Travelogue: Monroeville, PA

I was in bed by 11:00 last night, which is apparently four hours earlier than the rest of the team. We all ate at Fat Heads, but I bailed early in order to get one more dose of Advil Cold & Sinus and seven hours of fitful sleep. I will say that the Pittsburgh skyline after dark is very nice when approaching on Interstate 376, and the Bay of Pigs sandwich was pretty tasty, if a bit spicier than I anticipated.

While eating raisin bran and drinking orange juice in the hotel breakfast nook this morning I saw (but did not hear) part of a morning show piece concerning out-of-control snakes on a plane, presumably in Florida. They showed the results of a confrontation between a 6-foot alligator and a 13-foot python wherein both critters died; you may recall the incident from last year. That’s just the sort of random stuff that’s likely to make it into my dreams tonight. If I wake up tomorrow morning to find that my pillows have eaten me, I’ll be all sorts of upset.

Today and tomorrow, we’ll be in the Monroeville office. I’ve now visited five locations in Monroeville: the hotel and the adjoining Outback Steakhouse, Eckerd pharmacy (Riiiiiiicola!), John Harvard‘s microbrewery and restaurant, and GameStop (X-Men Legends II: Rise of Apocalypse: $17.99 used). Though I’m far from an expert on the area, I feel fairly comfortable declaring that the traffic around here is off the colloquial chain. When one is mired in the seemingly endless river of fiberglass and sheet metal, the problem is exacerbated by the fact that the length of time a given light remains red can only be calculated by measuring radioactive decay in the vehicle’s occupants.

On the bright side, we figured out the quick (if not intuitive) method to get the hotel television to use the auxiliary RCA input jacks. This has resulted in many of my curvaceously polygonal avatars falling before the awesome power of Kilik‘s mighty man-stick.

On the not-so-bright side, my coughs have chunks. I’m pretty sure I have a pallor, too. In my experience, there are three types of people who can be said to have a pallor: goths, the sickly, and corpses. As I have no inclination to dye my hair black and begin listening to The Cure, I’m pretty sure that eliminates the possibility that I’ve somehow contracted the goth (which doesn’t necessarily preclude the goth from being communicable). Also, I’m definitely coughing, which is a form of breathing I guess, so I’m probably not dead. I am, therefore, the sickly. Excuse me while I rasp pathetically and mewl about “the vapors.”

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