Ever have one of those days where you feel like a foreigner in your own home town? This was one of those days.

As soon as twelve o'clock rolled around, I hung a sign on my office door and scampered off to lunch. (Yes, I scamper. And I rather enjoy scampering.) Being Friday, the first order of business is a stop at the bank.

A day or two ago, I jokingly suggested that Keeks learn Blondie's Heart of Glass for her karaoke contests. Today she proudly told me that she really wants to learn it. If I had known she was taking requests, I'd have picked Brass In Pocket. Then I could sing More Than This. And then we could cry together.

My visit to the bank also included a brief discussion on which Happy Meal toys are most conducive to happiness.

Next stop, the lunchline at a grocery store deli. I made my salad and stood in line at the cash register. Two men in blue work shirts with embroidered names were wandering near me looking up at the ceiling. They were talking, but I wasn't listening to them until I picked up the word "teats." [Go nuts, -g.d. That sentence is just for you.] Apparently "teats" has something do with plumbing. The two made vague hand gestures and said things like "the lines run all through here, but there are no teats. We need to find teats." I'm certain that last statement is true on several levels.

On the way out of the store I saw a really shabby looking woman wearing a cellphone earpiece. I have no idea what her story is, but she looked odd. I associate those earpieces with busy, important people. She looked like neither.

There was another woman, this one stunningly beautiful. She was slender, tan, and knew how to dress. The only thing that marred her was the hideous look on her face. I'm sure you've seen pretty women with this look. It's that angry defensive look. The look that says "I'm hot and we both know it. We both also know that you don't have a chance, so don't even grin at me or I'll emasculate you." I understand that an expression like that is a defense mechanism, but it's ironic to see a woman who's obviously working hard to be simultaneously fabulous below the neck and forbidding above the neck.

In the parking lot there was a woman only slightly larger than an elf climbing out of a Lincoln Aviator. I'm quite serious when I say "climbing." I almost expected a man in coveralls to run up and attach a ladder to the side of her Winnebago-sized SUV. [What macho code name would be painted on her flight helmet, I wonder? My money's on Leprechaun.]

In the car on the way back to work I caught the last half of a radio ad for some Madison hotel. Near the end the announcer said "and don't forget fabulous Crawdaddy Cove." I don't know what that is, but I'll bet it isn't a cove and doesn't have anything to do with crayfish. Who thought the image of an upscale hotel would benefit from being associated with "crawdaddies?"

Back at the office I sat down with lunch and started reading news. Among today's ridiculousness: Soup Nazi brand soup is set to hit store shelves soon, Cops handcuffed a five year old for throwing a tantrum, and NASA is preparing to relax Shuttle safety rules. These are the same rules that were not meticulous enough to prevent the loss of both Challenger and Columbia.

This was 30 minutes of my day. All day long I was in this strange sort of mood. I felt as if I was seeing only the foolish side of everything. Most days I wallow in stupidity and banality. Today I just kept wondering what the hell went wrong.

For lunch today I went to a nearby grocery store that has a cafeteria-style lunch line in the deli. A salad piled high with crap is pretty much my Friday routine. Usually they have two different bowls of lettuce, the regular iceberg lettuce and that other stuff.

That other stuff is pretty good, and it's my usual choice. But I can't help but wonder why so much of it looks like weeds. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that half the stuff in that bowl is from yesterday's floral department rejects.

A few weeks ago I decided to spice up my salad experience with a few of those little mozzarella balls that are so trendy now. After eating them, I immediately began to wonder why in the hell they're so trendy now.

They suck. They're so bland as to almost be completely tasteless. And the texture is a little unpleasant. Maybe things would be different were I to visit some trendy Manhattan mozzarella bar where chefs actually do inventive and creative things with this crap. But for now I'm recommending mozzarella as a pizza cheese only.

While I was at the grocery store I saw an old schoolmate. Let's call him Rudy. Rudy makes me sad every time I see him. Rudy's been bagging groceries since the mid-1980s.

Because Rudy is… "special" he got involved in some kind of work skill program that had him working a steady after-school job starting in the 8th grade. Rudy worked at grocery store #1 for 15 years before he started getting dissatisfied. Apparently he was a little upset that they'd never given him a raise. Ever. I'm not counting minimum wage increases here.

The last time I really talked to him was a few years ago. He was all jazzed up about leaving grocery store #1 for grocery store #2. Grocery store #2 had offered him a whopping $1.50 over minimum wage. Yee-haw.

Still, I suppose I shouldn't knock it too much. After all, he still looks like the happiest guy there.