what you've missed since last post...

a brief disjointed stream-of-conscious barrage of what's been going on in my world since last i posted: with all the traveling i have done on my own for tatts n sundry stupidity, i had completely forgotten how great it feels to fly with my wife's head resting on my shoulder and her hand resting on my knee. nothing says "i love you" like lopping off part of your pinkie or your ear to give to the object of your affection. dashing through the hallowed and hollowed halls of learning like a crazed dostoevsky on crack. the interceptor corners like it is on rails and i can cloverleaf from 55 on one highway to 55 on the bisecting highway without ever letting the speedometer drop. mr mc if you are reading this; sorry, not everything i write can be magical gems of literary greatness. i don't wanna end on a downer so here, right in the middle: i promise not to forget, to never forget. ten years; ten years and every one of them a wonderful time and i can still remember how hot she looked in her cream dress on the back side of a dirty little park in portland, or. here's to ten more, followed by ten more, followed by ten more, followed by... silly hats with jdot rdot in vegas after some fifteen years of not hanging out. it's all about the onion at the bottom of the glass. sneaking out in the middle of the night to skinny dip under the full south carolina moon in full view of any neighbors who cared to look. turbulence can be fun. i am already semi-putting together another magnum crappus that will be made up of posts about pierce county and traveling back to pierce county; unfortunately for you, the beloved non-existent readers, it will be almost completely compiled of posts from this dirty little grease-spot on the world wide web. my wife's friends c&k who are cool as hell and hope to see you again in a few months. still no word on when The Unfinished Work will be available, though i have been assured there has been a rush put on it (yeah, yeah, i aint buying it either). "are the hookers there yet?"

what happens in vegas,

stays in vegas

so i can't tell you a damn thing!

hahahaha just kidding. some observations from vegas that hopefully will help you piece together my weekend:

lately it seems when i fly that pilots take off and land like the terrorists are right there on the tarmac chasing them. i actually put my hand up on the seat in front of me upon landing in vegas cause i thought i was gonna bounce my head off of it.

sit at baggage claim in vegas for any length of time, and you will see more fake plastic hotties than you could ever imagine. at the same moment you are scorning them in your head for clearly being "high maintenance" you will simultaneously be a little turned on.

if you buy a bukowski book at the start of your layover and finish it before you board the plane, that layover is too long. (i have to say, as an aside, i am just not sure what all the raving about bukowski is. i think burroughs is better. i will have to read one or two more to give him a fair chance.)

should you worry if the announcer says "the flight will be delayed another hour because it was struck by lightning on the way here and we have to check the plane out."? nah, life's too short.

i have decided that vodka gives me a really nasty headache in the morning (or early afternoon actually).

if you are going to take several cabs and shuttles while in vegas, just quit being a tight git and drop the guita on a rental car. i figured it out, and i spent about half of my budget nearly on shuttles and taxis. i had a shuttle driver from the eastern bloc, a shuttle driver from the dominican republic, two taxi drivers from africa, and a latino from the bay area.

i am not a fan of the flashing lights and loud noises in vegas. not a big fan of gambling, either. i know, i know, "what the fuck were you doing there then, darth?"

that's easy, drinking with friends.

vegas is open 24/7, but if you walk through the casino of your hotel at about 4 am, you will see the very flotsam and jetsam of humanity.

meeting friends at baggage claim sucks ass. i miss the days when one could stand near the gate into which one's friend was going to fly. it was easy, simple, you found your friend rapidly, and you could hug and whatever else without getting jostled or having to keep one eye out for your luggage. ("i think i see you. what are you wearing?" "a blue dickies work shirt." "oh, it's not you then. do you see me?")

flying hungover is not much fun.

posting about your trip to vegas whilst still feeling the aftereffects of too much alcohol and too little sleep is much harder than you would think.

prop job planes (i think the proper term is "commuter flight") were designed by the devil in a special room in hell. you bounce, pitch, and drop suddenly less on a rollercoaster.

puking in your friend's hotel room toilet whilst the party rages around you on your last night in town in your hottest dressy duds is easily the most singularly solitary experience, ever.

getting the texts back from your friends, "glad you are home safe. definitely good fun. we were worried you would miss your plane." is wonderful.

seeing your smiling kids, and lovely wife after a debauchery-filled weekend and a hungover flight is the most beautiful and special thing in the entire universe.