Thursday, October 05, 2006

Why Didn't Anyone Sweep My Patio?

I'm back home and ready to take a nap for a couple of hours or until Lindsay Lohan makes out with yet another Greek shipping heir, whichever comes first.

Between Honolulu and Raleigh I managed to watch approximately 22 straight episodes of 'House'. Excessive. Halfway to the Avis counter I realized that I was walking with a limp.

I can suspend my disbelief with that show up to a point. Sure, insomnia means you've contracted the bubonic plague. I'll bite. The part that is completely ridiculous is the slick, sterile art-deco hospital where they work. I've never seen a hospital/walk-in clinic/student health center where there wasn't at least one vinyl chair with a slash in it, something dirty written on the wall in Spanish, a sticky end table with 42 issues of Highlights magazine, and two televisions on different channels each turned to the maximum volume level, shouting at each other like contestants in the "Family Feud" faceoff circle. Either the producers have never actually been to a hospital or they've been receiving medical attention at IKEA.

And, right, like there wouldn't be a single Asian doctor there either.

I did enjoy my stay in Honolulu. I met the chef of the hotel restaurant...OK, 'chef' in that context is a Hawaiian word for 'guy who opens the cans of beefaroni". Anyway, he was very nice and on my way out gave me a gigantic pineapple. I thought that turning it down that would be bad luck--aren't dead Hawaiians reincarnated as Del Monte products? So that was my 'small personal item' that I carried onto the plane. Trust me, you can really make friends with your fellow passengers when you place a ripe fruit on top of their luggage.

OK, sleeping for a couple of hours. I'm tired, Lindsay...I hope Thursday is your slow day.

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