While waiting for the shuttle, I feel a little guilty for assuming that the couple next to me in the airport are douchebags. They were drinking wine out of Russian glasses and the wife used the term "mouthfeel" in casual conversation. Girl, you are eating cheese in a municipal airport, not judging Top Chef or reviewing Le Bernardin. Then they left and it turned out they were taking up FIVE of the best chairs in the very crowded airport, so it turns out I was right. Since I'm already in stereotype mode, I'm going to assume they were here for the the Santa Fe Opera.

One of thing that infiltrates your consciousness when you are Civil Rights Baby navigating mostly white arenas is constantly wondering when people treat me differently if it's because I'm black. When I got on, the shuttle bus driver just opened the door. When the white woman got on next, he had her wait while he took out a stool. She was my age. a little larger than me but I looked younger (y'all, it's true that black don't crack). My back was already messed up from sitting in airplanes/airports and I strained it climbing in into the van, so I could have used the damn stool as well. Was it her whiteness? my youthful countenance ;) ?, his forgetfulness? I'LL NEVER FUCKING KNOW and my damn back hurts either way.

After settling in to the hotel, I opened up the tourist booklet and this picture was the first thing I saw. What the What? She looks like a Stepford Wife going to a theme cocktail party. It looks like something that might have been worn in the 60s. Is the altitude fucking with my head?? Does that even look attractive?? Is it a joke Native Americans are playing on dumb white people?

I went for a walk and had the best chocolate chip cookie I have bought in YEARS. OMG.

And WTF is up with the damn flies? Everytime I sat still for a minute —while I am writing this even—a fly lights on me and won't leave. In three different places! Was it the same fly with some bizarre obsession or does the same thing that repels men attract flies? I might really need to figure this out.


Can't get the hotel wireless to work and the guy at the desk is treating me like I have no idea how the internet works; in other words, as if I'm my mother. My huffy claim that I am reasonably tech saavy is completely undermined by my having to go back to the front desk because my key wouldn't work.

On the other hand, I had a fantastic dinner and there is very little humidity here, so it's likely my hair will look good all week. I know everyone is as excited by that as I am.