Not all those who wander are lost ; )

With a new year comes a new blog. And sometimes a little Tylenol.
Welcome to 2008 everyone. I know we’ve all been aching for this year to arrive. It means we have yet another opportunity to make a long list of resolutions which will inevitably be broken by 9 out of 10 Americans (someone did a study. I’m not sure, or how they did it, but I’ve been assured by a radio personality who uses sound effects such as *boiiiing* *muah, muah* and *doo dooo dooot doo dooooo* that it is a very scientific study.). Despite the odds, I have made my list of RESOLUTIONS. It is as follows (in no particular order)

Get more organized (oh, subtle irony, how I love thee).
Limit my use of profanity.
Stop half-as…I mean, putting 100% of my effort into the things I do. Phew, almost blew it!
Travel to at least 1 place not on the North American continent.

That seems like a pretty manageable list. I haven’t started yet, so look for updates in future bloggles. Why don’t they call these things bloggles? I feel like more people would have one if we called them bloggles. It sounds a lot more upbeat than ‘blog.’ That sounds too much like a cartoon bad-guy. Of course, ‘bloggle’ sounds like an absurd creature from a 1980s Saturday morning cartoon show. Hmmm, I wonder if anyone has ever pitched ABC the idea of a show called “The Bloggles.”

New Years Resolution #5:
Write and submit a script for the first episode of The Bloggles.

I returned to Baltimore from my week-long Midwest therapy session on New Year’s Eve. Worst possible day to be traveling instead of enjoying the company of friends? Yes. I apologize to one and all for my terribly responsible choice. I make up for it by sleeping in and arriving to class late. My students will never notice, they arrive 20 minutes late as it is.

I arrived in Baltimore just in time to catch a cab to my casa and see the fireworks which summon the New Year’s baby and scare away wrinkly old 2007. To Baltimore’s credit, they know how to execute a fireworks display. Nothing burned down, the best fireworks were saved for last, there were two pyrotechnics teams (one on the east side of the city and one on the west side. Perfectly coordinated I might add.), and the grand finale drowned out the noise of every dog in the city. Take THAT Captain Jack! (That’s the name of my crazy neighbor’s equally crazy insomniac dog.). Yes, the fireworks display was the exact opposite of the 4th of July show that followed my grandpa’s now infamous “Lining up all the fireworks on a metal tray right next to the spot I intend to light fireworks at is NOT a bad idea” speech. Thanks to some fancy garden hose maneuvers by Grandma (God bless her green thumb), the farmhouse and barn did not burn down.

That’s a story for another bloggle®.

Why did you get home so late, Paul?
Well, as it turns out, I am not savvy to the rules and regulations that are involved in buying a ticket with Northwest Airlines. I, being a foolish lad, assumed that because I had a connection flight in Minneapolis (my original departure city was Fargo), I could just show up at the Minneapolis airport and check in there. At this point, every single one of you is thinking “Paul, how could you not know that buying an airline ticket is the equivalent of entering a contract with the airline in which you agree to depart from a certain city. Failure to depart from said city is a breach of the formerly mentioned contract which permits the airline to choose either A.) to deny you passage on the flight, or B.) cancel your initial reservation, rebook you on the flight in the same seat as you were originally designated to sit in, and charge an exorbitant fee for booking a same-day flight.” To every single one of you, I say, “oooOOOOoooo you’re soooooo smart aren’t you?” To which every single one of you is entitled to say “Smarter than you, buck-o” so long as you say ‘buck-o.’

When I called Northwest, thinking there’d be no problems involved, I was shocked to learn they would charge me $754 for my flight home! Fortunately, I had the wisdom to demand that I be placed on hold until the next available manager could listen to my whiny plea for mercy. 10-15 minutes later, Stacy (names have been changed to protect the identities of those who spoke to me on the phone…and because I didn’t really pay attention to who I was talking too. Sorry, Susan…I mean, Stacy.) informed me that her manager, Ron (Ted? George? Stanley?), had graciously chosen to exercise his powers over the ticketing department and charge me only $100 for the change in flight. Considering who I was enjoying my last few hours in Minnesota with, it was WELL worth the money.

BUT THEN, when I arrived at the airport, I discovered that I had a ticket to Detroit, MI (originally one of my stops before Baltimore)…but no ticket to Baltimore! Confused, alarmed, and a little bit scared, I rushed through the security gate to my terminal (there was no one at the NWA counter outside the security gate. Damn self-service check-ins!) and found Marge (I remember her name because she’s my saving grace. I did, however change the name for the sake of her job). Marge was quite flustered because the flight to Detroit I was on was overbooked. When I explained my plight, she smiled broadly and told me she’d be happy to put me on the DIRECT FLIGHT TO BALTIMORE, give me a $25 travel voucher, AND $10 to be used in any restaurant in the airport. Thanks for violating NWA’s “how can we make the traveler miserable today?” code of ethics! So, meal vouchers in hand, I moseyed (Yes, I said moseyed. I mosey quite well.) to the Rock Bottom Grill, ordered a $7.00 beer and waited for my flight.

It’s almost 9:00, I have to be awake by 5:00 and there’s still things to be done tonight, so I end this one here.

Till my next threatening fan letter spurs my fingers to action,
PaulStorm

SHOUT OUTS!

Elise: Best Christmas Gifts EVER (Especially the scarf). You’re my favorite.

Heterosexual Lifemate: Thanks for the stir-fry! I’ll do something sweet for you the next time I see you.

Lil Buddy: boop booop boooooop boop boop

Tom: Stop sending me requests for toe-nail clippings. It’s creepy. You’re the threatening fan, not the creepy fan. Now go check your email again.

Morgan: Que Pasa?

Jolene and Chanti: WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR REUNION?!?!?