Air Travel: A Pictorial

Wings



Don't get me wrong, I'm glad they're there. I'd much rather them be attached and us fly around the country all safe and whatnot, as opposed to the alternative: Crashing in a lake and having my eyeballs eaten by a trout before the dive team works their way to the back of the plane. Still, though... what the fuck are airplane wings? What makes them work? Are they full of birds? Trained birds that all flap their wings at the exact same time and that's why planes fly (I totally get how bird's wings work by the way: they're filled with bees)? Surely I'd have heard about that by now, so that can't be it. But really, I don't have any other theories as to how they do that voodoo that they apparently do so well. Wait... is it voodoo? Yeah... yeah, it's probably voodoo. Whew! Problem solved.

Oh, also, "Band on the Run" was a great song.

O'Hare International Airport



There's a dinosaur skeleton in one of their terminals. Oooookay. I mean, hey, it's their airport and they can decorate it anyway they see fit... but, you know... the bones of a dead creature maybe isn't the way I'd go. A little too Leatherface for my air travel tastes. Although I will say that their bathrooms are all Back to the Future 2, which I appreciate. They have those Sani-Seat things where you wave your hand over a sensor and a fresh plastic cover whirrs over the toilet seat like a clever robot that's cool with you pooping in it's techno-mouth. Really the acme of the mid-travel, excretory experience. So dino bones... nifty electric growlers... it all balances out. O'Hare beats the shit out of LaGuardia, that's for sure. That place looks like an old hobo corpse full of rats by comparison.

Stewardesses



They make me sad. Because a few decades ago, they were all probably hot like Ms. Upright Position up there, rocking the 70s fashions and dodging handsy businessmen like Randy Moss breaking tackles. But now they're just old. And kind of mean. And for some reason, they get really exasperated when you tell them you don't need a cup of ice with your Coke; you'll just take the can. They were going to give me the can anyway! I know they were!!! The lady next to me got one!!! I'm saving you work, lady. And by the looks of it, you could use the break. I've seen people with gout cruise up and down the aisles faster and without so much grimacing.

Actually, an amendment: I think the stewardesses on JetBlue are supposed to be pretty foxy. Probably the ones on Hooters Air are too, seeing as how that's their raison d'etre and all.

Well, anyway, my point is that I don't like getting hassled by cranky sky-dwellers over soda-related matters. Seems beneath both of us.

(haha like anythings beneath me; the ground avoids me at parties)

Delayed Flights



Here's what I did during yesterday's hour-long flight delay: Stared at the above screen. Studied it. Sought from it answers like one seeks wisdom from an oracle. Then I took a break to sample the new "Southern style" Chicken Biscuit from McDonald's (which was unappealing), after which I resumed my watching, my waiting, my longing for the words to change so that I might finally go home. And, yes, I realize that only having my flight delayed by an hour is, in this day and age, a blessing... my friend Amy, the world's unluckiest traveler, routinely has her flights delayed by entire baseball seasons... but that's not the point. The point is that I turn into an autistic child when faced with a snag in my travel routine and, seriously, what the fuck is up that? Everyone else is all like, "Whatever, lets hit the duty-free shop and price some rum for an hour," and I'm all, "must watch the screen... it knows... it's thinking..." like I need my medications tweaked.

Having To Pee During Turbulence

Don't recommend it. Flying into Chicago, we must have sucked an entire flock of migrating geese into our engines because all of a sudden it was like we were strapped to drunk Superman during a hailstorm of falling auto parts and farm machinery. Or maybe there was just weird air pressure around us or something, I don't know; airplanes are confusing. But anyway, that happened and I had to pee the whole time like waaaaay bad. Like the kind of "need" where you're a light tap on the abdomen away from wetting your pants, toddler-style. When we finally landed, and after we taxied to the gate by way of Route 66, I made it to the airport bathroom a squintillionth of a second ahead of a wet, shameful disaster. The pee I subsequently took was one of the most emotional, satisfying moments of my young life. It changed me. I'll now devote my life to doing good. Or something. Whatever. Writing all of this has made me need to pee.