I spent a long four-day weekend with nary a sign of internet access. And with the exception of a couple of photos I managed to get emailed from my phone, I took a vacation from blogging as well as work.

In fact, I forgot how until now. And even now, I'm only really motivated out of some OCD urge to get a post up before midnight. This is actually harder than you think because I've just discovered Top Gear on BBC America.

Rambling? Yes, yes I am.

Donna and our two oldest girls are taking a road trip to Disneyland this week. Megan's dance company will be shaking their booties at the Magic Kingdom as part of their mission to spread their message of Miley Cyrus-inspired tween hoochiness around the world.

It should be a fun weekend of overpriced food, long lines and miles of endless walking between rides for them.

But you want to know the best part about their trip? Since they are taking my mother along, my house will actually be The Happiest Place on Earth.

I'm leaving our fair Zion for yet another babysitting... err... business trip today. This time to St. Louis, MO. Well, Ofallon, to be specific.

I enjoy travel, for the most part but have become weary of traveling with co-workers and spending my time in offices. Business meetings in conference rooms are exactly the same everywhere as they are here. Exactly. The. Same.

But, off I go. To rescue this project and be the only one of three vendors who meet our deadlines only to have the entire project delayed at the hands of less-in-every-way companies who can't manage to look at a calendar and realize that it's been a week since our last meeting and they've done nothing at all. Such is my life.

I woke this morning at 5:15 eastern time. 5:15 feels like 3:15 when you've been living the mountain time zone since you were eight. Like me.

The early hour made for restless travel from New York earlier today and I simply don't have the energy to write anything intelligent. In fact, I'm sure I'll read this short disclaimer tomorrow and laugh about how retarded I am.

That is all.

I'm in Connecticut today. I came here at the behest of a client. The client feels that one of the other vendors on the project needs a bit of babysitting. How it's come to be my job to babysit her vendor I don't know. But it has.

So, here I am, sitting in a meeting where it is only my job to glance reassuringly at the client from time-to-time to remind her that everything will be OK. Though I'm not sure it's all going to be OK. But that's not your problem. Really, it isn't even my problem. Except that somehow, it is.

Also, somewhere along the line, my co-worker, who is tagging along on this trip to visit with other clients in the area, has decided that she needs to be involved in every detail of my travel. Saturday night she sent me a text message.

When I was younger I remember learning about faith at church. One teacher presented a challenge for the class. "How do you know New York City is real if you've never seen it?"

I'm here to tell you, I've seen New York City and it isn't real. It's all a pretend fairy tale. A reality show passed off as life using clever movie cliches and made-up languages on the subway. Counterfeit reality.

Murray Hill Market

I sat in the passenger seat of the rented SUV with the windows down, snapping pictures as we came to the red light at the intersection of 45th and Broadway... Times Square. As we pulled to a stop, this dude came right to the door of the car, stuck his head well into my personal space and asked, "Hey! You guys like hip-hop?"

I was dressed for the theater in the only dress shirt I own. I am, it should be pointed out, the whitest person you've ever met.

"Yes. I love hip-hop. It's all I listen to."

I've spent the last 24 hours, or so, scheming a way for me to live and work in New York City. If you had asked me when I was half the age I am now what I would be doing when I am the age I am now, I would have said, "living, working, starving, whatever in New York City".

I've hearted NY since I first visited the summer I was fifteen years-old. That city is alive and dirty. Sexy. It scares me and intoxicates me all at once. Now, every time I stand in Times Square and watch the throngs of people press into the theaters at 7:45 while cardboard-scented steam seems from the manholes, I am transported back to that summer. I am filled with my dream to starve my way from audition to audition.

Coming home, I leave a part of myself there. Maybe someday I'll get a chance to go back and find it.

Food on airplanes is exactly like security at airports. You don't get the actual thing... just the appearance of the thing. To make you think you are being taken care of rather than actually taking care of you.

Instead of a nutritious, delicious and filling meal you get a barrage of raisins, crackers, plastic foil-sealed cuplettes of processed cheese and half-cans of diet soda. Instead of a menu you are given a dispassionate cold-reading of a laminated plastic card by a bitter and tired flight attendant. Wait a tick, wasn't there even a meal for sale on your flight, Pete?

"Only on flights from JFK to LAX or SFO to JFK", the weathered steward uninformatively droned.

Donna leaves this afternoon for a few days of vacation with all but one of the girls. She's taking my mother too. That should be a joy for everyone involved. My mom's a hell of a camper and hardly really annoying and bossy to everyone.

That was sarcasm.

I'm staying behind for rehearsals which just can't be missed. That and I love work so much that I could never leave just to recreate. I mean... really... I could never.