THANKSGIVING CLIFF'S NOTES

I couldn't help but be disappointed no C-list rock stars appeared on any of my many flights yesterday. Along with Smashmouth and The Blowfish (-Hootie), I've had my share of run-ins with the once semi-famous. I had hoped to share a row with the members of Quiet Riot, or that dude from Counting Crows.

One interesting highlight I'd like to describe occurred at a charming little place we in the Ray like to call "The 'Hoe," a quaint and appropriately descriptive abbreviation for "Ivanhoe." I have a dear friend who's heart is always in the right place but doesn't necessarily put the same careful thought into the execution of his ideas. (In his defence, the world is devoid of true dreamers. I'd be remiss if this fact were passed over.) On this night, he thought I'd enjoy being locked in the Men's bathroom with a strange young woman who had long since passed the "poor judgement" milestone. Kind of an early birthday present, perhaps.

Though she was a sweet girl and seemed to be very interested in me, I didn't find it terribly attractive of her to drop her pants and urinate in/on/near the convenience next to my urinal. Nor did I particularly appreciate the few errant drops that found the soft leather of my left shoe. Still, I was impressed at her willingness to reveal otherwise-concealed skin, though it was obvious she had carried at least one child in the recent past.

Keep reaching for that rainbow, darlin'.