I'm going to Europe in two weeks from today.

On a first-class ticket.

Jamaican passports are issued every ten years. So for the first twenty you spend most of your time looking nothing like your primary ID. It's kinda whack.

OTOH, I adored Moscow. My [brusque, cranky] people!

Dude, that was the biggest culture shock I ever had. I never expected that. Apart from the pointing and the talking and the staring (I accumulated crowds of children and coos of approval from older women) I had one woman in a nightclub sit down on the same stool I was sitting on, despite there being and empty one right next to me. And then she promptly ignored me.

Zoomed briefly through France on the way to Belgium, have no opinion of French that are not Canadian.

Why do people like him EXIST?

Why, and how do they get a public voice. The internet is way too democratic.

He's got a column in a newspaper (Kansas City Star, according to his Bio). Not the internet's fault, this time.

The world is too democratic, then.

What's utterly bizarre is I still have not been to Mexico,

This is me! There are times when I think living in LA is like living in Mexico already, though.

Noah's passport application is in. There was a huge line, including a 4 person Armenian family before us. But our application was filled out on line and was good to go. WOOT.

Then my sister sent me this article which totally got my dander up. I'd be pro big babe tennis if it were used to smash his head in.

That fucking asshole went to my college! And he has a distinctly Pillsbury Doughboy figure himself, the fuckwad. Figures he writes for Fox sports.

And he has a distinctly Pillsbury Doughboy figure himself, the fuckwad.

But he is just fulfilling his destiny! He is not required to be in shape since he only writes about sports.

There was a huge line, including a 4 person Armenian family before us.

The last time I had to go to the passport office there was a 4 person family in front of me only one of the persons was George Clinton.

only one of the persons was George Clinton.

That's probably a good thing, as I hear his clones can get pretty wild when they get together....

Muscovites have no concept of personal space. At least not in 1991. Imagine my 16 year old bewilderment when on a night train to the burbs we were staying at, a babushka sat on one side and started petting my hair and hugging me like a long-lost granddaughter and a 20 something guy sat on the other, put his head on my shoulder and fell asleep! The babushkas in Suzdal were a little more hands off, but not by much. They kept bringing us huge bags of carrots and cukes and the nummy pretzel bread. And jellies they'd made. And yelling at us in Russian, the nearest we could tell, to eat more and marry nice russian boys/girls. When they found out we didn't have hot water in the dorm and we were wimpy americans, we would wake and come home to huge vats of hot water on the stove. They didn't even live there!

The Czechs were comfortably friendly standoffish for me, even when crammed so that only the fact we were pressed together kept us upright on the herky jerky 22 tram up the hill. Except for the pervs who took it as an opportunity to cop a feel. I carried a mechanical pencil to stab wandering hands.

I hate my coworkers. A group of them does kitten fostering and one has a blog. Where she posts video of the month old kittens. And OMG WANT TO SHNUZZLE! This litter is named after the Weaseleys from HP. No more than 3 cats. Just, no.