Here I am, a 38 year-old man, and I've turned the room that I slept in as a child into some kind of scary high-tech IT consultant's treehouse. And now, it seems, I'm taking care of Mom and Dad and making sure nothing bad happens to them, instead of the other way around.
Funny old world.
Have I mentioned that I hate just about everything about air travel these days?
I do not fear flying--I have happily flown in everything from medevac helicopters to single-engine Cessnas to jumbo jets--but I loathe the logistical nightmare that commercial air travel has become.
The process of getting to the airport, clearing Homeland Security/TSA, waiting through the inevitable flight delays, and then finally shoehorning myself into a too-small seat with zero legroom while my seatmate tries to wedge the steamer trunk she's brought on board as carry-on luggage into the overhead bin, and the infant two rows behind me who is going to scream monotonously for the entire duration of the flight begins his warming-up vocalizations, like an opera singer tuning up backstage...
There are not enough minibottles on the drinks cart to get me through it.
(In re the security checks, I think they're doing a great job of preventing the last hijacking. But I do remain speechlessly grateful that, so far, no one has tried to blow up an aircraft with, e.g., explosives taped to his testicles, or we'd all be strip-searched instead of being "urged"--forced, really--to take off our shoes, etc.)
You know, I think that The Simpsons' "Sideshow Bob" really said it best:
"Ah, for the days when aviation was a gentleman's pursuit, back before every Joe Sweatsock could wedge himself behind a lunch-tray and jet off to Raleigh-Durham."Indeed, indeed.
(Simpsons episode 3F08, "Sideshow Bob's Last Gleaming")
Joe Sweatsock here, signing off. See y'all in Raleigh around lunchtime.
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