Friday, October 03, 2003  

Logan Airport - 8:10 am

First leg of my journey to Colorado for gramma Mac's funeral. I'm sitting at a public internet kiosk in Terminal E at Logan, and I find myself trying to wrangle two conflicting impulses. One should be obvious: I want to document this trip, give it some gravity, make sure I remember it. But I find this impulse to be in direct opposition to the fact that most anyone reading this is doing so out of an interest in my comedy, and I'm having a hard time reconciling the two, so I'm sitting here, praying for some wacky occurrence so I can slap it up here instead of waxing maudlin.

Please, god, a rude security guard or stupid fat woman to make fun of! But alas, no such luck. The only interesting thing I've seen today is a man in a gold lame sweatsuit and completely dripping with Bling², which baffled me until I remembered that this leg of my journey goes to Detroit, so it makes sense that he's dressed more or less like a Pip. I now have an image of Detroit where everyone dresses like a motown backup band, where everyone's a Pip, or a Shirrelle, or a Rondell. A Detroit where these have become medieval family names...where Charles Rondell might marry Susan Shirelle and found a new dynasty.

Now I'm just babbling because I'm trying to avoid the sorrow of tomorrow and because I'm hopped on airport coffee brewed so strong it tastes like liquid evil (or, to be more accurate, liquid evil with 2 Equals and milk) and a chromium breakfast drink that tastes like a peanut butter cup.

Gramma Mac, of course, drank enough coffee that this is probably an appropriate way to approach her funeral. Jacked on java, and waiting for the tears to come.