On the occasion of my (almost) on-time departure

The Borders bookstore was woefully unable to meet my needs. I don't like bookstores in general. anytime I go into the massive Barnes & Noble in Union Square, I feel like the huge stacks are going to overwhelm my psyche. There is just too much inventory, and I need to employ blinders just to get what I need and escape with my sanity.

But in my slapdash preparation this morning, I completely forgot to bring any reading material for the plane. I had read my monthly regiment of fashion magazines at the nail salon on Tuesday, and I dislike magazines generally. Once I'm updated on shoes and lip gloss for the season, I'm good to go. I had meant to look through Leslie's collection of books that she keeps under the TV - there's quite a variety, from analysis of sex workers to Hemingway - but I didn't think of it. I had gotten home late last night, and I was mentally wringing my hands over what I had decided to bring to LA for the weekend. I almost forgot underwear altogether, and it's really not that kind of trip.

We haven't had Internet at work for the last few days, and the new server was being installed this morning, so I wasn't in too much of a rush to get to the office. Still, I forgot to grab a book, which left me wandering through the annoyingly tiny Borders in Terminal C, across from the duty-free store.

I stood in the Biography section, since that's always my preferred genre. Fiction is hit-or-miss, and there are too many choices. It's like trying to pick an album based solely on the artwork and that rarely works out. Books are about as expensive as CDs at this point. Either way, I was not in the mood to take a $20 crap shoot. There was much less selection in Biography - I didn't want to read the David Hasselhoff autobiography, nor the life and times of Ghandi or that girl who gave blowjobs to all those rappers. And those were pretty much my options. There were a few books by authors whose names I didn't recognize, but I'll pretty much read anything about anyone's life. On the other hand, they all seemed to be very serious and "inspiring," according to the press blurbs. I really wasn't in the mood for that either. So I went to my gate with no book.

No luck on distraction from the movie - it's that one with Hilary Swank that's exactly like the one where Michelle Pfeiffer teaches the ghetto kids the importance of book learning. Except Hilary Swank doesn't get the benefit of cred in the form of Coolio. I do not doubt that someone will get shot and that person will be a completely innocent party. I've seen "Lean On Me." I know how this goes.

These flights seem long, even though it's really only 5 hours or so in the air. We left about an hour late, but the pilot promised that we would have a close to on-time arrival regardless. Something about being re-routed to fly over Iowa. Whatever, I'll take it.

Chris is supposed to take me to some bar that's "completely awesome."

I asked if I would need to change since I'm wearing the decidedly unglamorous staple of jeans, sneakers and one of my 6 American Apparel v-neck t-shirts.

"Oh, it's in a mall in the Valley," he assured me. "You're fine, don't even worry."

"So when you say it's awesome, you mean that ironically." In college, we used to say that TJ's bar was awesome, and TJ's was filled with was depressed travelling salesmen and had a terrible jukebox, filled mostly with Celine Dion and Richard Marx. But they didn't card, which was nice.

Chris considered this. "Yes and no."

So that will be interesting. Going to visit Chris has become more routine over the last year or so. Not that I don't look forward to it, but we do much less planning and hyping in the preceeding weeks. In fact, I haven't really talked to him at all until I called him from the Borders to say that we were (supposedly) going to leave on time. It doesn't matter - he had cleaned and bought liquor. We're all set.

My dignity is in a plastic bin

George Carlin does a great bit about airline travel.



I watched the whole show so much when I was 12 that I wore out the VHS tape and still have most of it committed to memory. I involuntarily recite the above airline rant to myself anytime I fly. Seatbelt! High tech shit!

I have a mixed relationship with travel. On one hand, I really like being other places. However, the process of getting to other places is never anything except tedious and irritating, filled with a lot of stupid and people pretending to be important. Maybe the only exception would be driving, although I generally take a passive role there as well. My job is to navigate, often with interesting results since being nearsighted doesn't lend itself well to reading highway signs at a distance, and to make sure that the music situation is properly handled. But I've officially decided that I care not for flying. Not at all.

A few weeks ago, I got to LaGuardia maybe an hour before I was supposed to board my flight to Denver. I got in the security line with my carry-on and my "personal item." While I wouldn't consider myself a frequent flyer by any means - I fly maybe 5 or 6 times a year - I still try to make my trip through security as efficient as possible. I wear slip-on sneakers and no jewelry. I take off my jacket and lay it flat in the plastic bucket. I leave my bowie knife/handgun/taser at home - something that evidently escapes the mind of some folks, which why there are signs to that effect. These are simple things - things that anyone who's been anywhere near an airport since 1990 ought to be well-versed in. So that's why I get highly irritated at these self-important corporate assholes who we're supposed to believe fly every week have to hold up the process. They wait until they're about to walk through the metal detector before the remember they have to take off their shoes, take the $34 in change out of their pocket and take their fucking laptop out of it's case. I watched one guy go through the metal detector about 4 times before they finally let him go without figuring out why it was going off.

But who gets pulled out of line for being a suspected threat to airline security? Yeah. Exactly.

For the second time in my flying career (which started almost 15 years ago, PS), I had my shoulder bag searched. Awesome. They're really taking this whole illusion of safety thing quite seriously. With the air of friendly severity I've become well-acquainted with in the last couple of years, a member of airport security told me to wait so he could get some gloves. Just to complete the overall symbolism of a hand up your ass, I guess.

"Do you have any dangerous materials in here that I need to be aware of?"

No, but I do have quite a few loose maxi pads in there, which - Oh, OK, cool. Just throw those on the table there. Not a problem. Also feel free to unzip every item in there and poke around. Yes, that's where I keep my condoms. Never hurts to be an optimist, right? Haha! I'm so glad we're having this time to get to know each other.

"Well, I for one feel a lot safer now," I said when Officer Precaution was finished.

He gave me blank look, unsure if I was kidding, and told me I was clear to proceed. I guess I should be glad that I wasn't strip searched at a detention center and put on a watch list. I'm hoping that Al Quaeda never decides to start putting explosives in Kotex because then I am so screwed.