So Obama was called for jury duty in his former home city of Chicago. Oops. Guess what? He moved.
We can only hope that generating and sending out these notices is automated, and no actual humans are involved. Otherwise, I think we're all in trouble. Next they'll be calling Georgie B. to help decide the fate of some poor shmuck on trial for trying to rob a convenience store with a toy gun. After all, he did so well making important decisions before, didn't he?! How scary would it be to look over at the jurors and see Bushie sitting there with his finger in his ear?
You never hear of A-list actors doing jury duty. I guess if you have to be charged with a crime, there are worse things than staring at George Clooney in the jury box all day. Plus you could pretend you were actually in a movie and not on trial with the possibility of going to a real prison and having to go to the bathroom in public. Not to mention having to eat really bad food. I don't know from experience, but I wouldn't imagine prisons get their supplies from Whole Foods.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Through a Scanner Nudely
In 9 short years, plane travel has become an exercise in patience and the ability to withstand discomfort and humiliation. Not only do we have to take off our shoes with the fervent hope that the smell of our feet doesn't offend our fellow passengers, but now we will have our bodies scanned, electronically stripped, and studied by a guy in a room. Supposedly our faces will be pixelized, thereby encouraging Scanner Guy to leer or jeer at our naked bodies without actually being able to determine who we are when he leaves his post to use the men's room.
What I wonder is, who will be watching him? And how popular will this job be? At first glance, it would seem like a voyeur's wet dream job. But seriously, if you picked 100 people at random, how many would we actually want to see naked? Will the occasional hottie be worth the more common not-so-physically-appealing bodies Scanner Guy will be forced to look at? Will it be worth having to peer at the body of the 85-year-old guy on his way to visit his great-grandchildren, to make sure Great-Grandpa isn't packing explosives in his Depends?
Of course, there may be female scanners too, but will they actually be in different rooms? Chances are, passengers will just have the illusion of gender privacy, but in reality they'll both be looking, in addition to having someone else to make fun of the passengers with. "Hey Bob, look at THAT one! Bet THOSE tits aren't real!"
I heard we might actually be able to choose our terrorist-detection method. If we don't want Scanner Guy to see us naked, we can decide to have someone pat us down and stick their hand in our pants instead. Or we can choose the crotch-sniffing dog method. Hmmm. I'd probably choose Pat-down-Guy if he's cute.
Unfortunately the ordeal isn't over once we make it onto the plane, either. Now we have to do what we can to control our bodily functions in the last hour of the flight, lest we be forced to rush into the bathroom before the flight attendant can strong-arm us, resulting in an international incident and a cover story in TIME. Not exactly how I'd like my 15 minutes of fame.
What I wonder is, who will be watching him? And how popular will this job be? At first glance, it would seem like a voyeur's wet dream job. But seriously, if you picked 100 people at random, how many would we actually want to see naked? Will the occasional hottie be worth the more common not-so-physically-appealing bodies Scanner Guy will be forced to look at? Will it be worth having to peer at the body of the 85-year-old guy on his way to visit his great-grandchildren, to make sure Great-Grandpa isn't packing explosives in his Depends?
Of course, there may be female scanners too, but will they actually be in different rooms? Chances are, passengers will just have the illusion of gender privacy, but in reality they'll both be looking, in addition to having someone else to make fun of the passengers with. "Hey Bob, look at THAT one! Bet THOSE tits aren't real!"
I heard we might actually be able to choose our terrorist-detection method. If we don't want Scanner Guy to see us naked, we can decide to have someone pat us down and stick their hand in our pants instead. Or we can choose the crotch-sniffing dog method. Hmmm. I'd probably choose Pat-down-Guy if he's cute.
Unfortunately the ordeal isn't over once we make it onto the plane, either. Now we have to do what we can to control our bodily functions in the last hour of the flight, lest we be forced to rush into the bathroom before the flight attendant can strong-arm us, resulting in an international incident and a cover story in TIME. Not exactly how I'd like my 15 minutes of fame.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Post Office BMS
I went to the post office the other day to put the rent check in my landlord's P.O. box. When I got up to the counter, I asked the postal guy to put the letter in the box number indicated on the envelope. He replied, "I can do that for $17.50."
I stared at him. "Are you kidding?"
"No, that's the price for 'Express Mail.'"
I stared at him in disbelief. My mouth may have been hanging open. He grudgingly relented at my shock. "I'll do it, but I'm supposed to charge you," he grumbled, moving toward the back. I managed to say "thank you" with as minimal sarcasm as I could, fervently hoping he didn't toss the envelope in the trash. Of course, if he did he'd be fired and probably arrested, forced to spend New Year's in jail dodging the advances of a no-necked, tattooed guy named Big Leroy.
Now, I know Postal Services hasn't exactly been raking in the bucks in the last few years. Still, to actually charge someone seventeen dollars for walking a few yards and dropping an envelope into a box seems excessive. And calling it "Express Mail??" Express Mail is when you send something to somewhere that isn't in the same 10-feet radius you're standing in, and it goes through a somewhat elaborate process involving several parties to get to its destination the next day because you zoned out on your twin sister's birthday.
I couldn't help but wonder if this wasn't in fact a new regulation, but merely the brainchild of the asshole behind the counter, perhaps hoping to make some bucks. Maybe postal workers now work on commission. Or maybe this type of behavior is a symptom of Bureaucratic Maladjustment Syndrome, or BMS for short. At least it's better than bursting in the door brandishing an Uzi.
I stared at him. "Are you kidding?"
"No, that's the price for 'Express Mail.'"
I stared at him in disbelief. My mouth may have been hanging open. He grudgingly relented at my shock. "I'll do it, but I'm supposed to charge you," he grumbled, moving toward the back. I managed to say "thank you" with as minimal sarcasm as I could, fervently hoping he didn't toss the envelope in the trash. Of course, if he did he'd be fired and probably arrested, forced to spend New Year's in jail dodging the advances of a no-necked, tattooed guy named Big Leroy.
Now, I know Postal Services hasn't exactly been raking in the bucks in the last few years. Still, to actually charge someone seventeen dollars for walking a few yards and dropping an envelope into a box seems excessive. And calling it "Express Mail??" Express Mail is when you send something to somewhere that isn't in the same 10-feet radius you're standing in, and it goes through a somewhat elaborate process involving several parties to get to its destination the next day because you zoned out on your twin sister's birthday.
I couldn't help but wonder if this wasn't in fact a new regulation, but merely the brainchild of the asshole behind the counter, perhaps hoping to make some bucks. Maybe postal workers now work on commission. Or maybe this type of behavior is a symptom of Bureaucratic Maladjustment Syndrome, or BMS for short. At least it's better than bursting in the door brandishing an Uzi.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Another New Year Haiku
I'm making a list
of some things I'd like this year
George Clooney, you're first.
of some things I'd like this year
George Clooney, you're first.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
New Year Haiku
New Year's brings out guilt
People make resolutions
No more porn at work
Economy sucks
Maybe things will look up soon
Obama's trying
Healthcare bill a mess
Sarah Palin interferes
An ignorant skank
People make resolutions
No more porn at work
Economy sucks
Maybe things will look up soon
Obama's trying
Healthcare bill a mess
Sarah Palin interferes
An ignorant skank
Cockle-warming
I recently came across the expression "warm the cockles of my heart." Of course, it's not exactly a new expression, nor am I the first to ponder its obvious implications.
However, I became curious as to what a "cockle" actually is, and looked it up. I learned that a "cockle" is a hairy plant with a purplish flower, commonly found in grain fields and on the side of the road. John Bobbit immediately came to mind at this discovery, though his anatomical mishap was not, of course, in any way connected to the word's origin. The cockle is also a type of sea creature (as in, "cockles and mussels"), which is, apparently, somewhat heart-shaped.
Invariably, this also led me to speculate on the origin of the word "cock," and found that its origin, not surprisingly, doesn't have anything to do with the heart (or the brain). The original meaning was "a male bird." The word was also used to represent aggression in connection to fighting birds. Apparently, because birds have upright posture, the word also came to mean "something that sticks up." Well, okay then.
However, I became curious as to what a "cockle" actually is, and looked it up. I learned that a "cockle" is a hairy plant with a purplish flower, commonly found in grain fields and on the side of the road. John Bobbit immediately came to mind at this discovery, though his anatomical mishap was not, of course, in any way connected to the word's origin. The cockle is also a type of sea creature (as in, "cockles and mussels"), which is, apparently, somewhat heart-shaped.
Invariably, this also led me to speculate on the origin of the word "cock," and found that its origin, not surprisingly, doesn't have anything to do with the heart (or the brain). The original meaning was "a male bird." The word was also used to represent aggression in connection to fighting birds. Apparently, because birds have upright posture, the word also came to mean "something that sticks up." Well, okay then.
Monday, December 14, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - "Horny yet Intellectual"
One guy described himself in his profile as "crazily oversexed...with the highest intellectual standards."
Most of us (women) understand that one of these two things does not necessarily preclude the other. I found it amusing that Horny Intellectual Guy was compelled to add the "intellectual standards" part to maximize the possibility that the women reading it would say to themselves, "Ah, he cares about my MIND, too - he's the perfect man!!" Or perhaps, taken literally, it means discussing existentialism between thrusts.
I suppose the "crazily oversexed" part is meant to pique our curiosity. How, one wonders, would "oversexed" actually be defined? If "oversexed" implies the desire (and, we'd have to assume, the ability) to do it more than, say, three times a day, then might "crazily oversexed" refer to three times an hour? Of course, it could refer to content, rather than quantity - maybe only once a day, but involving Saran Wrap, a Barbie doll and a toy giraffe. One can only speculate....
Most of us (women) understand that one of these two things does not necessarily preclude the other. I found it amusing that Horny Intellectual Guy was compelled to add the "intellectual standards" part to maximize the possibility that the women reading it would say to themselves, "Ah, he cares about my MIND, too - he's the perfect man!!" Or perhaps, taken literally, it means discussing existentialism between thrusts.
I suppose the "crazily oversexed" part is meant to pique our curiosity. How, one wonders, would "oversexed" actually be defined? If "oversexed" implies the desire (and, we'd have to assume, the ability) to do it more than, say, three times a day, then might "crazily oversexed" refer to three times an hour? Of course, it could refer to content, rather than quantity - maybe only once a day, but involving Saran Wrap, a Barbie doll and a toy giraffe. One can only speculate....
Thursday, December 3, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - "Nipple What?"
I got a message from a guy with the profile name "Nipple Bender." My curiosity got the better of me, and I peeked at his profile. Yes, he meant it literally.
I can't help but ponder the logistics of this procedure. Bending? Not tweaking? I get tweaking, but bending actually implies that said nipples have more flexible capabilities than one would normally assume. In fact, nipple contortionist would be a more accurate description. I've heard of people who can bend their pinkie finger back over their wrist. Perhaps it's a similar phenomenon.
Of course, in terms of the human body, since the elasticity of pretty much everything is adversely proportional to age, the nipples of a mature woman may in fact bend more easily. Regrettably, however, the same could not be said for their ability to spring back to their original location. Therein lies the paradox.
Would, then, the poor woman's nipples be forever askew, pointed in opposite directions? Or, even more disturbingly, in the same direction, both pointing to the left or to the right, like those flares on airport runways that lead the planes safely to the gate? Hmmm....
I can't help but ponder the logistics of this procedure. Bending? Not tweaking? I get tweaking, but bending actually implies that said nipples have more flexible capabilities than one would normally assume. In fact, nipple contortionist would be a more accurate description. I've heard of people who can bend their pinkie finger back over their wrist. Perhaps it's a similar phenomenon.
Of course, in terms of the human body, since the elasticity of pretty much everything is adversely proportional to age, the nipples of a mature woman may in fact bend more easily. Regrettably, however, the same could not be said for their ability to spring back to their original location. Therein lies the paradox.
Would, then, the poor woman's nipples be forever askew, pointed in opposite directions? Or, even more disturbingly, in the same direction, both pointing to the left or to the right, like those flares on airport runways that lead the planes safely to the gate? Hmmm....
Saturday, November 28, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - Sexually Ambiguous Guy
We were to meet in a bar. When he stood up from his barstool and walked toward me, I thought, Gay. We moved to a couch, and he casually draped his arm around the back, behind my shoulders. I thought, Not gay.
We chatted for awhile. The conversation turned to movies, and he said one of his favorites was "Kiss of the Spider Woman," and that, in one particular scene, he admired Raul Julia's shirt. I thought, Gay. He added how sensuous Sonia Braga was in the film. I thought, Not Gay.
He excused himself to visit the men's room. I watched him walk away and thought, Gay. When he came back, he sat very close to me and touched my knee. I thought, Not Gay.
This mental vacillation went on for awhile longer, and then he drove me home. By the time he kissed me, I decided that even if he wasn't confused, I wasn't attracted to a man whose sexuality was so enigmatic.
We chatted for awhile. The conversation turned to movies, and he said one of his favorites was "Kiss of the Spider Woman," and that, in one particular scene, he admired Raul Julia's shirt. I thought, Gay. He added how sensuous Sonia Braga was in the film. I thought, Not Gay.
He excused himself to visit the men's room. I watched him walk away and thought, Gay. When he came back, he sat very close to me and touched my knee. I thought, Not Gay.
This mental vacillation went on for awhile longer, and then he drove me home. By the time he kissed me, I decided that even if he wasn't confused, I wasn't attracted to a man whose sexuality was so enigmatic.
Friday, November 20, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - Mr. Clusterf*ck
I've never been particularly good at multitask dating myself. Not that I wouldn't message more than one person at a time, or arrange to meet more than one guy a week, but two at a time is my limit (probably not in the same night). The difference between me and the guy who pretty much stood me up twice - let's call him Mr. Clusterf*ck - is that I am aware of my limitations, and would not attempt to juggle so many potential dates simultaneously as to end up dropping balls.
Mr. Clusterf*ck apparently has no such self-awareness. We had plans to meet several months ago, at a place that necessitated my waiting for a bus in the rain, and he didn't show. After I had blow-dried my socks, I sent him a message to the effect that if he had been run over by an SUV or held hostage at gunpoint by a recent Harvard grad overwhelmed by student loan payments, he had my sympathies, but if that wasn't the case then he was incredibly rude.
I didn't get a response for several days, which wasn't particularly a surprise, but then he sent me a message telling me that he had a family emergency out of town and, amazingly enough, his computer was simultaneously malfunctioning. All that was missing were a dying grandmother, a broken-down car and a rabid dog.
I thought that was that until he called me on my cell, at a time when I was unable to talk. I called him back and left a message. Never heard back. Right after that his profile, the third he'd had in the few months since I'd joined, was deleted. Hmmm.
Last week, Mr. Clusterf*ck popped up again, sending me a message that he seemed to remember he owed me a beer. Ya think? Anyway, by this time I was kind of curious as to what the hell this guy was really like in person, and thought I'd give him the benefit of the doubt. I agreed to meet him. He suggested a day he was free. I sent him a message suggesting a specific time and place, and of course, I didn't hear back.
That is, until I checked my cell and found a message from him asking him to verify a time and place we hadn't discussed, on the day BEFORE we were supposed to tentatively meet. Apparently, he had confused me with someone else.
Good luck to her.
Mr. Clusterf*ck apparently has no such self-awareness. We had plans to meet several months ago, at a place that necessitated my waiting for a bus in the rain, and he didn't show. After I had blow-dried my socks, I sent him a message to the effect that if he had been run over by an SUV or held hostage at gunpoint by a recent Harvard grad overwhelmed by student loan payments, he had my sympathies, but if that wasn't the case then he was incredibly rude.
I didn't get a response for several days, which wasn't particularly a surprise, but then he sent me a message telling me that he had a family emergency out of town and, amazingly enough, his computer was simultaneously malfunctioning. All that was missing were a dying grandmother, a broken-down car and a rabid dog.
I thought that was that until he called me on my cell, at a time when I was unable to talk. I called him back and left a message. Never heard back. Right after that his profile, the third he'd had in the few months since I'd joined, was deleted. Hmmm.
Last week, Mr. Clusterf*ck popped up again, sending me a message that he seemed to remember he owed me a beer. Ya think? Anyway, by this time I was kind of curious as to what the hell this guy was really like in person, and thought I'd give him the benefit of the doubt. I agreed to meet him. He suggested a day he was free. I sent him a message suggesting a specific time and place, and of course, I didn't hear back.
That is, until I checked my cell and found a message from him asking him to verify a time and place we hadn't discussed, on the day BEFORE we were supposed to tentatively meet. Apparently, he had confused me with someone else.
Good luck to her.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - More Prize-Winners
Occasionally, among the banal, I come across some genuinely funny and original stuff. Here is some more of the most notable:
"I love dogs, cats and children - they taste just like chicken."
One of the first things people notice about me: "My remarkable likeness to my picture at the post office."
"I am a practitioner of Karma Sutra II...." (otherwise known as Tantric Sex, the Sequel - I heard it was better than Rambo II)
"Let us form an orderly line, preferably three wide - blonds left, redheads center, brunettes right, and all others can simply intermingle."
"I am the meat-puppet of the God flute of the universe." Huh?
"I love dogs, cats and children - they taste just like chicken."
One of the first things people notice about me: "My remarkable likeness to my picture at the post office."
"I am a practitioner of Karma Sutra II...." (otherwise known as Tantric Sex, the Sequel - I heard it was better than Rambo II)
"Let us form an orderly line, preferably three wide - blonds left, redheads center, brunettes right, and all others can simply intermingle."
"I am the meat-puppet of the God flute of the universe." Huh?
Sunday, November 15, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - and the winner is...
In my online dating travels, I've come across a few answers to profile questions that deserve recognition.
The best answer to the question, "What is the Most Private Thing You're Willing to Admit Here?" is, hands-down, "I paid $2000 for a photo of Mr. Rogers beating a nun to death on a pile of dead puppies." Now that's a guy I want to meet....
First runner-up: "I was once molested by a covey of Catholic Nuns" (the nun theme seems to be a popular one).
Second runner-up: "I do it alone on a regular basis."
Winner of the Mr. Subtle Award for the answer to the question, "What are 6 Things You Couldn't Do Without?": "Sex, Sex, Sex, Sex, Sex, and a blow job."
The winner of the In-Your-Face Award is for the profile name, "Biggest Cock Ever" and the accompanying instruction to "click the pink link in my profile."
The best answer to the question, "What is the Most Private Thing You're Willing to Admit Here?" is, hands-down, "I paid $2000 for a photo of Mr. Rogers beating a nun to death on a pile of dead puppies." Now that's a guy I want to meet....
First runner-up: "I was once molested by a covey of Catholic Nuns" (the nun theme seems to be a popular one).
Second runner-up: "I do it alone on a regular basis."
Winner of the Mr. Subtle Award for the answer to the question, "What are 6 Things You Couldn't Do Without?": "Sex, Sex, Sex, Sex, Sex, and a blow job."
The winner of the In-Your-Face Award is for the profile name, "Biggest Cock Ever" and the accompanying instruction to "click the pink link in my profile."
Saturday, November 14, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - on the nose
There is a phrase screenwriters are familiar with called "on the nose." This does not refer to an unfortunately placed wart, but rather dialogue that states the obvious in a manner that generally makes the audience wince with its lack of subtlety. The following are excerpts from profiles that are, clearly, not written by screenwriters.
"...I am looking for a nice woman with a nice rack..." "I have an insatiable appetite..." "...in case you were wondering, I am 'well-endowed' and regularly use 'Extends' (excuse me, but isn't that statement a contradiction??)..." "If you are a woman seeking great loving and absolute discretion, I'm your man...I like single, divorced, widowed, engaged, or married, and can swing if required...." "The first thing people usually notice about me is my enormous penis or my sense of humor, whichever cums first (okay, that one is at least somewhat clever)."
One message I received in my inbox contained a photo that, at first glance, looked like the head of a penis. When I investigated further (of course I did, what do you think??), it turned out to be, in fact, his nose.
"...I am looking for a nice woman with a nice rack..." "I have an insatiable appetite..." "...in case you were wondering, I am 'well-endowed' and regularly use 'Extends' (excuse me, but isn't that statement a contradiction??)..." "If you are a woman seeking great loving and absolute discretion, I'm your man...I like single, divorced, widowed, engaged, or married, and can swing if required...." "The first thing people usually notice about me is my enormous penis or my sense of humor, whichever cums first (okay, that one is at least somewhat clever)."
One message I received in my inbox contained a photo that, at first glance, looked like the head of a penis. When I investigated further (of course I did, what do you think??), it turned out to be, in fact, his nose.
Friday, November 13, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - Kevin, is that you???
Here's a weird one. A guy's profile came up in my matches whose photo was a dead ringer for Kevin Spacey. Not as in he just looked like Kevin Spacey. This actually appeared to be Kevin Spacey's photo on this guy's profile. Could anyone really look that much like him, I wondered? And if not, why would someone put his photo up on their profile? I mean, Kevin Spacey is attractive and a wonderful actor, but if you're going to put an actor's pic up on your profile, why not, say, Brad Pitt?
And if you were doing it as a joke, wouldn't it be funnier to use someone like Woody Allen, or Weird Al Yankovic, or maybe Howard Stern? Why Kevin Spacey?
I had to find out. I emailed the guy and asked if he could be Kevin Spacey's identical twin brother or if that was, in fact, Kevin Spacey's pic on his profile and did he just put it up there to see if anyone noticed?
Since the guy identified himself as bisexual and I wasn't comfortable with dating a bi guy (when you've had the inevitable single-woman misfortune of falling in love with a gay male friend, you get a bit gun-shy about this), I decided to be upfront about that, not wishing to give the wrong impression as to why I emailed him. Big mistake.
Pseudo-Kevin sent a scathing email back, clearly having taken offense at my query. I didn't mind the insult, the nature of which was rather absurd (he pretty much referred to me as fat, which at size 8 could possibly be true in the Bizarro World, but not anywhere else) as much as I minded the fact that he didn't answer the question. I guess Kevin Spacey's face will continue to float in the online dating dimension, forever a mystery.
And if you were doing it as a joke, wouldn't it be funnier to use someone like Woody Allen, or Weird Al Yankovic, or maybe Howard Stern? Why Kevin Spacey?
I had to find out. I emailed the guy and asked if he could be Kevin Spacey's identical twin brother or if that was, in fact, Kevin Spacey's pic on his profile and did he just put it up there to see if anyone noticed?
Since the guy identified himself as bisexual and I wasn't comfortable with dating a bi guy (when you've had the inevitable single-woman misfortune of falling in love with a gay male friend, you get a bit gun-shy about this), I decided to be upfront about that, not wishing to give the wrong impression as to why I emailed him. Big mistake.
Pseudo-Kevin sent a scathing email back, clearly having taken offense at my query. I didn't mind the insult, the nature of which was rather absurd (he pretty much referred to me as fat, which at size 8 could possibly be true in the Bizarro World, but not anywhere else) as much as I minded the fact that he didn't answer the question. I guess Kevin Spacey's face will continue to float in the online dating dimension, forever a mystery.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
My Online Dating Saga - Boy Toy Time?
In the spirit of being open to whatever romantic adventures might come my way, no matter how potentially embarrassing, I decided to actually meet in person one of those 28-year-old guys with possible Oedipal issues who often send me sweetly suggestive messages. I won't be doing that again.
The lack of mutual interest was obvious from the first three seconds, but we both had to play nice and chat for a brief period before politely escaping. On his part, he was probably paying too much attention to my boobs to really look at my face in the photos, so seeing me in person was probably a bit of a shock for the poor kid.
As for my lack of interest, it was due to the fact that the guy talked in a complete monotone, like Steven Wright without the comedy. For half an hour of conversation. No vocal inflection whatsoever. I suspect meds were involved.
I couldn't help but flash back to another half-hour date, with a guy who stared at the bartender while slinging back shots of bourbon, his nose dripping down his face the entire time. Just when I was about to offer him a Kleenex, he wiped his nose with his hand.
Maybe the next one will be better....
The lack of mutual interest was obvious from the first three seconds, but we both had to play nice and chat for a brief period before politely escaping. On his part, he was probably paying too much attention to my boobs to really look at my face in the photos, so seeing me in person was probably a bit of a shock for the poor kid.
As for my lack of interest, it was due to the fact that the guy talked in a complete monotone, like Steven Wright without the comedy. For half an hour of conversation. No vocal inflection whatsoever. I suspect meds were involved.
I couldn't help but flash back to another half-hour date, with a guy who stared at the bartender while slinging back shots of bourbon, his nose dripping down his face the entire time. Just when I was about to offer him a Kleenex, he wiped his nose with his hand.
Maybe the next one will be better....
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