And I just have to say that the humidity here in Houston is like nothing I've ever experienced before. (Except perhaps Miami in 2006.) My hair is huge. My face looks like I've been beaten with the puberty stick. I'm sticky with sweat even in the super-air-conditioned hotel. It's ridiculous.
I sound so petulant...
Saturday, May 02, 2009
Friday, May 01, 2009
The story so far...
OK, so many things have happened since I left New York on Monday. I'll give you the highlights:
Upon landing in Houston, I went with my colleagues to the luggage carousel to pick up our bags. When my duffel came around the bend, I stepped forward to pull it off. I did so with a fair amount of force. So much so that I flew backwards onto my back on the floor. The bag landed on top of me. My left shoe came off. There were hundreds of witnesses. I am fine.
Before we left the airport, I went to take a whizz. First, I tried to go in the men's room. In my defense, there's construction going on and the signage is really poor from certain angles. Then, when it came time to flush, I destroyed the toilet. I never touch public toilets with my hands, so I reached gently with my foot to trip the sensor on the autoflush. I barely touched it. Suddenly, it was hanging by a single flimsy wire from its moorings. It did not flush. I noncholantly exited the stall, washed my hands to prevent contracting Swine Flu, and quietly left the bathroom.
On Tuesday, I was at the registration desk with the volunteers. We had to move locations in the middle of the day. I tripped on my own pants leg and went facedown on the ugly hotel carpet. The volunteers thought I was dead. I am fine.
On Wednesday, I was part of the precision dance number in the keynote session. The volunteers congratulated me on not falling off the stage.
On Thursday night I was walking back to the hotel from a reception/recital a few blocks away with two of my colleagues. We passed a little restaurant with an outdoor seating area. The maître d' called out as we walked by, "Hey, how are you guys doing tonight?" I replied, "Just fine, thanks! How're you?" Then a car raced by through a puddle and soaked me from head to toe. I was still wearing my suit and name badge, and was in full-on professional mode, so I managed not to shout, "FUCK YOU!!!!" at the car as it speed away. This repression morphed into me emitting a high-pitched squeal and jumping straight up into the air like a startled cat. I am fine. My suit, not so much.
Tonight I'm going to the opera. Maybe I'll be hit by a bus. We shall see.
Upon landing in Houston, I went with my colleagues to the luggage carousel to pick up our bags. When my duffel came around the bend, I stepped forward to pull it off. I did so with a fair amount of force. So much so that I flew backwards onto my back on the floor. The bag landed on top of me. My left shoe came off. There were hundreds of witnesses. I am fine.
Before we left the airport, I went to take a whizz. First, I tried to go in the men's room. In my defense, there's construction going on and the signage is really poor from certain angles. Then, when it came time to flush, I destroyed the toilet. I never touch public toilets with my hands, so I reached gently with my foot to trip the sensor on the autoflush. I barely touched it. Suddenly, it was hanging by a single flimsy wire from its moorings. It did not flush. I noncholantly exited the stall, washed my hands to prevent contracting Swine Flu, and quietly left the bathroom.
On Tuesday, I was at the registration desk with the volunteers. We had to move locations in the middle of the day. I tripped on my own pants leg and went facedown on the ugly hotel carpet. The volunteers thought I was dead. I am fine.
On Wednesday, I was part of the precision dance number in the keynote session. The volunteers congratulated me on not falling off the stage.
On Thursday night I was walking back to the hotel from a reception/recital a few blocks away with two of my colleagues. We passed a little restaurant with an outdoor seating area. The maître d' called out as we walked by, "Hey, how are you guys doing tonight?" I replied, "Just fine, thanks! How're you?" Then a car raced by through a puddle and soaked me from head to toe. I was still wearing my suit and name badge, and was in full-on professional mode, so I managed not to shout, "FUCK YOU!!!!" at the car as it speed away. This repression morphed into me emitting a high-pitched squeal and jumping straight up into the air like a startled cat. I am fine. My suit, not so much.
Tonight I'm going to the opera. Maybe I'll be hit by a bus. We shall see.
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