Hamm On Wry

I didn’t post this before because I couldn’t quite believe I did it. Yes, it’s that weird, even for me. You, all four of you who read this blog, might have noticed that I was on a trip to Helena and spent a bit of it in the airport at Salt Lake City. Lovely place, actually, and I’m really looking forward to skiing there again, as My Former Boss invited a bunch of us there to ski in March of 2004. It was lovely. It was also the middle of tax season, so some of the invitees were back dealing with e-file. I’m not that geeky, I got to go ski.

But I digress. I flew into SLC after sitting forever and five months on a plane on the tarmac of IAH (that’s the Current President’s Father’s International Airport, in case you were wondering). I was not happy, but as it appeared that I should be ok if I hiked quickly across the entire length of the semi-circle that is the terminal in Salt Lake, I might make it on time. And by ‘on time’ I mean I wouldn’t miss the entire bit of festivities happening at my friend’s house. After all, she’s getting married, there was a rehearsal and the traditional rehearsal dinner, and then the oh-so-wonderful-yet-not-traditional-at-all-and-you-won’t-ever-order-one-for-your-mom red-headed sluts, which is a shot that involves Red Hot and Crown Royal and either gasoline or lighter fluid, whichever is handy. In other words, they are great!

And I would order one for my mom, but she wouldn’t drink it. But again, off subject.

So, I’m rushing across SLC and I’ve got my slinged backpack on, which holds my computer and a camera and some other electronic equipment. Oh, and the life-force giving iPod, of course. And I’m pulling a standard carryon wheeler that is on it’s last legs (wheels?) and I’m using the moving sidewalks to help me haul my ass over there. Thanks to whomever invented those things, by the way, they are quite good. The only malfunction you usually have to deal with is the ‘tards who, for whatever reason, can’t do the whole ’stand on right, walk on left’ thing and this time was no different.

I was run into by a jerk who STOPPED right at the entrance to the moving walkway and then, as I moved to go around him, DRAGGED HIS LUGGAGE OVER MY EXPOSED LITTLE TOE. Which hurt, but not enough to slow me down, and I had other things on my mind. I looked down, didn’t see any blood and gave the twat a look and moved on.

So then, I got to my gate, realized I had a few minutes before boarding and I decided to hit the restroom because, well, the lavs on a plane are a bit small. And I’m not. At all.

So I go in and as I put my luggage against the wall I notice that there is blood all over my flip-flop and that my little toe is bleeding badly - enough that I look a bit and realize that I’ve left a trail of blood spots across the airport in The Land That Jesus Visited Later and that Joseph Smith Found and Named After Honeybees. Yes, I’m the Despoiler of Deseret. Look it up.

The airline I was flying was partially to blame for my discomfort and my need to rush through SLC. They are also the primary airline at SLC and most of the employees I saw worked for them. They were all too busy, and then I was too pissed, to get a first aid kit. Plus, once I was peeved, I had to not say anything to anyone. The current stupidity in the TSA prevents you from speaking your mind inside an airport, no matter how right you are, and when I’m mad, if I get started, someone else is going to be really hurt and upset, and frankly, I’m not a fan of being strip-searched anymore. So I said nothing. At all.

So when you next fly into SLC, do what I’m going to do. Look for ellipses of dark brown on the fine blue carpet leading from concourse B to concourse E. Those are my footsteps. Follow in them at your own risk.

Well, yesterday has finally seemed to be coming to an end, and while I’m a bit freaked out over a mess I’ve created for work, I’m going to get over that. More important matters have arrived, not the least of which is myself finally getting to Helena from Houston via Salt Lake City, home of dooce after spending, I kid you not, the entire paleolithic era inside a Boeing 737. (Go read the dooce entry I linked, it’s the only reason I’m going to relax now)

Flying from Houston generally requires, at least during Hurricane Season, a signed hall-pass from God. I, once again, have not been to his house to get one, and so was stuck in the damn thing for three hours while we neither left the gate or were fed/watered/liquored up. I mean, come on, if we have to sit there forever, give a guy some whiskey. That way my comments can be LOUDER!

I did have an interesting time chatting with the girl seated next to me, who, for reasons of her father’s employment, will be living in Aberdeen, Scotland for the next few years. Hate her. But she was quite bright and terribly funny. Between the two of us, we had the area around us cracking up, because the pilot was a dolt who couldn’t tell us anything, and so we decided to make up new announcements for him. I have to say, I wasn’t the funniest of us, either, that goes to her.

My best line was, “In the unlikely event of a water landing, we’ve actually arrived at Salt Lake.”

Her best was: “Should we actually become airborne, party hats will drop from the ceiling and the pilot will chug a bottle of tequila.”

I could only laugh and ask who was to eat the worm. But I’m here for THE WEDDING and will be ushering, as a groomsman and filming the entire production. And if all goes well with some technological wizardry, we’ll be broadcasting it to some lovely folks in Houston as well. Stay tuned, I’ll let you know how this goes!

Ok, so I get up this morning and get to work and for once, don’t read the news and don’t open iChat and don’t spend any time doing anything but calling people and setting up appointments for RED and really thinking that I want to get laid and should be spending more time on Terry who is one of the loveliest people on the planet, and who, it so happens, lives in London.

I didn’t read the news, but I did read his email, as they are few and far between because he’s exceedingly busy running a very impressive and successful Design Firm and I was confused. I felt I’d lost my mind and perhaps a few emails from him. The email, in it’s entirety said this:

Subject: Ian and I are okay…

Dear Friends and Family,

Just a quick note to let you all know that Ian and I are okay…

Love to you all.

Terry

And me, again, being a caring and loving friend who had yet to read the news thought ‘Huh? Is something wrong with their relationship?’ and thus sent this reply:

Dear Terry & Ian,

why would I have thought you weren’t?

Ok, so I have been WAAAAY out of touch, sorry about that. I’m glad to hear you two are doing ok, and I don’t really need to know if there was drama or whatever… and I truly wish you all the best as the years roll by, because you two are pretty damn cute together and really love each other!! That’s a truly special thing, and I’m glad to know you both!!!!

much love,

kev~!

Um yeah, and then the reply,

Hi Kev,

You silly girl! Uhh… huhuhuhuhu… terrorist attacks here in London… DUUUHHHH!!!!! But we are both O.K… (and of course still damn cute together…)

;)

Love,
Terry

Which really shows how much more calm about tragedy the Brits are, as opposed to us in the U.S. My heart goes out to all those affected by this violence, and I know that with the cameras that blanket London it’s only a matter of time before we find the fuckers involved and have them strung up as a warning to others. Unless we let Bush lead us to war in the wrong place, again, of course.

We, all the fags of the world, have watched every version of The Wizard of Oz ever put out, and, although after a few different versions we get tired, but then we see Judy in all her glory and BAM! life is good again. Having said that, let’s think about a new scenario. Imagine the characters of Will & Grace doing The Wizard of Oz.

Now think about that for a moment, because it would really only be funny if you avoid the clichés. Like so:

• Will would have to play the Scarecrow. Not because he lacks a brain, but because he doesn’t, so it adds a nice twist to his bits.
• Grace would have to be the Wicked Witch of the West. Because she’s not really evil, as we’ve all learned from Wicked and because Grace is really the right blend of strength and neurosis to channel the twists that this casting gives.
• Jack would have to be the Tin Man. It leaves him open to complain to Will with things like “But I shouldn’t be the Tin Man, you’re the heartless bastard.” Of course, this can lead to Will replying with something like “That might be true, but you haven’t been this hard since that time with the football team in high school.”
• Guapo, Jack’s parrot, would be Toto. Just because it would be funny. I know that Jack owns a dog, but with the death of Stan a while back, Jack’s dog will need to play The Wizard.
• Karen, in perhaps the most inspired casting moment, will play Dorothy. Just imagine the moment when she comes upon the Wicked Witch of the West and spouts off with “Honey honey honey, what’s this? What’s going on? What’s with all the green?”

I know that this *could* happen, but there is no reason to think that it *would*. Right now, tho, there are several queers at a coffee shop in Houston who are cracking up coming up with lines for this. Actually, if you can think of lines, do post them below. Cheers!