Travels

Well, dear readers, it's been awhile since I last put anything up. But here I sit, alone again in a strange hotel room, and I feel it's time for me to create yet another edition of Travels, the most-used post title (in one form or another) in the history of this, my humble blog.

And when I say a strange hotel room, I mean a very strange one.

I am currently staying at a Candlewood Suites, an interesting little chain that has about 130 locations nationwide (or so the in-room literature tells me). I would recommend it highly, especially to travellers with a culinary bent.

There is a kitchen in my room.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Collin," you're now saying to yourself (feel free to think along), "most hotel rooms have a kitchen in them nowadays. Ah, but you'd be wrong. Allow me to expound.

This kitchen has cabinets. And in one cabinet is a toaster. In other cabinets are actual dishes and glasses, made of actual ceramic and glass. In a drawer are metal utensils, as well as a carving knife and various spoons and spatulae.

You'll need them, in order to use the set of pots and pans on the two-burner range-top.

Of course, if you want to, you can use the microwave. If the microwave you have in your home kitchen is like a TV set, this microwave is a wide-screen plasma, almost three feet wide.

When you're done, you could wash your dishes in the sink, with garbage disposal, using the dishwashing detergent provided.

Or you could just use the dishwasher.

No, I am not joking.

About any of it.

I must also enthuse about the room's "master switch", which allows the turning on and off of all the room's lights with a single flick. Also the intelligent thermostat, which somehow knows when I am in and out of the room and adjusts the air-conditioner in an energy-saving manner.

I also have a lovely view of I-4, through the louvered shutters on my window. Considering my habit of not eating out when I am on the road alone, but instead of obtaining sandwich-making materiel, and of course beer, from a local market, I will conclude this post with the highly-appropriate lyrics of a classic song by the immortal Paul Simon.


I met my old lover on the street last night
She seemed so glad to see me; I just smiled
And we talked about some old times, and we drank ourselves some beers
Still crazy, after all these years,
Oh, still crazy, after all these years.

I'm not the kind of man who tends to socialize
I seem to lean on old familiar ways
And I ain't no fool for love songs which whisper in my ears
Still crazy after all these years,
Oh, still crazy, after all these years.

Four in the morning, crapped out, yawning
Longing my life away.
I never worry, why should I?
It's all gonna fade...

Now I sit by the highway, and I watch the cars
I fear I'll do some damage one fine day
But I would not be convicted by a jury of my peers
Still crazy after all these years,
Oh, still crazy,
Still crazy,
Still crazy, after all these years.


Good night, Lake Mary.