weak smile nonetheless. When my fish & chips arrived without malt vinegar (a complete sacrilege, by the way), he tottered off to find some. Came back empty-handed and muttered about how I wanted malt vinegar! It took three tries.

And all this time, I'm reminded of John Travolta's great line from Pulp Fiction: 'I don't think Buddy Holly is a very good waiter.'

Which led to discussion as to whether or not Steve Buscemi actually played the Buddy Holly waiter cameo role in the film. I knew I was right, but my DH was not convinced. I can prove it. It's on IMDB; it has to be true if it's there, right? 'Cause they never make mistakes!

So, Buddy Holly was not a very good waiter, but he had a good accent. 'Nuff said.