Guantanamo May Be on an Island, But It's No Hawaii

Living in Manhattan is generally great because I don't have to drive anywhere to accomplish daily tasks. This is not such a good thing, however, when it is 27 degrees with a fierce wind. I'm spending most of the day running drugs - er, I mean, errands - so I sort of wish that I had a nice warm car that I could retreat to while I go from store to store. Oh well. It'll only make me appreciate the warm breezes in Hawaii all the more.

Assuming, of course, that I make it to the Aloha State. As I was chatting with Dianne on the phone this morning, I heard the annoying digital beeping of an alarm clock. "What the fuck is that?" I thought, and wandered around the apartment until I traced it to the bulging backpack that Husband packed for the trip. The sound came from somewhere deep inside. "Fuck, I'm going to have to dig through it," I told Dianne.

That's when I saw the orange blinking light. "Aha!" I pulled it out. The alarm was still beeping inside the backpack and I was holding a survivalist flashlight with crank charging mechanism, AM/FM radio, and blinking orange light functions. It occurred to me how fucked up this would look going through airport security if an alarm went off and a light began blinking in the bag.