God's country

That's what I like to call any area that specializes in cheese. We were in Vermont last weekend for a friend's wedding and they are nearly as proud of their cheese as California is. Of course, we all know whose is supreme.

It was weird, though, to be in lefty-land where there was nary a pickup truck bearing a yellow "support our troops" sticker to be seen. And for once, I'm pretty sure that The Texan and I weren't the most liberal people in the room.

We spent all of our time in Burlington's environs. Hard for some to believe - okay, maybe this is my lack of geographical knowledge of New England asserting itself - but the southern tip of the state is maybe three hours away from Burlington. How can such a small state take so long to drive through?

Anyways, we managed to avoid the call of the Vermont Teddy Bear Company, but you can be damn well sure that we loaded up on a vat of maple syrup. Of course, we bought it, and then thought, huh. How are we going to get it home? Seeing as it was well over the airlines' three-ounce carry-on limit and all. I had the cashier weigh it and since it was six pounds, we figured we'd take our chances with stuffing it in the suitcase. I have packed many liquids in my suitcase throughout my travels, but none quite so potentially catastrophic as a half gallon of syrup. I am happy to report that all arrived in SA intact.

Unclear on the concept

Last night while dining out at a steakhouse, The Texan took advantage of a break between courses to nip outside for a quick smoke. I'm used to that and, as is my norm, I entertained myself by eavesdropping on the table nearby. It was a middle-aged couple and their tweenage daughter, and the couple was clearly sharing a HIGH-larious story. So I listened in....to discover that they were telling their daughter about a time where they were involved in a hostage situation where someone broke into their home and stuck a gun in the father's ribs.

Not what I normally would call a knee-slapper of a story, but they all seemed to enjoy laughing about it. Maybe it's all part of the healing process?

Perhaps we need to get out more

I have reconciled the cat with wearing a bandanna. There is NOTHING cuter than a cat wearing a bandanna that's all askew. Nothing cuter...or what is the word I'm looking forward? Oh, that's right: nothing more undignified. Poor kitty. I tried to get him to wear one a couple of years ago but he would have none of it. I guess we've either broken his spirit or he's seen the dog wearing one and thinks it's okay.

As for the dog, The Texan was cleaning out one of his drawers and found one of those promotional items you get at bars. This was a necklace with a martini glass that lit up, with various settings (from slowly blinking to setting off epileptics). So we made him a party pup and turned it on last night. Hours of entertainment, I tell you.

Where did Hello Kitty go wrong?

I gotta wonder, what happened to Hello Kitty's branding that they allowed this - http://gizmodo.com/search/animal-abuse%20japans-hello-kitty-cat-humiliation-system-282872.php - to happen? And how can I purchase one for Shrapnel? Cats LOVE wearing costumes. It'll come just in time for Halloween!

And in a related story, have you read about how the Bangkok, Thailand, police department is making its police force wear pink Hello Kitty armbands of shame (http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/07/world/asia/07cnd-thai.html?ex=1344139200&en=ddb02700f11dedb4&ei=5088&)? The thinking is that the macho macho police officers will stop misbehaving if they know that they're going to be slapped with a girly armband that will broadcast their shame. I'd swear that this is an urban legend but I've seen pictures of such an item.

I was telling my sister, Dustbunny, about this last night, and she told me that now whenever she hears anything Hello Kitty-related, she thinks of me. As a fully mature, functioning adult, I must say that that statement makes me proud.

San Antonio's Solid Waste Division, you win this round

I don't want to sound paranoid, but our trash collectors have been playing fuck-around with our minds. And we're losing.

To whit: they come every Tuesday and Friday, which you can plan on. What you can't bank on is when, exactly, they will come. They used to always come in the afternoons; then they switched to mornings; then they switched to early mornings; now who the hell knows.

All I know is that if we haven't taken the trash out the night before the trash pick-up is due, it is a guarantee that the trash guys will come at the crack of dawn, and by the time I get up, they will have by-passed our place yet again. If, however, we put out our trash the night before, the trash doesn't get picked up until late in the afternoon.

I can see you thinking, god, there's an obvious solution to this, Her Ladyship - just put the trash out the night before and stop leaving it to chance. Well, if we were more organized, we just might do this. But things happen, ours is an imperfect world, and sometimes you just can't get your act together in time.

Anyways, I've got bigger fish to fry: one of our lovely neighbors ran over our recycling bin and cracked it down the middle, so I've got to spend all my spare energy trying to get the city of San Antonio to bring us a new bin. Pick your battles, I say.

Take this airplane and...

The Washington Post had a frustrating article today about how air travel's getting worse and worse these days (http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/07/31/AR2007073102212.html). That is for goddamn sure. I can think of no other service where you're so grateful that you finally get what you paid for. The airlines can bitch all they want - I have zero sympathy for them, given the terrible products that they are producing.

For example. This summer, besides flying at night without a seatlight (reason the flight attendant gave me when I asked why they couldn't leave the cabin lights on? In case of a crash, you want your eyes to be adjusted to the dark. The guy next to me piped up with the obvious question: If we crash, aren't maladjusted eyes going to be the least of our concerns?), I have had to deal with delay after delay after delay.

When The Texan and I were coming back from Brussels in June, our flight left two hours late, even though it was the first flight of the day, because the plane had gotten stuck in NJ due to weather. When we finally get on the plane, we discover that none of the in-flight entertainment is working. Keep in mind that's what the airlines promote as for what they offer to all customers, not just the business class types. They finally start a movie in the main cabin - "Zodiac" - and then stop it about halfway through, for no good reason. Throughout the entire flight, a three-year-old is screaming and throwing fits. The entire. seven. hours. She stopped when we landed in Newark. As we filed past her seat, she was sitting there, asleep. I really had to work hard to stop myself from whacking her chair as I went past it.

Thanks to the delay, when we land in Newark, our previous three-hour layover has been shaved to an hour, which is really tight when you have to go through customs, pick up your bag, recheck it and then go back through security. We get on our plane to come to SA and guess who's on it? The screaming three-year-old, refreshed from her nap and ready to yell again.

And that was one of my better trips.

I have three flights scheduled for this month. I'm crossing my fingers that they're uneventful.