The one about tray tables

Here are your fake band names for the first week of January:
* A "show couch" is furniture that your mom doesn't allow anyone to actually use. Not to be confused with a "slow coach", which I'd be surprised if it wasn't already a band name somewhere.
"Hello Cleveland! We are Slowcoach! Are you ready to rock?"
I've been everywhere in the past month. Much of it with sporadic Internet access. Busy, busy. In fact, its one of the reasons I blog instead of keeping a diary (aside form the fact that diaries are for sissies).

The two real reasons I don't keep a diary:
  1. Half of the time, my life is too boring/uneventful to chronicle.
  2. The other half of the time, I'm too dang busy to chronicle my fascinating, eventful life.
The last 6 months have been, uh, eventful.

Like a body accelerated to light speed, I have touched all parts of the universe. Or at least several hundred sticky airline tray tables.

[standup comedian mode]
And what's the deal with tray tables anyway? They're not tables. They're barely trays. Maybe they should call them "stomach guillotines" or "sky scissors"...

--After all, they must be deadly. You're only allowed to use the darn things for about 20 minutes a flight. Maybe they're radioactive or something. It would explain a lot. I can see it now:

Flight Attendant:
"For goodness sake people, get those tray tables to their upright, locked position-STAT! We've got a major containment breech here! One more minute of exposure and you'll all be as sterile as a band-aid!
[/standup comedian mode]

Thanks for reading, folks. I wish you every happiness in the upcoming year.

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