I've been told to write...

...even though I don't have much to say. Nothing that's good, anyway.

If you want to read whining and miserable stuff, y'all have come to the right place.

So, lemme see...what's been going on?

I picked up Photographer D. and his girlfriend at the airport last night at the conclusion of their trip to Italy. I knew they were returning, but hoped they'd call with some basic information. You know, like the flight number, arrival time, etc.

Late Sunday there was a message on my answering machine: "It's D. We'll be back Tuesday at 6:05. We land at Terminal "B."

Ummmm...a few unanswered questions there. Like: morning or night? And, since LAX has no "Terminal B" (they are numbered one through seven), was he landing somewhere else?

Okay. They left via United, so I guessed they'd come back the same way. I also guessed he meant 6:05 p.m. Checked with United's website and found a flight that fit the parameters. It would land at Terminal Seven.

B...seven...close enough, I guess.

Checked the site one last time before driving over there and, aside from a 20-minute delay in landing, nothing changed.

Now, I've flown via United to Europe dozens of times. Despite the fact that LAX has a so-called "International" terminal, some of those flights did indeed park at United's own terminal.

This one did, too. But the passengers were then taken by bus to the "International" terminal. I was waiting at Terminal Seven, and my car was in the appropriate parking garage. The information screens showed the plane landing there.

But then, after landing, the screens changed, and showed the passengers debarking at the international terminal. Into car, leave lot, drive to the other terminal, park.

Of course it took them quite a while to get through customs. Since the preceding flights all seemed to be filled with "visitors" lugging all their worldly possessions with them from Asia and Mexico, D. and S. needed nearly a half-hour to get past those beady-eyed guardians of our territorial sovereignty and immigration laws.

It only took me three hours total to pick them up and take them home.

That's maybe the most productive thing I'll do this week. Today, I got a copy of a magazine I've been writing for; the current issue has nothing of mine in it, even though they have maybe five pieces I've written in hand right now. That means I won't get a check from them for another month. If they choose to use any of them then.

That always cheers me up.

My back hurts like hell, as it has for three weeks. The doctor's appointment I thought I thought was scheduled for last Friday is actually this Friday. I've considered going to a chiropractor, but have yet to hear back from the one recommended to me. He's a busy guy.

I may have to hunt up an attorney, which I can't afford. Someone is hassling me and I'm not sure I can fight it on my own. 'Nuff said.

I don't feel like working. I can't manage more than a mile or so on foot, and feel out of sorts about that.

I do feel like pouring myself a stiff shot of Adult Beverage. Maybe two. Or three.

Not doing that, though.

Yup. I'm in a bad mood.

Feel better knowing what's going on?