2002-09-27 - 1:28 p.m.

So with so much windy affront, Isadore stood me up, like the meteorological bandy-drawered strumpet that she so clearly is. Still, at least it saved me from having to camp out in Chicago O'Hare airport for the night.

The flight was relatively crash-free,with nothing to distinguish it aside from the aged crone next to me whose understaning of the entertanment listings was tenuous to say the least. "Oh, I think I'll watch such a thing and so and so" she said with the relentless optimism of the terminally bewildered. I hadn't the heart to tell her that she'd have to be in First Class and on something like the Miami-Bogota route to see her particular choice.

So after a refreshing night at the never-less-than-lovely Chateaux Bimbeaux, it's time to reacquaint myself with the Big Sleazy, and its liver-rending ways (you know you're in trouble when people are drinking go-cups at Baggage Reclaim). Chin, chin.