Well, I'm in Canada now... It's been a big crazy day that started with a plane full of elders on their way to NYC. For some reason they couldn't sit in the seat numbers indicated on their tickets. Three elders sat in the row in front of me. When a sister whose seat was assigned to that row showed up, the elder said, "My ticket is for 17a, you can go sit there..." The girls said, "Oh, that's okay. We'll just sit here," motioning to my row. "Can we sit here?" they asked. "Uh, I guess so," I said. I should have said, "Why don't you just sit where your damn ticket tells you to." Then the guy who was supposed to sit there showed up and they told him to sit in 17a. I had hoped to be rescued from Mormondom by a young woman in clearly non-Mormon business-atire (i.e. non-matronly), but she ended up having to sit in a sandwich between elder Double-Wide and elder Pyle. It occurred to me that most stages in Mormon life appear to be various adaptations of Junior High School. If I ever see Mormons who appear to have matured beyond grade-school, they tend to be grandparents. Maybe the church lets you get serious and grow up after your kids have all left the nest.

At the Canadian airport I had to walk past the customs dog (a Dave). He got all excited about me and walked a circle around my legs, ensnaring me with his leash. "Oh, shit," I thought. "Does this mean I get strip-searched?" The customs guys waved me through. I guess he just liked me.