outside my apartment late on a Sunday night.

I was basically spent yesterday. I had an event at the Zoo that I was the big cheese Saturday afternoon and evening. It was basically 7 hours of running around the grounds that I knew was coming but didn't make it less painful trying to hang through the B-52s (but I made it).

Woke up yesterday feeling like somebody beat me up, but muddled through. Went to one meeting, Wegman's and stumbled home. Alternately watched & dozed in front of the Bills game. After Brothers & Sisters, I put my carcass into bed. Just as I'm settling into that nice feeling of sleep getting ready to overtake, my intercom goes off. I stagger into the living room thinking who the hell would be calling at 11:45 on a Sunday night. Turned out to be one of the more "colorful" residents of the neighborhood who, aside from being three sheets to the wind, was ringing doorbells asking (I kid you not) for help "Getting back to Lancaster." Sure, I'll open the door and give you money.....NOT. I politely declined the offer, but she went to the next door and rang a bell, promptly picking a fight with the next respondant, screaming "What's Wrong with you?" into the intercom. I'm thinking the bastard didn't want some fool ringing his doorball late at night but I'd just be guessing.

She stomps off and within seconds I hear cops arriving. With lights flashing on the Delaware side of my building, a metro cop car and a regular buffalo cop had pulled up and were questioning her. Don't mess with my building mates. It must have been a slow night because while this was going on, FOUR more Buffalo cars showed up. I suspect largely for the entertainment value, but you can't help but think ugly thoughts. Yeah, the woman was disruptive, but there was no way 5 to 7 Buffalo guys needed to be standing around. Scenes like that can make your sleep deprived imagination run truly amuck. One guy talked her down and sent her on her way without incident. Thankfully.

John McCain cancelled on Letterman in yet another series of brilliant decision making. Apparently you don't phone it in to Dave. So much do even Keith Olbermann was quiet.

This is so cool. This is a ride on the Crystal Beach Comet. The Comet was king back in the proverbial day around here. Crystal Beach's Amusement Park was king around here before Darien Lake got serious. This was my first serious coaster ride, lord knows how the camera stayed so still, but the video is the real view from the front seat.

I went out to BJ's tonight to pick up a few things. No big deal, went to the self check out and took care of business. I was expecting four singles and some change. Pocketed both four bills and change without really looking. Drove home and pulled out the results of my transaction. Where four singles were supposed to be, four fives were sitting there. Some rhodes scholar filled the single dispenser with a few fives. Of course, I have evil thoughts as my groceries were paid for and I was more than reimbursed for shopping. Almost immediately it seemed like cartoon angel and devil appeared on my stressed soldiers. "You deserve a break", etc. My desire to be a good guy shouted down the lil devil

I called the store and reported the error. The manager was a little gobsmacked. "Not many people would have done that" says she. "I'm a special kind of dork that way." Damn parenthood forcing my conscience into setting a good example.

I haven't done a whole lot of traveling for my employers in recent years, but had the occasion to do so this week. The Association of Zoos and Aquariums (doesn't that just say "Order enough kegs" to you) had their annual get together in Milwaukee this past week. I was one for the local folks to go. It's a typical trade show (free crap) and sessions on various subjects. The trade show days ended usually in happy hour opening up on the exhibit floor. I've never seen such happy account executives in my life. The dour son of a bitch who was hard-selling me on a new amusement ride for the Zoo discovered his personality floating somewhere in the bottom of his bottle of Miller Genuine Draft.

The journey made it equally as interesting. The Transportation Safety Association goofs always make airline check in a treat in their never ending pursuit to at least look like they are accomplishing something. What they expect to find in the pricey loafers of the guy ahead of me is at least as troubling as what they would do if they actually found something. George Carlin was right. This is all for show. After watching them successfully wrestle my bottle of Purell to the ground, I was off on Monday. To save the Zoo money and be a good soldier, I booked via Orbitz and Northwest was the only airline that made any sense to book on. Us Air flies to Milwaukee via Atlanta? No, thanks. Northwest used to be pretty decent back in the proverbial day, but they are apparently the bastard stepchild at the Buffalo airport. You get the impression they aren't really trying.

I got to my gate only to see the plane that Wrongway Feldman landed on Gilligan's Island. At this point my boss walks up, being on the same flight. The thing was dumpy enough it made me wonder who had to wind the rubber band before we could take off. They asked for first class passengers to board and people did. Can't imagine springing for first class for a short flight when first class is like yelling "shotgun" when you are getting into the folks old station wagon.

We arrive in Detroit sans issue. I thankfully got an exit row seat. If you have ever gone through that airport to make a connection, MrMike's rule of air travel comes into play. If you land at gate A11, your connection is at A69 and you have twenty minutes to get there. This rule came true once again on Monday, made it with two minutes to spare, only to find the waiting plane was even a greater jalopy.

But we arrive in the land of Miller Beer and Cheese sans incident. The gas crunch has made the airlines into penny-pinchers in silly extremes, offering water in what looked like a saucer. I know Northwest has other runs and planes that look like Fred Sanford isn't at the wheel. Looking at them both, it just gave me pause.

I was a late addition to the Zoo's traveling party and I think lucked out because of it. The rest of the gang was at the Hyatt, attached via Skywalk to the convention center. I was seven blocks away at the Intercontinental. Those are nice. A single room with a sitting room, each with a plasma screen tv. It was sort of good to be a misanthrope when the work day was done. I liked getting to walk to and away from the proceedings. You get to know stuff that way. Apparently, my NY city death stare still works like a charm. The moment I was able to drop the commemorative tote bag and just explore at night, I was asked which way to the brass Fonzie, which after 3 days I had down cold. The statue in question is a lifesize brass statue of the Happy Days hero (lot of tv references in this post).

I had a late public relations meeting one night and was walking back to the hotel, but wanted to find something non-Hotel like to eat. I stumbled into Mo's Irish Pub, where the denizens were celebrating it being halfway to St. Patrick's Day. After three days of Miller Genuine Draft at every reception, it was nice to get a perfectly poured pint of Guinness, even if it confused the hell out of the Texan watching the Football game next to me.

So, it's not a big tourist destination, but the city reminded me a lot of Buffalo if we spent our money productively instead of suing each other over everything. They took us to the Milwaukee Zoo which was pretty great, but hell, I was amused watching the dome of the Brewers Ballpark open up on the ride out (four different parts). Was also interesting being in a swing state where the election matters. There was a huge Obama office prepping for the candidates visit this week. I did my part by popping in and buying two buttons.

Two more ramshackle flights and a backpack full of swag, I made it home. I actually won a Nintendo DS and an Ipod Touch from a couple of vendors. Whoever cleaned my hotel room got a Chicago Zoological Society Wine Glass and some other sundries. Some things don't even merit being lugged home, even if you are flying what was charitibly labeled "coach."

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