Random as Chicken Tetrazini

I'm not drunk in this picture, I'm just trying to be cute. Obviously, that backfired.

I haven't written for so long. I don't have an excuse, I just thought I'd state the obvious.

I am so often not at my laptop. That doesn't mean I'm not at a computer, but work has gotten both busy and monitored. Because I don't have a portable device that lets me access any social networking sites (no iThing to tweet to or Blacksomething to upface), I have started carrying with me a small notepad I've labeled my ManuTwit.

Most of the things I write in it have lost their relevance by the time I've logged back in to wherever I want to update, I'm left with a tiny notebook filled with hastily scribbled one-liners. Here and now is the perfect place for me to type them up, because I really need to post another entry, but I have nothing pertinent to say (except, of course, how much I love Joel McHale, but my brain has been so fogged since Friday night that I cannot write about the show just yet). So here goes:

Emily thought she might have had a "pass it forward" moment at the airport when the guy in front of her at security grabbed two buckets for her. Then she went into the Hudson News and lost it due to a large number of small children underfoot and a conference of businessmen hogging the magazine racks.

Emily had just sat down in her aisle seat when a guy in a snazzy business suit walked by and farted.

Emily just watched an episode of Third Rock from the Sun written by Will Forte. Whhaaaaaat?

Emily just walked by a storefront with a sign that said "Art and Pie Gallery". Oh, N. Mississippi, you had me at "pie".

Emily was late to her doctor's appointment due to a lady in a Lark failing to parallel park on the bus.

Emily wondering at the Woodburn Outlet mall: Putting Lane Bryant and Petite Sophisticates
next to each other: marketing genius or just mean?

Emily thinks everyone's "fifteen minutes of fame" is turning into everyone's reality show slo-mo farewell montage.