I was involved in a discussion at work last week about terminology. The discussion was ironic, because I was already planning a post on the topic, and had started lining up my thoughts about it when I walked into the discussion. Interestingly, the discussion went along the same lines as my train of thought, so I knew my stance on the issue was probably right in line with public opinion.

I am a geek.

By that, I do not mean the classical definition of a circus performer who bites heads off of animals. Yuck. Instead, I fall in with the modern understanding of a geek as one who is into technology to a great degree - i.e., a "computer geek." I proudly wear the label (sorry to shatter some of your dreams), because to try to fight it would just be silly. But that also got me thinking - what is the accepted understanding of what a geek actually is, since the circus is not as prominent in our culture these days?

I did a little digging around. Both dictionary.com and websters-online-dictionary.org (which I'm liking more and more the more I use it (could I possibly use that word more in a sentence?)) describe a geek as with highly-developed technical or scientific skills but lacking in the social graces, which seems in contradiction with my understanding of the term. Conversely, both sites do indicate that the term nerd is less flattering than geek but has the same technical or knowledge basis.

Hence the discussion at work - what's the difference between a geek and a nerd?

After much deliberation, we came to this conclusion. In today's society, and by that I mean 2004, the terms can be used thusly: a geek and a nerd are both brilliant individuals who have an enviable scientific or technical background, but whereas a nerd is usually a social outcast or misfit, a geek is not only comfortable in social situations, he or she is actually welcomed in public gatherings. Geeks will understand that there is a time and place to discuss the merits of Star Trek or The Matrix and, more importantly, when is the wrong time to enter into a discussion into said topics. Nerds generally try to make an impression or get a conversation rolling by introducting the topics unprompted.

Apparently, though, I am dangerously close to being a nerd, according to this discussion group. Two items land me very close to this classification. One is the fact that I attempted to learn Klingon a few years ago (I may have been saved by the fact that my wife was trying to learn it along with me). The other stems from an incident when I was becoming a physics nerd, the one night where the instructors in the UNT Astronomy Lab spent about 30 minutes devising a formula to calculate the number of licks it takes to get to the Toostie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop.

Ultimately, my excellent social graces saved me from such a fate. I may be one of those rare individuals who is dangerously close to being a nerd, yet falls just short of the dividing line.

Of course, what does it mean that I willingly partook in a discussion of the difference between a geek and a nerd? Hmm. Well, is there a better place to have that discussion than at Micro$oft?

Our Boys beat the Yankess for the second straight game yesterday afternoon. It was a thrilling victory for a number of reasons. First, I loathe the Yankees, so any team that beats them is A-OK in my book. Second, they pulled off a come-from-behind win on national TV, so Yankee fans worldwide got to witness the boys do the hometown croud proud. Third, the enthusiasm they displayed after Rod Barajas hit the game-winning home run was infectious. For the first time in I don't know when, I saw the entire team meet the game winning hitter at the plate after he rounded the bases. They reacted as though they had just won the World Series.

The team from last year, who I saw exactly once over the season in our traditional Opening Day visit, didn't have that kind of enthusiasm. In fact, when they got behind in the game like what happened yesterday, they pretty much gave up. Not this year. We've already beaten the Hated Yankees twice, and could sweep today, we swept the then-best team in the Majors Red Sox, we came from a 10-run defecit to win in extra innings, and we had the best record in the Majors for a few days.

I love these guys!

Back when I was a system administrator for a Novell shop (yes, there is life outside of Microsoft), I looked forward to one big event every year: Networld. The largest computer networking tradeshow of the time would roll through Dallas anually, and I can't tell you how excited I was the first time I got a chance to go. I was much younger then, and much more easily impressed with glitz and glitter than I am now. Even today, though, I expect that I would still anxiously await the return of Networld, were it still a travelling showcase.

The first year I went, I just spent a day at the show browsing the exhibits. My employer couldn't afford to send more than one from our team to the seminars, so my boss went to those. The rest of us got to spend one day each at the exhibits, just not at the same time. Limited coverage, you understand. So head into the Dallas Convention Center, and I gaze at the spectacle in awe. This was the big time, and I was there.

Never having been to a trade show before, I was unfamiliar with the concept of the "booth bimbo." I'm sure this tactic is used at many trade shows for many industries, but there's just something unnatural with seeing attractive, scantily-clad young women pushing product materials into the hands of computer geeks with no social skills (excluding your truly, of course). It just seemed so unfair.

Anyway, I pretty quickly realized what was going on after attempting to speak details of the products with several ladies who were manning the booths. Their job was to get the product materials in my hands after attracting my attention to the booth. If I wanted to know real information, I had to wait to talk to one of the nerds, or call the number on the brochure to talk to a bona-fide sales person. This was before Al Gore invented the internet, so we couldn't just go online to find out about the product - we actually had to talk to people to get information.

How quickly I became jaded with the entire sham. Here I thought I would be able to learn important information about upcoming product that we might use in our shop, and all I was getting was on glossy print. Just before lunch, even though I had not even been through half of the exhibits, I was ready to throw in the towel and head back home, maybe even back to work.

That's when I bumped into her. I won't mention the vendor she worked for, because they are a reputable local company I've done business with a number of times, but as I was passing their booth, she caught my eye. She was attractive, but not overly so. She didn't come across as fake, as many of the other booth bimbos did. In fact, she seemed to be about my age. As I was going to get info from this vendor anyway, I decided to talk with her.

No, she didn't give me a great deal of information about the product, but by this time I wasn't expecting it. She did, however, ask where I worked, and when I mentioned that I worked for the University, her eyes lit up. She proudly exclaimed that she was a student in the school of music at the University, and she was excited to meet someone else from the school at the show. From there, we delved into a 30-minute conversation abotu the classes we had taken at the school, how I was also a part-time student in the music program, and what our favorite eating places were around campus. Our conversation would have lasted longer, perhaps, had the resident booth nerd not made a point of asking me if I had any questions about the product, obviously trying to free her up to attract more visitors. I asked him a few trivial questions about the product, I was already very familiar with it, and then went on my way.

My spirits were completely different after my conversation with her. For a few minutes, I sort of floated aimlessly around the booths, not really seeing any of the banners or product offerings. In fact, the thoughts that were running through my mind were like those of most men in their early 20's: man, she was HOT! I wasn't seeing anyone at the time (who am I kidding - I hadn't been on a date in two years) and I thought, why not? Go back and ask for her number. You've already had an introductory conversation, she didn't immediately try to terminate the discussion, you've got a lot in common since she's a student too... so the synapses were firing in my brain.

Trying not to look too desperate, I waited about 20 minutes, wandering the area near her booth before I went back to talk with her again and get her number. As I headed back into the booth entrance, she was going through her prepared speech about the product and offered some literature to a person who was clearly not interseted in the product. After a moment, he went away, and I made my move. I walked straight towards her to get her attention. When she noticed I was heading her way, she turned to face me. A smile spread across her face. I got into close speaking range, and she spoke.

"Hi! Can I offer you some information about our product?"

I mumbled something about already being a customer and turned and left. There wasn't even a glimmer of recognition in her eyes. We had shared a half hour conversation about common interests not 20 minutes earlier, and she didn't know me from Adam's house cat. Wow.

I spent the remainder of the day wandering through the trade show in a different kind of daze. I never told my boss, but they money they paid me to go to the show that year was a complete waste. I didn't even come away with the helium-filled remote-control blimp that HP was giving away for sitting through their presentation. I certinaly didn't come away with anyone's phone number.

For the next several years that I worked on campus, I kept an eye out for her, but never saw her again. I guess I learned a life lesson that day. I just have no idea what it was.

I've been thinking a lot lately about words, specifically the word "Leukotreines." Ironically, I remember the word and it's odd pronunciation from a series of TV ads, but I couldn't tell you for the life of me what product specifically points out that they block Leukotreines.

But what I really want to know is who made up that word? And don't try to tell me it's not a made-up word. I mean, come on. There's at least one extra 'e' in there that's completely unnecessary. Who decided that there needed to be that extra 'e' between the 'n' and the 's' at the end of the word? Heck, who decided that we needed that word at all?

A scientist, that's who. They have all the fun. They get to name things they discover. Discover a new element, make up a name for it. Einsteinium comes to mind. Sure, it's named after a famous physicist, but it's a made-up word nonetheless.

Actually, scientists don't do the greatest job of making up words for things. Take Berkelium and Californium, the two elements that appear before Einsteinium. OK, so the elements were created/discovered at Berkeley and in California, but good grief. Did they really think that the world might forget Berkeley and California in the next millennium? Of course, this is from the same group of people who gave us quark, strangeness, and charm to describe sub-electron behaviors. [Ed. Note: "Quark, Strangeness, and Charm" is not just a physics reference, either.]

Weird words are not just limited to the realm of science. What brainchild gave us "dingleberry"? [Ed. Note: Webster's also has an interesting presentation of dingleberry.] And where on earth did antidisestablishmentarianism come from?

Pop culture has unfortunately had its own impact on new words. I'm talking about terms like emoticon, Dilbertism, biobreak, and so on. Oh, and "go" or "went." We used to know those words in terms of travel ("Shall we go to the park?" and "I went to the store."). At some point those words became synonymous with bodily functions ("Man, I really gotta go!" and "The dog went all over the carpet."). But they've morphed into words meaning communication, as in speaking. Take a look at this transcript from a phone call I recorded between two teenage girls recently:

Girl A: "So how did the fight start?"
Girl B: "I found him swapping spit with this other girl, and I went 'What do you think you're doing?' And he goes 'Hey, you wanted to see other people.' And I went 'Well I don't want to see you seeing other people.' And he goes 'Then don't look.'"
Girl A: "So then what happened?"
Girl B: "I kicked him so hard he went in his pants."

Speaking of talking, what the hell has happened to the word "like"? When describing a conversation, we can't use words like "He said, she said" any more? Let's take another look at the rest of that transcribed phone call:

Girl A: "Omigawd! What did he do then?"
Girl B: "He was like 'You stupid #@$&!' and I was like 'You can't call me a #@$&! when you're the one playing tonsil hockey' and he was like 'Wait until I get my hands on you' and then a teacher came up and went 'What the hell is going on here' and everyone was like 'Umm, nothing' so she goes 'Somebody better start talking or you're all in trouble.'"
Girl A: "I'm like, wow, stunned! I can't believe it!"
Girl B: "Yeah, me too. So I went home and called <name removed to protect privacy> and she was like 'Did you hear what happened at school today?' and I was like 'Yeah, I was there' and she was like 'He came over and told me all about it and then went to see <name removed to protect privacy> and she called me and was like 'Did you hear about the fight so-and-so and you-know who had?' and I was like 'Ohmigawd can you believe he was just here?' and then you called and you're all like in a huff about it' and I was like 'Bitch!' and hung up on her."
Girl A: "Like unreal..."

The ultimate in made-up-ness has to be Esperanto, a fabricated language. As if English wasn't bad enough, someone decided to build an entire language based on arbitrary, "logical" rules, that would be easy to learn and understand. It's been such a big success, too. I don't know about you, but my bookshelves are filled with titles in Esperanto. No, really.

So I've decided that I want to leave my mark on the Engrish language by making up my own word. I have to give it a lot of thought, though, because I want it to be one of those words that has a meaning for all of humankind. The word I invent must not be trivial, must not be pidgeonholed into a particular field of study (such as computer science, or physics, or music theory, or construction), and must not be trendy. I don't want my word to be lumped in with minizzle or yadda yadda.

Perhaps I should include an alternate phonetic source for my word, too. You know, as in ghoti is really pronounced "fish" ("gh" as in "cough", "o" as in "women", and "ti" as in "nation"). While I maintain that "gholo" can be pronounced "fur" ("gh" as in "cough" and "olo" as in "colonel"), I don't want to create a gimmiky word that's gimmiky for the sake of being gimmiky. [Ed. Note: Is "gimmiky" a word?] But perhaps that would cheapen my word and as a result make it trendy and short lived.

I also don't want to make my word confusing. I've run across way too many words that we just take for granted, but when you actually look at the way they are used, they don't make any sense. For instance, why do you drive on a parkway and park on a driveway? Why do you have a pair of pants but just one bra?

No, my word will not fall into any of these traps. It will rise above the miscellany and tripe of the Engrish language. It will not be Spanglish. It will not be considered part of ebonics. And when you see my word in print, you will know that I made it. It will be unmistakably mine.

What? You expect me to tell you what my word is here in this blog post? So sorry, dear reader, but my word is much too important to introduce to the world in this humble setting. No, I am currently tending offers from major print publications who are clamoring for the rights to introduce my word to the world. And as part of the non-disclosure agreement I've signed with many of them, I will be unable to even publicly admit that I created the word that will change the world. But I will rest easy at night knowing that the word was mine and, for a brief moment, so was the world.

The paycheck won't be bad, either.

We had a blast at Taste Addison on Sunday. The absolute best food deal, by far, was from The Magic Time Machine. The were offering the mini-Orgy, which included a smoked turkey leg, a slab of beef briscuit, half an ear of corn, and fruit salad, for $5! Compare that to the two tacos I got from Herrera's for $6 (they were quite good!) and the nachos that Anna got from Enchilada's for $3, and you get the idea. Plus, we had a real bonus. Not only was Captain Jack on the premises, but so was Legolas. You may recall from my birthday party at the Magic Time Machine that I took a picture of Anna and our friend Sharon with Captain Jack. Well, I couldn't pass up the chance to take another, so here it is:


Note the standup photo of Captain Jack in the background. It's like getting two for one!

Since I've posted one picture in this entry, why not a couple of others? These are from Mother's Day lunch in Buffalo Gap. The first one is a group shot of all the kids and grandkids. The second is of my niece and nephew. Thank goodness they get along so well!

Have you ever been stuck thinking "Man, I wish I had a witty repartee" after being stung by another's derisive comment? Fear not, mere mortal, for the Ship of Fools brings you the Biblical Curse Generator.

Actually, I spent quite a bit of time at the site before I stumbled on the Biblical Curse Generator, and while that is the link that gets the focus of this post, I must admit that I was quite intrigued by the site in general. While I may not necessarily agree with some of the items I ran across at the site, I definitely found most of the content more in line with my way of thinking than not. It's actually inspired me to take a good hard look at my own theology like nothing else has in years.

I won't go into more detail than that. I'll let you look and decide for yourself...

Yeah, I know it's been a while since I've posted anything, so here's a quick recap of the week:

1. Had a lovely time at Mother's Day lunch in Buffalo Gap last week. The drive there and back wasn't too bad, either.
2. Work has been insane, and not just because of the Sasser worm, although it's definitely had an impact on the job. Anyway, very little "free" time around the office.
3. I've been spending quite a bit of time in the studio. You'll see (well, hear) some of the results this coming Monday in Musical Mondays.
4. Hey, it's baseball season, and the home team is actually worth rooting for this year. So, unlike the last two seasons, I'm watching every game I can when it's on. Which means that I'm getting way behind on the rest of my TV schedule.

So, what gives when there's that much going on? You guessed it, posting to the Continuum. I'll try to be better, I promise. Just don't hold my hand to the flame.

So I should probably write something sentimental and mushy today, saying how much I appreciate all my mother has done for me. Not to say that I don't appreciate everything she did while I was in my formative years, because I do. But a post like that just wouldn't accurately reflect what this day means to me. Not Mother's Day in general, but May 9, 2004, specifically.

Because we're going to Buffalo Gap.

Yessir, we're taking Mom for lunch at The Perini Ranch Steakhouse in Buffalo Gap, Texas. Everyone involved is making at least a three hour drive from different starting locations to meet at the steakhouse at noon so we can make our 12:30 reservations.

This is how special today is. We're not meeting at Zentner's Daughter Steakhouse in San Angelo. Nor are we going to the Sandwich Shoppe in Seymour, Texas. We're even passing on the Towne Crier Steakhouse in Abilene, Texas.

Yessir, my step-sister is due to arrive in a few minutes so she can ride with my wife and I, my brother and his new wife and step-daughter will be leaving their place shortly, and if my other step-sister is making her way down from Dimmitt, Texas, she's already on her way. And presumably my mother and step-father will be on the road soon, if not already.

So I'd better stop writing so I can get my wife out of bed and figure out what music we're going to listen to on my iPod while we're in the truck for 6+ hours today. Hopefully the food will be good...

Anyone who knows me halfway well knows of my two greatest fears: children and flying. Chocolate runs a close third, but it's silly to say that you're afraid of food. My fear of children, AKA Pedophobia, is something I've had all my life, but my fear of flying, AKA Pteromerhanophobia, is something that has worsened with age. I'm sure it's related to my fear of heights, AKA Hyposophobia, but the bottom line is that I hate getting on airplanes.

In the spring of 1992, I had a short vacation planned with a friend from work, Marc. We were both planning on visiting Houston and seeing friends for a few days, so we decided to carpool from Denton to save gas. The day before we were supposed to leave, I got a call that my grandfather, who had been in very pool health following a stroke, had passed away. Instead of packing to drive to Houston, I had to pack to go to the funeral. I worked out plans so that I would fly to Lubbock, attend the funeral, then fly to Houston, and spend the remainder of the week with my friends down there, catching a ride back with Marc. As it turns out, Marc also agreed to take me to the airport so that I wouldn't have to leave my car in long term parking.

We arrived at the Delta gate about an hour and a half before flight time (this was in the days before heavy airport security), so Marc sat at the gate with me for a bit chatting before he headed back to Denton. I had already acquired my boarding pass, so the gate attendants already knew who I was. I had mentioned that I was making the trip for my grandfather's funeral, and she offered her condolences. Despite that friendly chat, my flight anxiety was already starting to grow.

That's when the middle school Washington DC field trip descended on the gate. 60+ early teens, fresh off a flight from DC, were taking my flight to Lubbock as well. Anxiety turned to dread and became a boulder lodged in my stomach. After the kids and their sponsors checked in, which took some time as you might understand, I hesitantly returned to the gate attendant asking if my seat was anywhere near where the kids were sitting. As she checked the seat assignments, she gave me a sideways glance, not sure what to make of me. When she explained that my seat was smack dab in the middle of the group of students, she must have noticed all the color drain from my face, as she quickly offered to move my seat. I apparently didn't need to explain my fear of children and flying, as while I was explaining this, she just nodded her head absently and reprinted my boarding pass. Before I left the counter, I stole a quick glance at my new pass and guessed my new seat was on the last row of the plane, because I didn't know row numbers went that high.

When they called for boarding on the plane, I remained seated in the gate area. Surprisingly, it only took about 5 minutes to get the gaggle of kids checked in and on the plane. There were a few other passengers, but it looked as though the flight was not full, and given that my first seat assignment was in one of the single-digit rows, I hoped there would be a large gap of empty seats between me and the urchins. I sat through the next two boarding calls, only leaving my seat when the gate attendant informed me that they were ready to depart. Grudgingly, I stood and headed toward the gate.

I made my way past the hyperactive rugrats fairly quickly as they were already strapped into their seats when I crossed the threshold onto the plane. Sure enough, my seat was on the last row, and there were at least 15 empty rows of seats between me and the next closest passenger. I could have kissed that gate attendant if she had come on the plane. This wasn't going to be as horrible a trip as I had thought it might when I first heard the approaching din of the little ones. I leaned back in my aisle seat after closing the window screen and took a deep breath, preparing myself for takeoff.

That's when the gate attendant passed me on her way to the galley in the rear of the plane. She wasn't just the gate attendant, she was actually a flight attendant who was working this leg of the journey! I felt the strangest sensation as my heart simultaneously leapt to my throat and sank to my feet. I had revealed my two biggest fears to this woman while I begged her to change my seat location, and now she was going to be traveling with me, getting to witness first-hand what a horrible flier I am. This was made even worse since I was desperately single at the time, and she was close to my age and attractive. I somehow knew up front that she was going to try to talk with me during the flight and ease my fears or try to make my trip more comfortable, which made me feel even worse. On the other hand, she had given me a seat right next to her station when there were dozens of other seats she could have stuck me in, so maybe she was desperately single, too.

Sure enough, just after the flight took off (one of the worst feelings I know), I had to force myself to start breathing again. Moments later, there she was, standing next to me asking if I needed anything. Still shaking off the terror, I shook my head and mumbled "No, thanks." and she went on about her attendant duties. About ten minutes into the 45 minute jaunt, I was breathing normally again and I'm sure most of the color had returned to my face. There were two other attendants working the flight, and they were busy dealing with the middle schoolers who, in their defense, weren't all that bad. This being their last hour of flight in a long day of airplane trips, they were understandably tired, and had settled down quickly. My own personal flight attendant returned to the rear of the plane after confirming that her assistance was not needed with the younguns and turned her attention to her charge - me. She gave me a soft drink and then sat down and talked with me the rest of the flight. As it turns out, she didn't normally take this route - her crew was based out of Atlanta, so they flew to DFW regularly, but an extra crew was needed to take this route to Lubbock, and the captain volunteered his crew, because they all wanted the extra miles. I explained to her that she might have reconsidered if she knew what Lubbock was really liked, and she laughed, explaining that she never really got to see the places she flew to, just their airports, and only small portions of those. I had a really nice talk with her, and she made me feel very much at ease during the rest of the flight, because she was genuinely happy to have someone to talk to. Really talk to, not just the superficial nonsense that apparently made up most of her days.

As the 707 taxied to the terminal, she reasserted her condolences over the loss of my grandfather and said she hoped my flight was enjoyable. I replied, very honestly, that it was, thanks to her, and I think I saw her flush slightly under her long blonde locks. I wished her a good stay in Lubbock and advised her on places to avoid that others might tell her she needed to see. She thanked me, I thanked her, and I got the hell off the plane.

The next day was very busy, as I had to go and get a new suit to wear to the funeral. I was a starving college student at the time, and barely had enough pants and t-shirts to make it a week without having to do laundry. The funeral was at noon, and my flight out was at 2:30, so we were even rushed at the funeral. In retrospect, I wish I had made plans for a later flight out, so I could have stayed longer with family and friends whom I hadn't seen in years. But as my flight to Houston consisted of three legs (Lubbock to Amarillo, Amarillo to DFW, DFW to Houston) I had to take that flight.

I was dropped off at the airport and made my way to the gate, again getting that familiar tension in my stomach. This flight was fuller than the night before, but there were no large groups of children. As I was somewhat late getting to the terminal, my seat assignment had me on the back row of the plane, again in the aisle seat. I was surprised to see so many people on a flight to Amarillo, but I guessed that most of them would be like me, on their way to Dallas or other later destinations.

When the call for boarding came, I got in line, and was surprise to see the flight crew making their way to the plane. Not just any flight crew, either. The crew I had flown in with last night. Sure enough, my personal flight attendant was among them. My spirits lifted as I boarded the plane, took my seat, and saw the flash of recognition on her face as she made her final pass down the aisle to the rear galley. She smiled and said "Hello" as she went passed, and I hoped we would have a chance to chat a little on the flight.

Amarillo is only a two hour drive north of Lubbock, so it was no surprise that by the time we should have reached flight altitude we started our descent. None of the crew got out of their seats during the entire flight, and to my great surprise, most of the rear section of the plant left once we got to the gate in Amarillo. Just a few minutes later, my attendant sat down across the aisle from me and started talking with me again. We had about a 30-minute layover in Amarillo before they started boarding for the flight to Dallas, and we sat and talked the whole time. She asked about the funeral. I asked about her sight-seeing in Lubbock. A couple of times when other attendants passed by, she would say "This is the gentleman I told you about last night" and they would look at me with an expectation of recognition, getting none, but then expressing their sorrow at my loss. I was really beginning to feel that maybe this whole flight fear thing was horribly overrated when one of the attendants asked her if she had heard yet about the storms between Amarillo and Dallas.

At those words, my heart took the elevator ride straight down again. The worst thing that you can say to someone who hates flying is that you're about to fly through a storm. My attendant glanced at me as she was told about the inclement weather, and must have seen me looking ashen at the words. When the weather warning messenger had gone, she asked me if I was OK. I recounted my fear of flying to her, emphasizing the part where really bad weather is the worst part for me. Me and turbulence just don't get along. I saw a look of genuine concern flash over her face, and she told me not to worry, that she'd make sure I made it through the flight.

And she did. We were delayed in taking off about 25 minutes (imagine what that does to anxiety levels) and about five minutes in the air, we hit the storm. I guess it wasn't a very big storm, but there was a lot of lightning. Amazingly, the few people that did board the plane in Amarillo did not have seats in the back, so once again, I was alone on the last row. Every time we'd hit a bump in the flight, my attendant would ask me if I was all right, and I kept mumbling some sort of affirmative response. The crew did serve refreshments on this leg of the journey, and I gladly accepted my soft drink, seriously considering ordering something a little harder (I don't normally drink alcohol, so you can guess the state of mind I was in).

We bumped and jostled and bounced the entire trip to Dallas. Rain was coming down in buckets as we landed, but the pilot was amazing, as the airliner barely shuddered when he set down. We waited quite a while to get to the terminal, as a number of planes were coming in and the line to get to the terminals was quite long. When we finally stopped and everyone stood to get their luggage from the overhead bins, my attendant came up to me and asked if I had survived the flight. I replied that I probably wouldn't have any lasting nightmares, and she laughed. I thanked her for making what would have been a horrible experience more than tolerable and that I really enjoyed talking with her. She thanked me for making it a memorable trip to Lubbock for her, and just when I thought she was being sarcastic and imagined all the stories she would tell her crew about the gutless wimp she had to babysit on this trip, she hugged me. This was not just a quick, see-you-soon friendly hug, but a deep embrace, which I returned. I was still a little stunned at the gesture, so when we released, I thanked her again, gave her a small wave, and headed off the plane. I had thought that I should maybe try to get her phone number or some way of contacting her, but I never even asked her her name.

By the time we landed and everyone had deplaned, it was getting close to 6:00pm. The storm outside was intensifying, and the two hour layover I had built in to my schedule, having been shortened by the late arrival of the Amarillo flight, got longer as the flight I was supposed to take to Houston was itself delayed. Having already survived a rather turbulent flight, thanks in no small part to my nameless flight attendant, I was wary of pushing my luck on the last leg of my journey to Houston. I had half a mind to call a taxi and just head back home, making my trip to Houston some other time. The other half of my mind desperately wanted to go into one of the airport bars and get sloshed, just so I wouldn't remember the flight to Houston the next day. In the end, I did neither. I waited, sober, for the plane to arrive, passengers disembark, and prepare for boarding. By the time I was ready to board, the clock read 9:45. I called my friends in Houston again (I had already told them earlier in the day that the flight was delayed) to let them know I should be getting in around 11:00 that night. Then I boarded.

This flight, unlike the others I had endured in the previous 24 hours, was packed. I was once again at the rear of the plane, this time in the second to last row. I was not in the aisle seat. Unfortunately, I was wedged between two businessmen, the one in the aisle seat very overweight, the one in the window seat very drunk. Suddenly I was regretting my abstinence. We took off to the south, and the plane banked sharply to the west. Just when I was wondering why we were heading west to end up in a city southeast of Dallas, the pilot came on the intercom. He advised us that we were being rerouted over San Angelo to travel through a severe thunderstorm in west Texas to avoid the extremely severe thunderstorm that was waging war on the earth between Dallas and Houston. He also let us know that he would not be allowing the crew to serve refreshments and would not be turning off the seatbelt sign as they were expecting significant turbulence for the majority of the flight.

This guy had his Master's in Understatement.

As soon as he stopped speaking, we started a trackless rollercoaster ride that I'll never forget. The plane bounced so much that the guy in the row in front of me actually used the barf bag. The fat guy next to me kept spilling over the armrest into my side, and the drunk continually spouted how this was the worst flight he'd ever taken and if we didn't die in a crash he was going to sue the airline. I kept quiet, held on to the armrests for dear life, and became a very religious person.

After an hour and a half of this, we finally landed in Houston. On every other flight I've taken, as soon as the plane is on the ground, people would stand up and start collecting their items from the overhead bins and under the seats. This time, however, no one moved until the plane had come to a complete stop and the engines had powered completely down. I don't think anyone wanted to take the chance that the ground would fall out from under us until the door opened to the terminal walkway. Once they got moving, though, they moved quickly and got off the plane in a hurry. The fat guy was complaining about the bruising he must have suffered, and the drunk was still spouting off about the continued turbulence. I caught a quick glance at the flight crew in back as I stood and made my way into the aisle. They were quite disheveled and muttering about how glad they were that it was finally over.

Spent, I walked up into the terminal and started looking for my friends. I saw them a moment before they saw me. I'll never forget the looks on their faces when they saw me. The first hint of recognition and they both smiled and immediately the smiles vanished and were replaced by an expression I can't quite describe, other than their eyes were as big as saucers and their mouths basically disappeared.

I didn't care much at the time, I was just pleased to be on solid ground again, as were all of the passengers and crew from that flight. I never relished a car trip to their house more. After a good night's sleep, though, I was back to my old self and thoroughly enjoyed the time I got to spend with them.

I'm pretty sure I drove Marc nuts telling him over and over and over how glad I was that we were driving back home and not flying. And I really, really wish I had at least asked for the flight attendant's phone number. If by any miracle you happen to read this, thank you.

Ahhh, Monday morning and good news. What a beautiful Monday it is indeed!

Why, you may ask? Two reasons:

1. As I wake up this morning, the Texas Rangers have the best record in Major League Baseball at 16-9. Several other AL teams are at 15-9, and in the NL, there are a few at 15-9 as well and one team at 16-10. This comes after a three-game sweep of the Red Sox, previously the best team in the AL. Ahhhhhh. Again, I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts, because there's no way they can keep up this pace, but who on earth would have believed that on May 3 of 2004, the Texas Rangers would be the best team in pro ball?

2. I got my first sales check from iTunes last week. The Green Chili CD has generated several single-song sales and one full album sale. I'm still waiting on sales figures to come in from the other sites on which the recoding is available, but it's really cool to be able to say "I've sold music on iTunes" and not just "I've got my music for sale on iTunes."

What a glorious Monday indeed...