The Color of Monet...

would be a great title for a book about the relationship of art and value or, well, maybe it wouldn't.

See, I was hoping to have something humorous to put down in here, but when you try to force out some funny, it rarely works. 

Instead I'll just talk about how I've decided I'll always opt for the pat down if my only other option at airport security is the x-ray machine. I've only once had to go through that thing, but I was decided that yesterday would not be my second time. Having had enough radiation in one lifetime from imaging for all manner of injury, and with these machines not all that tested, I'd rather have a gloved hand once-over. They offered to do it in a private room if I was uncomfortable having it done in front of people, but somehow I feel a private airport pat-down would prove more to be far more uncomfortable.

Workers in McCarran Airport were also highly supportive of my consistently dopy style of mixing coloring on pairs of shoes. I wonder if this would be as well received if I did not appear to be a bit younger than I really am.

In the opposite vein of reception, on a brief jaunt last week some dude from a car yelled that I "looked foolish." With no noted response — I neither turned head, broke stride, or anything else — he repeated himself. I continue not to understand the threat of a relatively skinny guy running down the street, even if he's got no shirt on. And hell, foolish? Do any of the assclowns that yell these things really think it's both my first run and first run in such attire? Dream on, right Steve? The real question: why are all these people so insecure?

I wonder if old Gore Vidal was insecure...