Jonesing for a Cessna 172

If The Instructor doesn't call me back, I won't know if I can go to N. MN tomorrow and continue to learn how to fly. In the City World, hereafter referred to as NORMAL, we call people back. Typically right after recieving a voicemail from them. It is how society functions. In NORMAL, we realize that communication is essential to ongoing commerce and the perpetuation of the Capitalist system. I should probably leave economic systems out of it, though. I'm sure urban Communists have an equally difficult time getting their rural commrades to call them back.

Got back from ATL today. My general sense from the two interviews is that I am currently akin to a top seed in the US Open. But I won't know for sure for the next few weeks. Fingers crossed, friends, this one needs a job.

Oh, let's take some time to rant about flying commercially and how unremittingly stupid the general public is.

1. I get that you're a nervous flyer, old guy, but just because they had to unload some baggage to stay under gross weight isn't a sign that we'll go down in a fiery mass of twisted metal. So stay on the goddamn plane.

2. Moustachioed woman, move your church group/marine recruits away from the escalator. Is marshalling frightened and frightening teens through an overly complex airport process difficult? Sure. But the escalator is not going to stop depositing people at the top even if twelve of your slack-jawed charges are blocking any egress. That's why I just tripped over that expectant mother.

3. The spilled liquid by the security checkpoint: Estee Lauder Gentle Eye Makeup Remover for all skin types, or liquid explosive that smells exactly like Estee Lauder Gentle Eye Makeup Remover for all skin types? You be the judge, HAZMAT Team.

4. Signs that your children are ready for air travel, mother of four: when they are eighteen - or - when they have no vocal cords or limbs.

5. To at least eight people, including my seatmates: I'm giving you monosyllabic answers or nods, even occasionally while wearing earplugs, because I don't want to talk to you or hear anything you have to say.

6. Guess what, TSA! I'll take the terrorists any day of the week. Now give me my shoes back before I contract something fungal.

[Seriously, I'm far more concerned about the devastation of an athlete's foot pandemic than anything terrorists could think up. Wait... maybe that was the plan all along. We are literally walking right into that one.]


I just read through this post and there's absolutely no way that this sucker isn't getting flagged for reading by some poor, beleaguered Homeland Security employee. Sorry, guy or gal. But look on the bright side: you get paid to look at the internet all day. And I'm sure you have some really funny anecdotes that will have people buying you drinks for years to come.

PS- on the off chance you decide to tap my phone after this (legally or not) would you mind sending me a tape (or maybe a .wav file, I'm not sure how far your technological capabilities have come) of my voice sped up to Alvin Chipmunk speed? I would just get a kick out of that.