Fall and funerals

So. Wednesday. Uh...

I can always tell when it's fall because I go out and buy hot drink mixes like instant cappuccino and odd-flavored teas, Kelsey comes into our bed three or four times a night, and I start thinking about buying new furniture. Never fails. Fall is upon us.

I flicked on the TV this morning, and they were showing Steve Irwin's massive funeral at Australia Zoo. (He was at Australia Zoo the day I was, but I never saw him.) I was shocked when I heard he died, but not surprised given the risks he took. Kelsey was very upset because he died on her birthday. Anyway, I hadn't really been fazed by his death. I never paid much attention to him. But seeing the funeral clips got to me, little Bindi so easily reading that piece of notebook paper, tracing the words with her finger, and Terri having to keep it together, holding Bob in her lap. I'd hate to have my grief so publicized. It's hard enough to suffer the loss of the love of your life, and with your family so young.

Australians seem very proud of how "Australian" Steve was. I wonder how they feel about him marrying an American.

When we were at Australia Zoo, whoever was holding the microphone in the croc show asked who was from America. When I raised my hand, a guy going past said, "American?! Achh!" He held out his hand to me and said, "Here's a ticket. Go home!" So much for that reputation of being such nice people. What a dick. I wonder if he'd say that to Terri. Fortunately, he was the only Aussie ass I met.

I think everyone should travel a lot. Get out of what's normal to them to find out that there are lots of normals in the world and that those normals are OK, too. Easier said than done, of course. When I went to Mexico when I was 16, I thought it was bizarre that most people wanted everything to be the way it was at home. Why bother going anywhere? There's more to travel than a nice view. And there's more to the world than my little way of doing things.

It's just as annoying, though, when you go somewhere and people scorn you because you don't do things the way they do, as though you're handed a rule book to memorize when you step off the plane. Of course some things are serious cultural infractions. But little things just don't matter.

Oh, dear. I feel a serious rant coming on. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. I've done enough of that recently.

How about those Packers, huh? You know, Soldier Field is a little closer than Lambeau...ha! I'm kidding! I'm no fair-weather fan. But I'm saving myself the disappointment and not watching the last nail get pounded into the Packer coffin. These things cycle. Ten, fifteen years, man, we're gonna kick some ass.