Tuesday, October 29, 2002

3:30 a.m. and all is...Well?

Ugh. I had a nightmare at 2 a.m. and now I am wide awake like Grandfather Clock used to be on Captain Kangaroo.
I am not wide enough awake to be witty or coherent, so if stream of consciousness puts you off, run for the nearest exit.
Speaking of Captain Kangaroo, I have some really nice green jeans from Eddie Bauer, but every time I wear them I am reminded of Mr. Greenjeans. You may recall him as the geezer/hayseed hybrid who played second banana to Captain Kangaroo. He wore overalls, not jeans, but I guess Mr. Overalls sounded too Jewish for those days.

I read tonight that some lunatic nursing student killed three of his professors, then himself at the University of Arizona. One more glowing example of how great concealed weapon permits are. Oh well, at least he saved the taxpayers money by executing himself, the creep.

Speaking of bad medicine, I got the results of some bloodwork I had done at my stupid new doctor's request. Her handwriting was so bad, I couldn't decipher what she was saying beyond asking me to make a follow up appointment.
Instead of scheduling another appointment, I called her service and asked that she 'splain her scribblings to me. The nice thing about being in my late 40's is I can lecture whippersnappers like her about scaring the shit out of people with indecipherable lab results.

My trip to Montreal is coming up in nine days and I am essentially jacketless, living here in Sauna Antonio. I have been perseverating about the cold weather up there (40's) but we are going to the Roots store on Friday, and I figured that would be a great place to find a jacket. At Canadian money rates, I can probably get one for $15 USD.
Actually, if I just stopped taking hormones for a few days prior, I'd be hot enough to go sleeveless, so that's an option, too.

When I returned from New England a few weeks ago, I was searched not once but twice at the Hartford airport. I think airport security guards are like crows, attracted to anything bright or shiny. I was wearing my red shoes and I think it triggered some barely dormant hunting instincts in them.

No red shoes on this trip. I'm planning to blend in with the crowd, dress like a slouch and not make eye contact with those security gibbons.
Aviva asked when airlines stopped serving meals on long flights. That's what I'd like to know. In the air for nearly six hours and they'll hand out a three ounce cup of apple juice, two cookies the size of a nail file and a bag of pretzels the size of a matchbook.
If you pack a decent lunch, it never fails, there's a fucking kid eyeing you and expecting a handout. Hannibal Lector had the right idea, pack some brains in Tupperware for the kiddies to nibble on.
On that note, I think I will retry sleeping and try to dream about Stockard Channing.

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