No surprise to anyone - I'm blogging from an airport. On the way to our nation's capital. I'll be there for 2 weeks, taking a class that will prepare me for a (temporary) promotion. More on that later. I arrived at LAX, this morning, to a 4-hour layover and a terminal change. My fantastic travel agents at Carlson Wagonlit had to book me on the lowest fare (government regs, you know!). That meant I was on United from Monterey to LAX, but Alaska Air from LAX to Washington Reagan.

I leave terminal 8 and hop on the bus for terminal 3. I arrive at the Alaska Airlines terminal to find that I didn't have my boarding pass yet (the United rep couldn't provide one in Monterey, because they do not partner with Alaska). So, I walk up to the kiosk (I want to avoid the MONSTER line,inside), hit the screen to start.

It takes a moment, then begins to give me on-screen directions.

In Spanish.

Yes. The kind folks that program the kiosk check-ins have decided that Spanish must now be the FIRST option, then you may select 'ENGLISH' at the bottom of the menu.

Just because I like to think the very best in situations, I say to myself, "Oh, I bet there was a Spanish speaker right before me." So, I purposely exit all the way out - and start again.


First option.

Goodbye, sweet America...goodbye.

Once through the ridiculous line at security and near anal-probe that is now the TSA (Thanks, Uncle Osama!), I position myself at Starbucks, next to a power outlet and settle in for a nice 3-hour wait. Met a lovely couple from WisCAHHNsin whose son is the piano player for Wynton Marsalis. They were lovely (Hi, Mom! No, the son is not single, I already checked).

Next up? Hot guy architecht with the Spanish accent.

Thanks, Starbucks!

As Hotty McHotterson Architect goes to work - I glance over at the counter. There, in line, was none other than:

Yes. Yes that's right.


But - this photo (above) is NOT the photo I snapped. Because, you see, I wasn't exactly sure it was him. I watch for a while as he contemplates his order. I take a quick inventory and here is what I find:

a. White knee socks with black tennies
b. He weighs in at 3 bills. Easy
c. He was his carry-on luggage - a bag of laundry, complete with drawstring

No. This can't be. Is the Dice-Man having hard times? It was not. Good.

I don't like to bother celebs on their private time, but it was EATING. ME. ALIVE. As he was leaving Starbucks, I mouth (to his 'handler'), "Is that Andrew Dice Clay?" to which the handler gave me the confirmation head nod.

Suddenly, all I wanted to say was "pobrecito."

Toma's Favorite Song Today: "Thread" by Jason Karabahn (because it's been a rough few weeks, but I'm crawling my way out, Praise the Lord!)