“When I get to Nova Scotia, I might as well just take my pants off at the airport.”
It was an interesting weekend. Some we’ll talk about, some we’ll save for later. In any case, there were 2 sights that stuck with me:
1) A minivan whipped around a corner, driven by somebody’s grandma, blasting Clay Aiken. I mean blasting. What ever’s the opposite of bassing (“trebling”?), this was it. The icing on the cake, however, was the vanity plate that said “Claym8”. Now, I’ve certainly heard of the Claymates (Clay’s legion of fans, similar to Barry’s “Fanilows”), but I never thought they really existed. I thought they were mythical beings, like unicorns and black Republicans. Yet and still, before my eyes, I was seeing the end of civilization. Which was only seconded by #2…
2) On the way to work on Sat, I passed a Chrysler being driven by a sad, old clown. An old clown. Driving a damn car. Nowhere near a circus. Maybe he was as distraught with humanity as I. Maybe he’d just driven by the Claym8 chick. In any regard, there’s nothing like a sad clown to really get your day off to a bad start. Clowns really can’t win. A happy clown is creepy, while a sad clown is offputting.
Who knew there was such thriving nightlife in Frederick?
Ladies, as we head into warmer weather, remember this important tip: if you don’t have ankles, you shouldn’t be wearing capris. It’s that simple.
BTW, if you haven’t already, you should definitely go see Iron Man. It’s not a standard “comic book movie”, and you’ll love it just for Robert Downey, Jr. And if you are a comic fan, remember to stay until the credits are over.
Leave it to me to have the hot friend who goes on the Richard Simmons cruise. Yeah, I can’t explain it either…
