You'll have that in the big city
There is a girl sitting next to me reading Jared Diamond's Guns, Germs, & Steel. I have the book on my iPod; it's next on the list after I finish The Long Tail. She has on black plastic frame glasses just like I like and she is a brunette. She keeps looking at me.
Anyway.
Here's me, right now.
TSA in Indy is nice and I joked with them about the bands A-Ha and Yes and how those names make for an excellent Abbott and Costello-like duo scene. They were young and spirited, unlike those in the TPA who were old and character-actored.
Sitting in the bar, stuck here a few hours in Indianapolis. Listening to the Browns game over the internet like a complete nerd. Thinking about the girl I hung out with on Friday, a blind date whom, it turns out, actually could see perfectly fine. She didn't even have glasses.
And she was all sorts of cool.
I am loath to return to Florida, yet I'm burning with the feeling that I've figured it out. I don't have to fit in, anymore, because I *don't* fit in. I won't. I'm an Ohioan, and I love Ohio, and my fellow (lowercase) buckeyes, and I want to return to my home state and never return again.
The dude on the other side of me, his name is Chuck. He's on his way back to Spring Hill, FL, where he's a retiree. He's on his way home from Duluth, his home, where he spent eight days hunting. He went to Northern Illinois. He's a cool dude, and we talked about hunting; I pretended to be a hunter, as I am quite the pretender when it comes to dudes you meet at airport bars, and it's only a white lie to play something up in order to build rapport. I learned it from my friend Bill. You might know him by his formal name: Former President Clinton.
I kind of have a crush on my blind date, but she reads this blog, apparently, so I should sort of not say anything more about her anymore, I guess. Though I just wrote that, and when I sober up, aka LAND, I'll probably erase that.
Then again, maybe I won't.
