So, a while back, I got a coupon in the mail for a free oil change from a car dealership. Ironically, the coupon was from a different dealership than the one at which I recently spent a couple of Pacman sacks to get my check engine light off. Today I redeemed that coupon. Plus, I also needed a headlight bulb replaced.
The last time I had a headlight go out, I spent 2 hours breaking into my car to replace it. Then I drove away, only to realize the replaced light was saluting a long lost brother of light in Sammy Sosa-like fashion, pointing to the sky. Nothing like driving down Ellington and feeling like you’re peeking up the skirt of every ghetto bridge along the way. That was about 10 months ago. You want to guess which headlight went out Tuesday? You’re right. I suck.
These are the reasons I decided to let the professionals do it. Plus, I didn’t want to break my streak and actually get something free from a car dealership.
I called yesterday to schedule an appointment. The guy said it would take maybe an hour and a half. He then asked if I wanted a ride back to the office or if I wanted to wait it out. I decided to go at lunch and wait it out.
Upon arrival, they told me everyone in the shop was at lunch. Therefore, it was going to take at least 3 hours.
Courtesy van it is.
So I got to ride shotgun… Then everyone else started piling in. Aside from the fact we weren’t in a Beetle or a Mini-Cooper, I’m fairly confident I know what a clown in transit must feel like. So the 8 of us take off down the road. I’ve ridden in many a church van full of nasty kids. This was in no way comparable, but shotgun was still looking like a pretty good call.
We got one dropped off in less than 5 minutes. Clutch for the folks in the middle seats. Then things got interesting.
Due to our driver’s traffic allergy, we are driving through the hood of West Nashville. He’s constantly reassuring the backseat crew that they will not get shot. I’ve driven this area many a time to avoid Charlotte traffic, so I am not worried about my safety. Blue lights serve to bolster this feeling. Until I realize the blue lights are not going around our courtesy van.
It’s been a while since I’ve been pulled over, but I’m fairly familiar with acceptable etiquette. The driver pulls over. It is at this point in time my version of standard operating procedure ceases. Our driver greets the officer with a string of profanity audible from at least the back bumper.
You want to know what 7 people standing in a parking lot outside of a courtesy van looks like? Drive a courtesy van, cuss out a cop and refuse to give him your license, registration and proof of insurance.
Yep.
I’d like to thank my business casual for stopping the second and third cops from handcuffing me… Can’t say as much for the driver and his two fast friends who stepped to his misguided defense. He who has ears, let him hear: officers of the law do not enjoy wit and sarcasm when handcuffing courtesy van riders.
Additionally, I now know how thorough a drug search [Note: to clarify, search of a car, not human cavities] can be when performed by trained personnel.
In a truly surprising turn of events, no one got arrested. I couldn’t have typed that sentence and ended it with “fired.” Two hours and one new driver later, I got back to work. Just in time to turn around and catch the shuttle back to the dealership.
You remember when your librarian friend told you that you can’t use Wikipedia as a source and you can’t believe everything you read on the internet? She’s right. I hope I sufficiently dusted off my fiction writing.
In reality, the first part of that story was true. You know… the uneventful part? Once I got in the courtesy van, it was just me and the friendly driver. We talked NCAA basketball and made it to the office in under 10 minutes.
Whoever decided there would be one day a year when it is socially acceptable to lie? It’s not even April, fools. Keep an eye out tomorrow… You never know when someone will get to work 2 hours early and decorate your cube like Neyland Stadium.
3.28.2011
For Optimal Viewing Pleasure, Read on a Jumbotron
Today’s novel novelette [Note: I fully expected that to be red-squigglied, but apparently novelette is a word – guess I’ll have to stick with “parablismic” as my attempt at making an original entry into the dictionary. Parablismic – adj. Worthy of being a parable; an analogy on steroid-laced AGH - Analogy Growth Hormones.]… Anyway, today’s novelette: Obedience to a large screen.
We live in a culture that longs to do what Simon says. Sure, we all think we’re above the law. Some people speed. Some people let their grass grow beyond the allowable limit of the local ordinance. Some people post ads on Craigslist in an effort to find a new victim… But a vast majority of humankind cannot resist the urge to obey a jumbotron.
You pass random people in public and you’re lucky if you don’t get hissed at once a week, but you put a clipart picture frame on a huge TV screen and paste the words “Smile Cam” on the top? Nothing but chiclets.
Two words and eleven exclamation points can make an stadium full of introverts shriek like Tatum Riley when Billy Loomis hits the garage door opener. “Make Noise!!!!!!!!!!!” So you won’t scream just because I typed it on the internet? What if you were reading this on a jumbotron? Don’t act like it wouldn’t work.
Then there’s the Kiss Cam. Really? Aside from the rare humor found when the guy goes for the lips and ends up with a tongue full of dandruff, there is nothing entertaining about watching people kiss at sporting events. Okay… two sets of dentures colliding on screen can sometimes be considered cute, but even then, that’s really only if you’re trying to be the next one on screen with the member of the opposite sex next to you who is also claiming the mustache-to-mustache contact is cute.
What is it about the big screen that makes people stop thinking and start pulling out pale triceps flab for the Gold’s Gym Flex Cam? Sure you could pull a Jamie Foxx and blame the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol, but the PDA happens regardless of the BAC.
Where else will this work? After I bought a Mercury or two, if I had money, I might just try to rent one of those LED billboards and give a few friendly suggestions to passers-by… [Just imagine the exclamation points because I dislike exclamation points.]
Close Your Eyes
Change to Mix 92.9
Put Your Hands Up, They’re Playing My Song
Stop Sucking at Driving
Slow Traffic Keep Right on Picking Your Nose – No One Will Notice
On The Count of 3, Everybody Take a Hard Right...
1...
2...
Your Blinker Has Been On Since You Changed to Mix 92.9
You’re a Grown Man… Trade in the Beetle
Think About What This Screen Is Telling You To Do Before You Do It
Keep Alabama Beautiful... Then Let Your Leprechaun Friend Drive Your Unicorn Home.
We live in a culture that longs to do what Simon says. Sure, we all think we’re above the law. Some people speed. Some people let their grass grow beyond the allowable limit of the local ordinance. Some people post ads on Craigslist in an effort to find a new victim… But a vast majority of humankind cannot resist the urge to obey a jumbotron.
You pass random people in public and you’re lucky if you don’t get hissed at once a week, but you put a clipart picture frame on a huge TV screen and paste the words “Smile Cam” on the top? Nothing but chiclets.
Two words and eleven exclamation points can make an stadium full of introverts shriek like Tatum Riley when Billy Loomis hits the garage door opener. “Make Noise!!!!!!!!!!!” So you won’t scream just because I typed it on the internet? What if you were reading this on a jumbotron? Don’t act like it wouldn’t work.
Then there’s the Kiss Cam. Really? Aside from the rare humor found when the guy goes for the lips and ends up with a tongue full of dandruff, there is nothing entertaining about watching people kiss at sporting events. Okay… two sets of dentures colliding on screen can sometimes be considered cute, but even then, that’s really only if you’re trying to be the next one on screen with the member of the opposite sex next to you who is also claiming the mustache-to-mustache contact is cute.
What is it about the big screen that makes people stop thinking and start pulling out pale triceps flab for the Gold’s Gym Flex Cam? Sure you could pull a Jamie Foxx and blame the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol, but the PDA happens regardless of the BAC.
Where else will this work? After I bought a Mercury or two, if I had money, I might just try to rent one of those LED billboards and give a few friendly suggestions to passers-by… [Just imagine the exclamation points because I dislike exclamation points.]
Close Your Eyes
Change to Mix 92.9
Put Your Hands Up, They’re Playing My Song
Stop Sucking at Driving
Slow Traffic Keep Right on Picking Your Nose – No One Will Notice
On The Count of 3, Everybody Take a Hard Right...
1...
2...
Your Blinker Has Been On Since You Changed to Mix 92.9
You’re a Grown Man… Trade in the Beetle
Think About What This Screen Is Telling You To Do Before You Do It
Keep Alabama Beautiful... Then Let Your Leprechaun Friend Drive Your Unicorn Home.
3.22.2011
Before Chairs and Desks were Separate
Well, I hope none of you has (early grammar test paired with foreshadowing – boom) tried to contact Dr. Drew or any other VH1 personality due to withdrawals from the blog. Though if you contacted Dr. Dre or any other Dr. Pepper commercial personality because of this blog, that’s fantastic.
Anyway, it may have been brought to my attention by a preacher’s kid that it’s been a while since I graced you with my vocabulary. So, when this thing goes south, blame the PK.
You ever remember random things from middle or high school? As I am fairly self-aware, I suspect I am a hit with the younger generation, so some of you may still be in high school. Now I’m not talking about remembering that time you pegged a good friend in the forehead with an egg, that time you got tossed out of a basketball game for trash-talking a future NBA lottery pick, or that time you dragged a gutter into your geometry class. I’m talking about random educational tidbits that you have no business remembering.
Allow me to take this opportunity to thank my primary and secondary educators. Bless your hearts. It’s thanks to you all I can rattle off 60-some-odd prepositions in under 10 seconds, I use the Pythagorean theorem to try to calculate the hypotenuse of the angle the jerk in the Toyota Tercel used to cut me off, and I find it hilarious to tell elementary school kids there is a country called Djibouti. And the capital of Djibouti? Djibouti.
If you don’t have random knowledge projectiles flying through your mind occasionally, you might want to sit in on a G.E.D., ACT, or U.S. Citizenship test sometime. You’re missing out.
Aside from the author of a semi-world-famous-blog, you know who else has these fortuitous facts pop up? Dwayne Michael Carter... “I got through that sentence like a subject and a predicate.”[Grammar] “I have more jewels than your jeweler – touch and I will bust your medulla.” [Anatomy] “I told you I get paid by the letter like ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXY ZZ TOP.” [Wordly Wise]
See kids, when your parents tell you can be whatever you want when you grow up, that’s a lie. You can’t be mermaid. You can’t be a mermaid’s husband (no matter how awesome that would be). And you can’t be the greatest rapper in the world… unless you pay, paid, or will have paid attention in school.
So in the a world that hits you 140 characters at a time, insert a little unexpected information every once in a while to surprise and edify (fine, those don’t really rhyme, but it was as close as I could get while being distracted by Glee’s Umbrella/Singin’ in the Rain) your fellow man. And remember your helping verbs: am, is, are, was, were, be, being, been, has, have, had, do, does, did, shall, will, should, could, would, may, might, must, can.
Anyway, it may have been brought to my attention by a preacher’s kid that it’s been a while since I graced you with my vocabulary. So, when this thing goes south, blame the PK.
You ever remember random things from middle or high school? As I am fairly self-aware, I suspect I am a hit with the younger generation, so some of you may still be in high school. Now I’m not talking about remembering that time you pegged a good friend in the forehead with an egg, that time you got tossed out of a basketball game for trash-talking a future NBA lottery pick, or that time you dragged a gutter into your geometry class. I’m talking about random educational tidbits that you have no business remembering.
Allow me to take this opportunity to thank my primary and secondary educators. Bless your hearts. It’s thanks to you all I can rattle off 60-some-odd prepositions in under 10 seconds, I use the Pythagorean theorem to try to calculate the hypotenuse of the angle the jerk in the Toyota Tercel used to cut me off, and I find it hilarious to tell elementary school kids there is a country called Djibouti. And the capital of Djibouti? Djibouti.
If you don’t have random knowledge projectiles flying through your mind occasionally, you might want to sit in on a G.E.D., ACT, or U.S. Citizenship test sometime. You’re missing out.
Aside from the author of a semi-world-famous-blog, you know who else has these fortuitous facts pop up? Dwayne Michael Carter... “I got through that sentence like a subject and a predicate.”[Grammar] “I have more jewels than your jeweler – touch and I will bust your medulla.” [Anatomy] “I told you I get paid by the letter like ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXY ZZ TOP.” [Wordly Wise]
See kids, when your parents tell you can be whatever you want when you grow up, that’s a lie. You can’t be mermaid. You can’t be a mermaid’s husband (no matter how awesome that would be). And you can’t be the greatest rapper in the world… unless you pay, paid, or will have paid attention in school.
So in the a world that hits you 140 characters at a time, insert a little unexpected information every once in a while to surprise and edify (fine, those don’t really rhyme, but it was as close as I could get while being distracted by Glee’s Umbrella/Singin’ in the Rain) your fellow man. And remember your helping verbs: am, is, are, was, were, be, being, been, has, have, had, do, does, did, shall, will, should, could, would, may, might, must, can.
2.15.2011
The Dilemma of a Man
I wish Dave could see me now. The Larry Bird of Perfect North Ski School watched his promising pupil fail time and again merely two weeks ago on the icy slush of Lawrenceburg, Indiana. As we parted ways, I could see it in his eyes… “Kid, you’re destined for a day on the training slopes at a top speed that would struggle to keep up with Verne Troyer carrying Terrance Cody over his shoulder down a sandy beach… You’re just not cut out for this. Stick to the grass, buddy, and the world will spin a little smoother.”
Dave, I agreed with you. I agreed with you in Indiana, and I agreed with you at the top of the lift in Breckenridge, Colorado. Then came a revolutionary revelation: Two weeks after beginning my quest for the 2014 Winter Games, on a hill far away, I learned how to turn left. The Rocky Mountains were mine to conquer.
With my newly discovered ability, I could now stop getting angry at 6 year-olds humming past me on the slopes. I could move on to seeing how close I could get, at my pedestrian speed, to the woods without actually visiting the ghost of Sonny Bono past. I can’t explain how relieving it was to no longer be a complete failure. I had moved on to being below average, and I was thrilled.
There was no green circle slope in Breckenridge that could contain me. Sure, there were a few that took me down a time or two, but Colorado had no idea how good I got in Indiana at getting up on skis.
Turning right and left, snowplowing straight ahead, I was practically unstoppable. Then my so-called friends led me to a new lift. Whether it be a skewed view of myself or not, I like to think I’m rather perceptive. Observing my surroundings, it became evident that there was no green circle waiting for me at the top of this ride….
Here I was faced with a classic dilemma: what is more important to a male, pride or a general concern for self-preservation?
You cannot have both. At some point in your life, you will be forced to choose. The great males in history have all faced this dilemma at some point in their lives.
Then I fell.
Tumbled right off the chair. Popped a ski off. Spun my pole like a baton twirler at halftime.
I picked up my pole, my ski, and fumbled around for my confidence. It was all downhill from there. Only literally though, not metaphorically. Breckenridge blue diamond achieved. Dave was right there beside me the whole time. Metaphorically, of course.
Don’t get me wrong… I’m still not a good skier. But the secondary mantra for the weekend proved true [NOTE: the primary mantra was Firework by Katy Perry, but that one wasn’t really a demarcation point for success.] Practice makes not so sucky.
Dave, I agreed with you. I agreed with you in Indiana, and I agreed with you at the top of the lift in Breckenridge, Colorado. Then came a revolutionary revelation: Two weeks after beginning my quest for the 2014 Winter Games, on a hill far away, I learned how to turn left. The Rocky Mountains were mine to conquer.
With my newly discovered ability, I could now stop getting angry at 6 year-olds humming past me on the slopes. I could move on to seeing how close I could get, at my pedestrian speed, to the woods without actually visiting the ghost of Sonny Bono past. I can’t explain how relieving it was to no longer be a complete failure. I had moved on to being below average, and I was thrilled.
There was no green circle slope in Breckenridge that could contain me. Sure, there were a few that took me down a time or two, but Colorado had no idea how good I got in Indiana at getting up on skis.
Turning right and left, snowplowing straight ahead, I was practically unstoppable. Then my so-called friends led me to a new lift. Whether it be a skewed view of myself or not, I like to think I’m rather perceptive. Observing my surroundings, it became evident that there was no green circle waiting for me at the top of this ride….
Here I was faced with a classic dilemma: what is more important to a male, pride or a general concern for self-preservation?
You cannot have both. At some point in your life, you will be forced to choose. The great males in history have all faced this dilemma at some point in their lives.
- Kevin McAlister chose to man-up and embarrass the wet bandits [You could argue self-preservation here, but you’d be wrong. That little hero could have wimped out, called the cops, camped out in the Catholic church, or hopped on a Penske truck to New York, but he chose to go all Under Armor and protect his house. And the movie would have sucked if he didn’t.]
- John Lennon went the love-clouded self-preservation route and scurried off with Yoko. Sure, he avoided a few cold showers, but the world missed out on at least another decade of nonsensical lyrics.
- Jimi Heselden chose pride. He set out to prove to the world that his Segway creations could do more than putter along at 2 miles an hour. Forget Red Bull. Buy a Segway and fly.
- Long before Jared walked to Subway and Jillian Michaels conned her way into a career of yelling at people, Gandhi threw self-preservation to the wind, embracing hunger for a greater cause.
- Tiger Woods should have been sitting in his recliner, popping Vicodins during the 2008 US Open but he chose pride. He hobbled around, making the world feel like the 200 million dollar man was the victim. Pride got him a big trophy, a big check, and probably two or three additional STDs.
- Michael Scott roundhouse kicked pride in the stomach and pawned his golden ticket idea off on dedicated Dwight K. Shrute. Dwight, on the other hand, put Dunder Mifflin’s reputation on his broad, beet-stained shoulders and made humanity proud to know their way around a pair of nunchucks.
Then I fell.
Tumbled right off the chair. Popped a ski off. Spun my pole like a baton twirler at halftime.
I picked up my pole, my ski, and fumbled around for my confidence. It was all downhill from there. Only literally though, not metaphorically. Breckenridge blue diamond achieved. Dave was right there beside me the whole time. Metaphorically, of course.
Don’t get me wrong… I’m still not a good skier. But the secondary mantra for the weekend proved true [NOTE: the primary mantra was Firework by Katy Perry, but that one wasn’t really a demarcation point for success.] Practice makes not so sucky.
2.06.2011
An Open Letter from a Plane
Dear Ten Thousand Feet,
I have never longed for you more than today. After an hour of sitting in the plane on the tarmac, I have missed you like Lieutenant Al Powell of Die Hard fame misses Twinkies. It seems Denver had a mile high of 9 degrees today. Therefore I got my first de-icing experience. Unfortunately, this came at a time when I was seated in front of a very talkative threesome.
Things started off promising. As a Southwest B01 boarding pass, I had to go to the rear of the plane to get my aisle seat. However, I did manage to lock down row 17. For those frequent Southwest fliers, you know what this means. For the grounded, this means I am on the first row for drink orders in the back third of the cabin. Count it. Then the conversation began behind me…
The young gentleman began explaining the de-icing process and related payment schedule to the two young ladies. When asked how he knew all of this, he explained he was in construction and his boss had sent him to Aviation conventions. A few jokes and casual references to his smoking and drinking habits later, the ladies revealed they were doing graduate research at Vanderbilt. Their field: Molecular Physiology.
Bob the builder was not fazed by this daunting career variance. The ladies began explaining their fields of research, each having a focus in Diabetes. Bob talked about how his grandfather makes a great cheesecake. They begin explaining the differences between type I and type II. He tells about how someone in Denver offered his grandma a bowl of marijuana. They explain how a research facility operates. He talks about roofies.
I cannot make this stuff up.
[Meanwhile, as I have discovered that typing these things makes a flight go by faster, I am at it again. The flight attendant just moved on to take row 18’s orders. Unfortunately, an old man had just finished up in the rear restroom. This old man passed the flight attendant right at my shoulder. And yes, he did go butt towards the flight attendant. As I had been missing you so much, I had my earphones in at 10,002 feet; therefore, I had no audible warning of the fast approaching old man genitalia. Four layers of fabric have never felt so insufficient as the four between my shoulder and that old man’s crotch.]
The combination of early boarding, waiting for connecting luggage, and de-icing provided me a full hour of this auditory anguish. Currently, the ipod is at full volume. Alas, Bob’s chainsaw of a voice still pierces my ears. The scientists appear happy to be conversing with something other than a fieldmouse, so the conversation continues.
Ten Thousand Feet, as soon as I sit down in a fully upright seat, there’s always something missing. My approved electronic device waits, patiently stowed, for me to retrieve it. Without you, TTF, I am incomplete. I know so often you go unnoticed. A mere number, a threshold of aural enjoyment. Not today. Today, TTF, I thank you.
Well, I guess we’re together now, and I finally got that off my digital chest. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to go ahead and bask in the joy that is you. Still though, I think this plane is bound to land with at least 4 people who are dumber than they were when we began de-icing.
This is me promising to never again take you for granted.
Love,
Row 17.
[NOTE: Tune in next time for my most recent skiing adventure... it went a little differently than the last.]
I have never longed for you more than today. After an hour of sitting in the plane on the tarmac, I have missed you like Lieutenant Al Powell of Die Hard fame misses Twinkies. It seems Denver had a mile high of 9 degrees today. Therefore I got my first de-icing experience. Unfortunately, this came at a time when I was seated in front of a very talkative threesome.
Things started off promising. As a Southwest B01 boarding pass, I had to go to the rear of the plane to get my aisle seat. However, I did manage to lock down row 17. For those frequent Southwest fliers, you know what this means. For the grounded, this means I am on the first row for drink orders in the back third of the cabin. Count it. Then the conversation began behind me…
The young gentleman began explaining the de-icing process and related payment schedule to the two young ladies. When asked how he knew all of this, he explained he was in construction and his boss had sent him to Aviation conventions. A few jokes and casual references to his smoking and drinking habits later, the ladies revealed they were doing graduate research at Vanderbilt. Their field: Molecular Physiology.
Bob the builder was not fazed by this daunting career variance. The ladies began explaining their fields of research, each having a focus in Diabetes. Bob talked about how his grandfather makes a great cheesecake. They begin explaining the differences between type I and type II. He tells about how someone in Denver offered his grandma a bowl of marijuana. They explain how a research facility operates. He talks about roofies.
I cannot make this stuff up.
[Meanwhile, as I have discovered that typing these things makes a flight go by faster, I am at it again. The flight attendant just moved on to take row 18’s orders. Unfortunately, an old man had just finished up in the rear restroom. This old man passed the flight attendant right at my shoulder. And yes, he did go butt towards the flight attendant. As I had been missing you so much, I had my earphones in at 10,002 feet; therefore, I had no audible warning of the fast approaching old man genitalia. Four layers of fabric have never felt so insufficient as the four between my shoulder and that old man’s crotch.]
The combination of early boarding, waiting for connecting luggage, and de-icing provided me a full hour of this auditory anguish. Currently, the ipod is at full volume. Alas, Bob’s chainsaw of a voice still pierces my ears. The scientists appear happy to be conversing with something other than a fieldmouse, so the conversation continues.
Ten Thousand Feet, as soon as I sit down in a fully upright seat, there’s always something missing. My approved electronic device waits, patiently stowed, for me to retrieve it. Without you, TTF, I am incomplete. I know so often you go unnoticed. A mere number, a threshold of aural enjoyment. Not today. Today, TTF, I thank you.
Well, I guess we’re together now, and I finally got that off my digital chest. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to go ahead and bask in the joy that is you. Still though, I think this plane is bound to land with at least 4 people who are dumber than they were when we began de-icing.
This is me promising to never again take you for granted.
Love,
Row 17.
[NOTE: Tune in next time for my most recent skiing adventure... it went a little differently than the last.]
2.01.2011
Living the Mile High Life
What did you learn this weekend? Ok, I’ll go first. Well, I pretty much learned how to ski – more of that to come in a later post – but, outside of skiing, this was still a very educational weekend…
- I learned a new game… Irish Uno. With the new game came the following lessons: How to sing “Firework” while keeping one’s tongue outside the classic barrier that is one’s lips. Loren learned how to play an entire game without using the first person subjective pronoun. I also learned that everyone I was playing said game with spoke much better British than I.
- I learned one can sleep in a ski lodge and people will go on about life around you, especially children showering you with their slobbery Oreo crumbs.
- I learned that near the prison outside of Denver, there is a sign that reads, “Correctional Facility: Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers.”
- I learned a fireworks show on top of a mountain consists of 3 One Bad Mothers, a Louisiana Yard Dog, and an Ultimate Fantasy.
- I learned if you’re looking to buy weed, all you have to do is move to Denver and pull a muscle when you sneeze.
- I learned real people really do ice-fish. We drove past a frozen lake on Sunday to see 15 iceholes on the lake. Beside the iceholes, there was also an icy racetrack where jeeps were going all "2 Fast 2 Furious."
- I learned to not take my six-and-a-half foot shower head for granted ever again.
- I learned, for some people, adjusting to the higher altitude means you have the stomach of an Olsen twin. Hi, I’m some people. I never thought half a cookie would do me in. Forget Jenny Craig, just live on a mountain. As the mysterious third verse of “The Wise Man Built His House Upon the Sand” goes, when the altitude goes up, the BMI goes down.
- I learned really good and really bad snowboarders both have a keen sense of knowing when they’re up a proverbial creek. As one gentleman was boarding up a ramp he began his profane proclamation. He waited until his head hit the ground to finish.
- I learned not having cable is totally worth not watching Jersey Shore.
- I learned that when one finds oneself “shopping” with friends of the opposite sex, seeing how many times one can ride the escalator in Forever 21 before leaving can leave one feeling very creepy. One gave up after merely two escalator laps.
- I learned there was a “Take the Money and Run” before “Take the Money and Run.”
- I learned one can park a 4-Runner in a Nike Shoebox. Just don’t expect the door not to get stuck.
- I learned girls look very attractive in a ski resort.
- I learned you can’t see wedding rings through ski gloves.
- I learned that the Tulane and New Mexico basketball teams fly Southwest. And, as a result of my seeing these teams and knowing how to use Google, I learned that New Mexico would beat Tulane by 20.
- I learned there is a time and place for bunkbeds. Namely, childhood or prison.
1.31.2011
Three Feet From a Three Year-Old
At most points in time, the skies are usually packed with suits and retirees. But this week was a little different…
Monday morning, we took a full flight to Houston with a brief touchdown in San Antonio along the way. There were only 9 of us passenger types that were continuing on from San Antonio to Houston. We obediently stayed seated so Mary could do her through-count, and then we were permitted to move about the cabin. As a semi-seasoned traveler, I made my way towards the front of the aircraft to gain a better seat. Settled in on the window of aisle 3, they came.
Instinctively responding to the repetitive training, I reached to secure my oxygen mask before helping the 22 elementary school kids who had just begun scurrying onto our flight.
I hope little Johnny [who am I kidding – odds of one of those kids being named Johnny in this day in age are 3400:1] didn’t take it personally when we made eye contact and the only word I could muster was “really?”
Turns out J-Dog and his friends were on a field trip. That field trip was to the San Antonio airport and not Houston. Crisis averted. The children took their picture, put in their earplugs, and headed out onto the tarmac, leaving me to wish that I was the one going out on the tarmac.
We’re in the air on the way back to Nashville now [Yes, folks, this is another highly-anticipated live-but-delayed-due-to-internet-access post].
One sidenote before we get to the second of my two subpar storylines...
Sidenote: If you’re not familiar, Southwest is to other all other airlines as the Harlem Globetrotters are to the Washington Generals. This is mostly due to the fact that their employees act like people. Sometimes sarcastic people. And I LUV them for it. Today, just after family boarding, we begin boarding “B 1 through 30.” As B7, I am ready to hand the guy my boarding pass when this older couple comes running [relative term] up flashing their A27 and A28. “We’re A’s. We tried as hard as we could, but we just couldn’t get here fast enough.” I smile and wait. The Southwest guy takes the lady’s boarding pass and asks, “Why are you breathing so fast? Is somebody chasing you?” He then proceeds to step to the side and look for her pursuer.
I get on the plane, lock down my aisle seat on a row whose window seat is occupied. Immediately, I pretend to sleep so as not to be disturbed by someone looking to lurk on the vacant middle seat. After the aisle traffic has died down, I wake up. Soon, I find myself repeating steps 1 and 2 as we are waiting on some connecting passengers. During the waiting process, I am un-formally introduced to the child sitting one row up and over from me.
She says she’s three, but her fingers tell a different story. I have no idea what this girl’s name is, which is probably best in case this blog becomes huge so she doesn’t have TMZ coming after her. [NOTE: The water on today’s flight tastes like a mixture of hand lotion and icy hot.] We’ll call her Nancy, given my earlier stance on old-school names. Nancy had two shining moments before we reached 10,000 feet and my headphones went in.
1. Nancy’s mom was traveling with Nancy and her younger sister. Mom leaned up to the gentleman in front of her and asked that if little sister was getting too annoying to let her know, and she’d take little sister out of the carseat and hold her. The gentleman told her everything is fine, and Nancy responded by asking, “Mommy, is that PawPaw?” “No baby, that’s the nice man who is sitting in front of us.”PawPaw, if you’re reading this, congratulations on being generic.
2. As I mentioned, we were waiting on connecting flights. During the wait, Nancy asked, “Mommy, are we here?” This was a totally legitimate question given how much time we spent sitting at the gate.
As I close up the computer for this trip, I can tell you this, the safety information card in your seat pocket is very interesting to a three year-old. Also, I have determined that part of flight attendant school is avoiding French fries in the aisle. Nancy has gotten a little careless in her old age, yet no one has stepped on the rejected potatoes she has left strewn about the cabin.
Anyway, you want an advertisement for birth control? Film people traveling with their kids. Frozen pea sales will skyrocket.
Finally, I’m not sure about the amenities in Heaven, but if there’s a blog ticker up there somewhere and this is scrolling [Not saying these words are worthy of glory, but there’s a lot of time in eternity], to all you folks who were old when I was little, thanks for taking the time to eerily stop and look at me, making ridiculous faces and talking in awkward voices at me. My parents probably didn’t like it at the time, but I’m sure you meant well… Nice wings.
Monday morning, we took a full flight to Houston with a brief touchdown in San Antonio along the way. There were only 9 of us passenger types that were continuing on from San Antonio to Houston. We obediently stayed seated so Mary could do her through-count, and then we were permitted to move about the cabin. As a semi-seasoned traveler, I made my way towards the front of the aircraft to gain a better seat. Settled in on the window of aisle 3, they came.
Instinctively responding to the repetitive training, I reached to secure my oxygen mask before helping the 22 elementary school kids who had just begun scurrying onto our flight.
I hope little Johnny [who am I kidding – odds of one of those kids being named Johnny in this day in age are 3400:1] didn’t take it personally when we made eye contact and the only word I could muster was “really?”
Turns out J-Dog and his friends were on a field trip. That field trip was to the San Antonio airport and not Houston. Crisis averted. The children took their picture, put in their earplugs, and headed out onto the tarmac, leaving me to wish that I was the one going out on the tarmac.
We’re in the air on the way back to Nashville now [Yes, folks, this is another highly-anticipated live-but-delayed-due-to-internet-access post].
One sidenote before we get to the second of my two subpar storylines...
Sidenote: If you’re not familiar, Southwest is to other all other airlines as the Harlem Globetrotters are to the Washington Generals. This is mostly due to the fact that their employees act like people. Sometimes sarcastic people. And I LUV them for it. Today, just after family boarding, we begin boarding “B 1 through 30.” As B7, I am ready to hand the guy my boarding pass when this older couple comes running [relative term] up flashing their A27 and A28. “We’re A’s. We tried as hard as we could, but we just couldn’t get here fast enough.” I smile and wait. The Southwest guy takes the lady’s boarding pass and asks, “Why are you breathing so fast? Is somebody chasing you?” He then proceeds to step to the side and look for her pursuer.
I get on the plane, lock down my aisle seat on a row whose window seat is occupied. Immediately, I pretend to sleep so as not to be disturbed by someone looking to lurk on the vacant middle seat. After the aisle traffic has died down, I wake up. Soon, I find myself repeating steps 1 and 2 as we are waiting on some connecting passengers. During the waiting process, I am un-formally introduced to the child sitting one row up and over from me.
She says she’s three, but her fingers tell a different story. I have no idea what this girl’s name is, which is probably best in case this blog becomes huge so she doesn’t have TMZ coming after her. [NOTE: The water on today’s flight tastes like a mixture of hand lotion and icy hot.] We’ll call her Nancy, given my earlier stance on old-school names. Nancy had two shining moments before we reached 10,000 feet and my headphones went in.
1. Nancy’s mom was traveling with Nancy and her younger sister. Mom leaned up to the gentleman in front of her and asked that if little sister was getting too annoying to let her know, and she’d take little sister out of the carseat and hold her. The gentleman told her everything is fine, and Nancy responded by asking, “Mommy, is that PawPaw?” “No baby, that’s the nice man who is sitting in front of us.”PawPaw, if you’re reading this, congratulations on being generic.
2. As I mentioned, we were waiting on connecting flights. During the wait, Nancy asked, “Mommy, are we here?” This was a totally legitimate question given how much time we spent sitting at the gate.
As I close up the computer for this trip, I can tell you this, the safety information card in your seat pocket is very interesting to a three year-old. Also, I have determined that part of flight attendant school is avoiding French fries in the aisle. Nancy has gotten a little careless in her old age, yet no one has stepped on the rejected potatoes she has left strewn about the cabin.
Anyway, you want an advertisement for birth control? Film people traveling with their kids. Frozen pea sales will skyrocket.
Finally, I’m not sure about the amenities in Heaven, but if there’s a blog ticker up there somewhere and this is scrolling [Not saying these words are worthy of glory, but there’s a lot of time in eternity], to all you folks who were old when I was little, thanks for taking the time to eerily stop and look at me, making ridiculous faces and talking in awkward voices at me. My parents probably didn’t like it at the time, but I’m sure you meant well… Nice wings.
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