Written yesterday:
The taxi driver who took me to the airport today morning apparently did not believe in air conditioning, because we drove the entire trip with the windows wide open. All that hairspray for naught. Even Rave hairspray, the glue that made those freakishly lacquered 80s hairstyles stay in place in the heat of Studio 54, wouldn’t have stood up to this. The driver also insisted on listening to a radio station that instructed me about the scriptures. The minister railed on about materialism and how he was approached to make an investment and refused because he doesn’t want to clutter up his life with money. He did, however, quickly clarify that he didn’t mean to discourage all his listeners from giving him their money to keep his ministry afloat. Strange how those double standards work.

Today I fly from Orlando to Charlotte to Savannah, and then take a van to Hilton Head. The trip, from the time I left my hotel room, will take about 9 hours. I could have driven from Orlando to Hilton Head in under 6 hours and called the travel agent to change my tickets to remove this leg of my flight. Because the trip would have to have been entirely re-ticketed to accommodate this change, it would have ended up costing me over $250 in airline penalties plus the cost of the rental car. Being the good corporate citizen that I am, I stuck with the original plan.

When you eavesdrop on a conversation, but can only hear every few words or sentences, you end up with thoughts that sound rather like those your brain would find sensible in a dream: “Don’t read too much fiction. The gypsies will come to chase you.” This was stated by two women sitting next to me on the first plane of the day – there wasn’t much of a pause between the two statements, and I cannot for the life of me imagine what would have come between them.

Watching the weather scroll by on a screen in the Orlando airport is like the weather channel on The Truman Show – 82 and partly sunny every day. I was in some city, which one I cannot recall, in which they played music before the baggage came tumbling down the conveyer belt, rather than blasting a siren. They also had light sculptures on the walls around the baggage claim area, instead of signs warning you of the consequences of taking the wrong bag.

Overheard in the Charlotte airport:
Woman of a certain age #1: “Well, do you want a Keepsake, an Experience, a Trip, or what?” [capitalization added for dramatic effect]
Woman of a certain age (plus maybe 5 years) #2: “I was thinking of a Keepsake, something that could be passed down. Maybe a signet ring with the family crest and engraved with his graduation date.”
He’ll never know what he missed, will he? He’ll have that damn signet ring for years and years, always feeling compelled to wear it around his family, even though he hates jewelry and doesn’t even wear a watch. He’ll never realize that he could have had the Experience of his life, involving accordions, loose women, and dancing bears.

Books: Love Me, by Garrison Keillor. Just finished this. Wonderful writing, silly story line about the New Yorker, the guy gets to have sex with lots of different women and still come home to his wife. Someday I will write the story in which the woman is the one who gets to do the philandering and is allowed to return to her husband, who waits patiently by the home fires for her.