Elevator Music, Underwear, and the TSA

Figure a month is long enough to go without popping in and saying Hi. Blogger's block, must be.

Whatever happened to elevator music? I think it's gone because I just never hear it anymore. I remember hearing Yesterday (The Beatles) in elevator-music style a really long time ago in some elevator. I must have been 8. I remember smelling cigarette smoke residue and there being a lot of metal around, like maybe it was an old post office. I remember thinking how cool it would be to have written a piece of music that would eventually be inducted into the Elevator Music genre. I wonder if they still use Elevator Music, and, if they do, how long it will be before we can hear Fuck You Like an Animal by Nine Inch Nails in Elevator Style.

Over lunch today I had the privilege of learning a new word: smegma. (WARNING: it is gross, please don't go there if you are easily grossed out. I don't want to gross anyone out.) Why did I have to learn this? Because an unliked person's name reminded my lunch partner of it. That's why. Gross.

I've had it with airport security, removing my shoes and belt, placing my laptop in one bin, everything else in another bin, and my coat on top of all that. Recollecting my belongings and re-donning my belt and shoes while be shuffled through the line is an ordeal that is about as graceful as doing the penguin walk toward the waste bin in a doctor's office to toss the lube-infused tissue with your underpants still around your ankles. I'm all for full-body-x-ray at airport security, and I don't care if the TSA folks see my private parts.

Anyway, hi.