So we’re sitting in the Jet Blue Terminal 5 at JFK. We spent most of last evening trying in vain to figure out a way to get home. I checked every destination from JFK and LGA and then on to Denver to see if we could go that way, but it was all in vain. The flight we were hoping to take all of a sudden filled up, and the Jet Blue later flight had gone from green to yellow. This morning Berck turned on his computer and somehow discovered a magic flight from LGA that didn’t seem to exist on any schedules. We awoke Kelsey and Liz, on whose couches we had slept, and then went with them to the nearest place that Google Maps said had brunch. Unfortunately, the restaurant didn’t serve brunch anymore, despite what their website said. The proprietor was sitting in his pickup right outside and suggested Thai Market a block away. As its name suggests, it did not serve brunch, but we had a very nice Thai meal. Then the Kliz walked us to our bus at 125th Street, stopping at St. John’s cathedral along the way.

We took the bus to LaGuardia and waited for the magic 4 pm flight, but there must have been 50 standbys ahead of us. Berck managed to snag a jumpseat, but I was out of luck. I made my way outside and bought a ticket for the bus that goes directly to JFK. The driver, a tiny Chinese guy who was almost impossible to understand went around and asked us all which airline we were flying. “Icelandic,” said a gentleman with a slight accent. “British Air,” said a woman in a British accent. “US Airways,” I said. The driver told us each which terminal we needed, and even wrote it down in case we didn’t understand English. The bus ride was slow in backed up traffic, but I had plenty of time.

I stopped by the US Airways desk to buy a reduced fare ticket for Jet Blue. Because I’m an employee spouse, I can do that for other airlines. So I can pay $32.90 and fly on an airline other than US Airways, United, or Delta, on which I can fly for free. It took four US ticket agents quite a while to figure out how to do it, though they knew such a deal existed. Berck called while I was arranging it and told me that two people had gotten off his plane (and they obviously hadn’t gone anywhere yet). Then I found the terminal for Delta and went through security to get to the gate for the flight leaving at 6:55. The flight was oversold, so not surprisingly, I was the only standby passenger listed. I almost got on, even after several people had offered to give up their seats for $400 Delta Dollars, but a lone guy appeared and took the last seat. Berck called about then to say that his flight had a broken part and was still delayed and he was on his way in a taxi with a Jet Blue pilot to JFK. The bus costs $13. A taxi is $20, which split in half is $10.

I had to go to the Jet Blue terminal and then wait in line at the ticket counter to get a seat request in exchange for my ticket. Then I had to go through security, for the third time today. Berck had already gotten to the gate by the time I got there. We got some ten dollar chicken fingers at a sports bar, enjoyed the free wifi in the terminal, and then waited till they let the standby passengers. Fortunately, there were plenty of seats left. The United flight was still delayed, so no one had tried to follow us over and take our seats. We’re now sitting in Jet Blue’s spacious front seats. I watched Family Guy and Simpsons on Jet Blue’s TV, and we’re now listening to Matthew Sweet playing live on XM radio. We watched Burn After Reading on Berck’s computer.

Yesterday we went to breakfast at Mambi’s with Kelsey, right near his apartment. Famous Fat Dave had recommended the ham and cheese sandwich, which was wholly unremarkable, the first time he’s let me down. Berck had the Cuban, which came with prodigious pickles and was much better. Kelsey got the goat, which was quite tasty and came with rice and beans, naturally. A quartet of old men in suits with vests and hats and canes were sitting at the table next to us, talking and not eating. I got the feeling that is where these expatriates hold court each Saturday.

It was 2:30 by now, so Berck and I headed downtown to attend the International Pillow Fight Day New York City location, or tried to, but at some point the cops had decided enough people had gathered in front of Federal Hall and wouldn’t let any more people exercise their right to assemble. We walked around several blocks until we were on Broad and could see the action ahead but couldn’t go any further because of the police barriers. Some latecomers had started a secondary pillow fight near us. A Russian guy came up and told the cops that he was supposed to be up conducting an interview where they wouldn’t let us go. The cop, a huge black guy, said, “Well, good for you! But there’s no way you’re crossing this barricade.”

“But I’m a credentialed journalist,” said the Russian, “Would you like to see my credentials?”

“Sure!” said the cop. “Well, look at that. That looks mighty fine. But you’re still not crossing this barricade.”

“You’re going to stop me from doing my job?” asked the journalist.

“MY job,” answered the cop, “Is to keep people from crossing this barricade.” Berck asked him what happened to the right to assemble. “Look,” said the cop, “our job is to protect you from yourselves. If we let you all in here, you’ll end up hurting yourself, and then what are you going to do? You’re going to hurt yourselves, whine, ‘Oh, I hurt myself!’ and then sue the city. If you wouldn’t be suing the city all the time, you could assemble.”

The pillow fight was still pretty impressive, even from far away. Feathers were flying everywhere. Anyone wearing a wool coat was coated in them. In Detroit, the pillow fight never happened because the police confiscated all the pillows as people showed up, though returning their pillowcases. They were told they needed a permit to have pillows. The police spokesman said that the force was spread thin with the Final Four in town and just didn’t have the resources for the mess that would be created.

After a while, the security guards at the Federal Building had had enough and started moving people off the stairs and into the maze of barricades that the police had set up to funnel people onto the surrounding streets. A mob of pillow-carrying people made their way down Broadway, mobbing a Starbucks and then a McDonald’s before settling in City Hall Park and starting another fight.

When we’d had enough of that we headed up Broadway, then decided to walk to Pomme Frite, where we got some Belgian Fries with wasabi mayo, peanut satay, Irish curry, and curry ketchup. Then we walked over to the Living Room. It was seven, but the first band was a no show, and they kicked us out, though not before we’d taken advantage of the washroom. We walked around the block and then came back about the time the band upstairs was starting. They were quite a good Virginian folk duo. We nursed our $7 beers and then went downstairs to check out the main act. It sounded like we would have liked them, but we were both really tired. Berck led us to the nearest subway station, but the train we wanted wasn’t running in the direction we wanted. The solution for the MTA is to tell you to go to Brooklyn and then get off and go back the other way to get to Washington Heights. It took us nearly two hours to get back to the Kliz’s.

On Friday, we got to the Denver airport with just enough time to check in to our flight, only to find out that it was delayed by three hours. Berck had gone up to Denver the day before to get his badge so he can park in employee parking, but he’d left the decal in the other car (the one without the snow tires), so we had to pay for parking anyway. There are snow flurries in Denver now. At least we got to sit in first class on the way to New York. We got in way later than we’d hoped. Berck had made us reservations for 10 pm at 28 Carmine, and we got there at 9:30. We grabbed a quick drink with Liz and Kelsey, who called in sick, and then met Sydney and her classmate Erin half an hour later. The pizza was delicious as usual and as expensive. And of course they don’t take credit cards. Liz had to get up in the morning, so Kelsey took her home about midnight. The rest of us went to the Four Faces for a few pints. I like not having to be the designated driver. We left there about two, and got to the Kliz’s at I don’t know what time.

Boy, is it good to go home.