Shout

My day began at 4:00 today — yes, I mean San Jose time. My alarm wasn't set to go off until 4:30, but since I was awake anyway, and since the cab was coming to pick us up at 5:30, I decided to stay up and attend to last minute details. And, (sniff!) to spend time with Pinky.

Natasha and Louisa were able to arrange their own transport to the airport, but neither Ryan nor I have a car, and since we both live in the west end of the city, near the campus, we decided to share a cab. Ryan stopped by my office yesterday and asked if I would please call him in the morning to make sure he was up.

I called him at 5:00. There was no answer.

I called him every five minutes until 5:25, then I went downstairs and called the taxi driver. She was outside Ryan's frat house, and reported there was no Ryan in sight. I suggested she come fetch me, which she did, then we headed back to the frat house.

The driver honked her horn, while I stood outside and screamed at the top of my lungs, in the general direction of the windows, "RYAN, WAKE UP!" I kicked and banged the front door.

We kept this up for 20 minutes, and there was not a stirring from within the house. I kept screaming my way around the building, until I discovered an open door around back. Then I went inside and started screaming and banging on doors.

I'm sure I annoyed the boys who live there, and, if they're reading, well, sorry, but I don't give a rat's ass. Getting that young man onto that plane — or not — is the difference between national fame for USJ, and national embarassment.

I got him on the plane.

That was 15 hours ago. He's now asleep in his room, as are Natasha and Louisa. I'm enjoying the wireless Internet access at the Marriott's bar, and the Detroit Tigers have just lost the World Series.

Not that I give a rat's ass about baseball.