We don't get fooled again

Here we are in Miami, me and my best friend since we were ten, Kay. It's spring break, and we have a strategic plan for avoiding the drunk kids and the girls gone wild. We're going to look for David Caruso instead.


What, don't they film CSI:Miami on location?

Seriously, though, if you watch the show, I'm dying to know something. When there's a scene showing them outside the building, the one where their lab is — is that a real building? Or is it CGI? There's something about it that always seems surreal.

But I digress. I'm in Miami, with my BFF, and because of the time zone change, and me coming from California, and her from Bermuda, she is fast asleep and I am writing to you and surfing late night television.

(To tell you the truth, we're not in Miami. We're in North Miami Beach. There's also Miami Shores, Miami Beach, Miami Lakes, West Miami... and, of course Miami proper.)

It took me most of the day to get here. Kay had arrived first, before noon, I think, so she picked up the car, checked into the hotel, and checked out the little huts on the beach, while waiting for me and my plane from Denver to get here. Everything that could be delayed was, so it was midnight by the time I saw her.

"Meet me at the Alamo," she said. They need to see your driver's license.

Then she filled me in on her day: "The hotel is nice. I went to the beach for a while, then took a nap. I only got home from work at 3:00 this morning, so I just packed and went to the airport. Now is not a good time to go on vacation. My boss tried to talk me out of it, but I said there was no way I wasn't going."

Kay is a banker in Bermuda. She has five clients, who, between them, have wealth equal to the GNP of a medium-size European country.

"So, you mean you have to do work while we're here? Please say yes!"

"Well, not exactly work, but I have to be available if my assistant calls. One of my clients is flying in tomorrow, and she's vexed that I won't be there."

I love that she uses vex in a sentence. That's my pal. I had been feeling guilty because I have a whack of work that needs doing in the next week, and I was worried she'd think I was a freak because I can't be separated from my computer for more than six hours.

Our hotel room is nice, but not so nice that we feel guilty about how much we're paying for it. It has the expected tropical flower print bedspread, and parrots on the wall. We don't have an ocean view, but who cares, we have THE OCEAN!

So here we are, or at least were, before she fell asleep; sitting on our two beds, Kay with a glass of wine, me with a beer, and both of us with our laptops. She shows me pictures of her son, and I show her Rochester's video of the frozen tundra of Iceland, where he's been for the last year. His commentary slays me.

She laughs at the same things I do, and that's what best friends are for.

Bill, I love you so, I always will

I love Bill Maher. Not love as in I love peanut butter or I love that new sweater on you, and not love as in I've got a shrine to him in my basement and am about to be the basis of next week's Law & Order plot. Love as in I hang on his every word and, excuse the vulgarity because it's not usually my style, would happily fuck his brains out. It's full on, mad groupie love.


Maybe I'm delusional, and maybe I'm wrong about the Law & Order plot, but I think I have a shot with him, should we, you know, ever be in the same place at the same time. Don't you think he looks like the kind of guy who didn't get much before he became a celebrity, and who, even now that he is, probably doesn't?

On Bill Maher's official website there's a video of him appearing on a sitcom with Geena Davis. I know how tall she is, because I once asked her where she buys her pants, so I can tell you, he's short. Really short, for a man.

I would still do him. The height differential is a lot less noticeable when you're mostly horizontal. I would even leave the four inch heels on, because I think Bill Maher is the sexiest man in America. Brains are what make you sexy, people, don't you know that?

I like to think that's how Bill Maher feels, too, and that he's not the kind of guy who goes for 25 year old bimbos, like those morons on The Millionaire Matchmaker, which, incidentally, is my new favourite show.