Knitting The Yarns

White haired women in knitted shawls have descended on the hotel full of comic fans. It's knot a Stevie Nicks concert, rather a knitting convention. The mind boggles. I have to get in there and SEE it. Is it as big as the comic convention? Do they have panels? Do dealers pack them in with the yarn equivalent of 25-cent longboxes of comics? Do B-list knitting stars sign autographs and wait impatiently for coffee to be brought to them by show lackeys? Do they have a program that hypes the newest and highest graded needles yet made? What can be going on over there? What would happen if, in a Xanadu-like moment of colliding cultures, the two came together - hundreds of grannies, housewives and the oddly high percentage of lesbians (who knew they could knit? and where are the gay boys? Is this too gay even for my queeny brethren?) and thousands of unwashed fanboys in zippered tights (it was fatally Distracting to see the zipper pull hanging down from Green Lantern's crotch ... ease of urinating is one thing, but does it need to Hang there, a flaccid metal embarrassment?)? Who would win?

I'm betting on lesbian grannies and their aluminum needles.

Fear and Loathing In Chicago

Muggy and slow in the Windy City. Taxi drivers need their ickets punched to get in and out of the slow moving pick-up lanes of O'Hare. How is this Securing the Homeland? I've promised myself lots of booze tonight, but the blue laws here make finding a Liquor Store a necessity - and it's 1.25 walking miles from the hotel whose 4 elevators creep up and down the meager 8 flights like undecided old people at an turn lane, stunned by the need to rethink their best route to the grocery store. I remain bitter. The walk to the liquor store procures my favorite beer, but only Warm. I am so desperately in need of the brain-fogging effects I am tempted to drink it warm. The refrigerator in my hotel room is one of the vicious pressure sensative ones, that send out alerts to a horde of well-trained krav-maga fighters who will pummel me if I try to assert that I ddin't drink THEIR booze, I merely removed it to make room for my much cheaper boose. I thought about red wine, but jerking off in a hotel room with one fist around your cock and one around a bathroom glass of merlot paints an unmanly picture.

I long for dawn.