They promised me there'd be a Chinook

And once again, as seems to happen more frequently than I would like, it's a Junior Ricardipus's birthday and I'm traveling. But this time, it's JR#1 turning seven and I'm in Calgary. That's Calgary, Alberta, Canada. Where it's cold. At this time of year.

Ok, ok, it's not actually as cold as you might think - barely colder than where I live, which is just north of Toronto, more or less. And like last time I was in this airport, it's possible to see the Rocky Mountains from the airport, when the cloud and fog lift. It would still take you a few hours to drive there, though... they're big, they're on the horizon, and they're still far, far away.

So, this city... say it with me: COW-GLA-REE. Emphasis on the bovine. This ain't your old-world Cagliari namesake, folks. They have airport greeters in stetsons. Really. However, it's comforting that the airport hotel is just as boring as all other airport hotels, at least the ones I've experienced. As fun as the proverbial barrel of monkeys. Viz:

I also am scared by this. Perhaps it's time I got some sleep.

[potch]

GNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

[potch]

^
that is the sound of my head exploding.


More later. After I finish a lot of work. And prepare two talks. And fly to Calgary and back.

--

In other news, it seems that the not-so-dismal weather on the weekend brought a hopeful Ferrari 360 Modena out of the woodwork for one last fling. Also seen on my trip all the way downtown to pick up the laptop power cord that I forgot to bring home on Friday: a BMW M6, ugly but quick, and a Mercedes E63 AMG, ugly but expensive, powerful and stinking of suburban affluence.

You know you're a parent if:

You are well aware that the side mirror on a car is at the same height as a child's head.


Or, if you post things like this because you don't have time to write a literary magnum opus.