On a more positive note, I went to Montreal's airport for the first time this year and I thought it was nice.

Unless you're changing planes on an international flight. I flew Air France to Paris via Montreal ($300 plus tax, who could say no?) Going through immigration was a bit of a nail-biter -- *insanely* long lines that snake back and forth for what seems like forever (close to an hour) and no prioritization for people on flights leaving earlier rather than later. The only interesting thing about it was the fit of hysteria thrown by a young woman whose action-reaction-subsequent hauling away by security was interepreted by me as having been nabbed for smuggling drugs. That distracted me from my fears about missing my flight for about 15 minutes.

CDG will remain in my mind forever for two things: 1) the flight home, before which the passengers on my plane were shepherded in one direction for about five minutes, then immediately shepherded back in the direction from whence we came for another five minutes, and then turned around *again* and sent back on our original path, and 2) upon arrival the announcement by security as we approached passport control that there was a bomb scare and everyone needed to move back. My mother was of course freaking out, but I decided we were OK because the French all sort of shuffled back about 30 feet, leaned against the nearest wall, and immediately lit cigarettes, which they sucked on with that peculiarly Gallic air of "meh, we are Frainch, dis doze not fraaaten us, you bore me wif your silly bombe scair-uh"

Shannon is to outward appearances pretty dismal, but I love it a) because it means I'm in Ireland, and b) because their pub opens at 7am, which is -- conveniently -- "last call" time for the folks arriving from Boston. The cafe serves the most dreadful-tasting scrambled eggs in the history of the universe, though. Dire. Avoid them at all costs. I foolishly try them almost every time I land, thinking "maybe this time they'll be better" but they never are. Load up the plate with rashers and sausages and some toast, and make yourself a sambo instead.

for those who seek out and appreciate a good lager (which is much more difficult to brew) Sam Adams is a godsend

This was revelatory. Is that why 98% of the beers on tap at all the pubs and taverns in Boston are ales? I can't stand ales, but I love a nice pilsner and lager. Unless I want to waste my life drinking Harp, I'm left with one tavern nearby (owned by some friends, conveniently) that serves Brooklyn and Spaten on tap. What's the deal?

Not all guys with beards, and not any style of beard on a guy, but generally speaking the right beard on the right guy beats a clean-shaven man any day of the week.

My dad has a beard. All of his brothers have beards. His father had a beard. Almost all of his cousins have beards or moustaches. I am 99% certain that somewhere in the recesses my brain, beard=attractive because bearded guys represent stability, security, love honor, and trustworthiness (and fun, my family really loves a party.)

It took me a while to be down with my affinity for beards, becuase there's something kind of squicky about understanding that I like beards because my dad has one, but whatever. There's worse afflictions to have.

I had an interesting conversation with my roommate my freshman year in college. Her father was a trial lawyer and she said that defense lawyers almost univerally ask their clients to appear in court clean-shaven, because most members of the public don't trust men with beards. I have 100% the opposite reaction: if I see a criminal case on the news, I instinctively trust and believe the guy with the beard. If something like child abuse or sexual assault is the crime, I am upset to the point of nausea if the perpetrator has a beard, but if he's clean-shaven I'm just run-of-the-mill disgusted.

Like, say, you've got a family function and you know that Aunt Betsy cooks everything with a pound of butter, or you go out to a fast food restaurant once a month, I can see taking one then to reduce the impact of an *occasional* slip off the diet wagon.

You can't eat that kind of food *at all*, because the "pound of butter" that the food is cooked with will come shooting out the tail end of your digestive system uncontrollably, unannounced, and quite possibly while you are in public. That's what it means when they say the drug causes your body not to absorb fat.

The real function of the drug is enforced control over your eating habits via extreme negative reinforcement. What people won't do with willpower, they sure as hell will do with the threat of public fecal incontinence hanging over them.

I get that some people have tics... I have a friend who meows

I'm sorry to drag this off topic, but you have a friend that meows??? What on earth for? What triggers her meowing? Does she do it regardless of circumstances or surroundings or just around close friend?