Back from a glorious Spring Break and feeling super! I hope everyone had a dandy fine time where ever they went. My honey and I went to northern Florida and spent a great week on a Fernandina beach (I got a sun burn on the first god damn day!) hanging out and away from all the distractions of everyday college life: studying, classes, papers, and E-bay. It was relaxing and comforting to drink mudslides in my sandals with a wife beater on in the sun but by the end I was a little homesick for crappy old New England, where looking someone in the eyes as you walk past them could get you stabbed. But when my girlfriend and I arrived at Logan last Thursday to cold, dreary weather it was another overwhelming jab-in-the-eye reminder that we should have dropped out of school and stayed in sunny Florida, never to return to the doldrums of New Hampshire life that has repeatedly kicked me in the groin and laughed while I was crawling on the floor in pain. Snow, snow, sleet, and more snow have piled up on one another making me depressed about the always-delayed arrival of spring. In the meantime, we have to suck it up and return to classes. I think I need a vacation from my vacation, if for no other excuse than to have some more sunshine on my face (and probably more of those blotchy, sun burn marks).
One thing I discovered about airports on my recent trip that was previously unknown to me: Airport news and magazine stores have a lot of pornography. I mean A LOT OF PORN! Enough so that you could strictly survive off of their supply, never having to send away or shop online for your fix of palm exercises. Logan and Philly were especially bad. They had the standard Playboy, Penthouse, Hustler deal—those are pretty normal for anyplace—but then they had all the really nasty mags, like Over 40, Dag Nasty, Barely Legal, the Oui!, the Club editions, and even a wonderful selection of Tight issues. I found this strange. After all, I’ve never been on a plane and had or seen anyone next to me reading a skin mag while they were killing time in the air. It seems like one of those taboo things you don’t do because people will think you’re weird or a pervert, or both. Also, if you ever had to go use the bathroom, people would probably think you’re only using it to wax the cue, even if you just have to blow your nose, or something similar. So I thought to myself “Otto, you are a pervert and a weirdo, so what do you have to lose?” I pulled out my wallet and picked out the nastiest, scummiest three magazines I could find, scrolled through the pages just to make sure I was buying what the cover said (hey, you never know with porn. You might end up with Dudes Magazine simply replaced with another cover) and went to the counter to pay for them. Success! I sat down in the chairs by the terminal and began to read. On a side note, Dag Nasty has some very good writers. I suggest you read Marvin Ironjock’s pieces whenever you get the chance. Anyway, I was the king of the airport as every person who walked by looked at me with a strange, almost envious look as if to say, “Man, I wish I had some dirty porn to read.” Twenty minutes later, after finding out my diabolical scheme, my girlfriend said I was embarrassing her and demanded that I return all of them. I had to settle for Auto Week. Not really the same thing, but it would have to do for the boring ride. The end.
PS. Tune in next week when I write about how I threatened the airline hostess with violence and passed it off as a practical joke!