It has only been ten days.

My apologies for slacking on my blogging again. I do feel a little pressure to blog so as to avoid being labeled 'worst blogger ever'. That's a very harsh title.

I flew down to Texas last weekend. The airport always proves to be an interesting time. Watching people run through airports is always amusing. I suppose it’s funny because they never have the proper running attire on. They carry awkward things like luggage and boxes and large bars of Toblerone chocolate. Cameras are draped around their necks swinging about like a medieval mace. They run with intensity, knowing that a fate worse than death awaits them if they miss their flight: spending the night an airport. I really think they should have a running lane in the airport like they do in marathons. That way we could stand on the sidelines and cheer them on. Someone could use a luggage cart as a pace car and the rest of us could hand out gatorade.

I’d root for the guy in the Hawaiian shirt. That has always been my favorite. It’s like tropical camouflage. It would be quite useful if you ever wanted to hide yourself in a cageful of parrots. I would imagine the Hawiian army looks like a group of disgruntled tourists with flame throwers. Not surprisingly, people adorning themselves with Hawaiian wear don’t know much about fashion. Nothing else explains why they choose to wear khaki shorts and black dress shoes. Are these the only shoes they own? Maybe so. Moral of the story: if you're ever engaged with the Hawaiian army in a flock of parrots don't look for the whites of their eyes, look for the blacks of their shoes.