Troubles in Paradise

The cord that transfers my photos from my camera to my computer is MIA. Either it was confiscated because of its obvious resemblance to a bomb by the TSA* during our flight from Detroit to Quebec City, along with my menacing face wash, or else it's in The Scary Basement, which I cannot get to without stepping over that mountain of laundry in my way.

Therefore, I will sit here at this table instead of blogging and convince the Social Security Administration that I do indeed qualify for a new card with my new name. You, on the other hand, get to wait another day for a couple wedding photos.

I apologize, and I hope you're able to sleep tonight.

*I really did have my purple bag (all the terrorists are using purple bags nowadays) broken open by the Transportation Safety Administration sometime after checking my bag at the counter in the sparkling metropolis of Detroit and getting it from the conveyor belt in Quebec. I went to unlock the bag at our hotel when I noticed I didn't have to ... the lock was gone. Inside, on top of my now-unfolded clothes, was a pamphlet, apologizing for the trouble. I was randomly selected for a baggage inspection in the interest of national security. Mr. Bush thanks me for my cooperation.

It should also be noted that I may have left my face wash in a hotel in Lima after the wedding, but that's not as entertaining as thinking a bunch of airport guys with bad complexions took it.