Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Travel Beat
Okay, for starters, does it somehow improve our safety for airport security to be insanely rude to me? I mean, do you think terrorist cells within our nation scrap their plans of attack when they hear Gus the Paunchy X-Ray Operator make snide comments about my belt setting off the metal detector? Does Carol the Baggage Inspector’s insistence on rifling through my boxers (not the ones I’m wearing, but still) get us any closer to catching Osama bin Laden? Because I feel like if he were hiding in there, I’d probably know.
And for the record, if I’m hunched up against the window of the plane, reading a book with headphones on, it’s probably a pretty good sign that I don’t want to become your new best friend between Chicago and Atlanta. It’s a seat assignment, not a dating service. So maybe keep your brilliant plan for restructuring the airlines to yourself.
Now that that’s out of my system...
The trip to Jacksonville was divine. Temperatures in the 60s or 70s each day, lots of sun, an abundance of Waffle Houses and Snake Handling Baptist churches. I stayed with my friend Jodi, who lives in a huge four-bedroom house with a nice older lady who, I found, approves of drinking but not of swearing. It turns out I’ve forgotten which ones are the swear words. I mean, I knew "fuck" was out, but "ass?" I thought it was a clinical term.
Did you know that Jacksonville is the largest city in the United States in terms of square footage? (That’s probably the wrong term – it sounds like I’m a realtor trying to get you to make an offer on Jacksonville by pointing out the hardwood floors.) It’s also called "the city of bridges," most likely because they have a lot of bridges, two of which we ran across on an insane seven-mile trek that nearly led me to spend my last day of vacation in the intensive care unit sucking down jello. And I can now locate it on a map, I think. See, this vacation was a journey into knowledge!
We did a lot of fun stuff. Beach time, boating, Mexican food, drinks, the occasional burst of outlet mall shopping. But I’m saving the best part for last. For tomorrow, actually. Think of it as a February sweeps cliffhanger:
I went to a confederate ball.
Oh, you’re so checking back tomorrow. Probably with six of your friends. This is bigger than "Who shot J.R.?" Which, by the way, was also me.
Okay, for starters, does it somehow improve our safety for airport security to be insanely rude to me? I mean, do you think terrorist cells within our nation scrap their plans of attack when they hear Gus the Paunchy X-Ray Operator make snide comments about my belt setting off the metal detector? Does Carol the Baggage Inspector’s insistence on rifling through my boxers (not the ones I’m wearing, but still) get us any closer to catching Osama bin Laden? Because I feel like if he were hiding in there, I’d probably know.
And for the record, if I’m hunched up against the window of the plane, reading a book with headphones on, it’s probably a pretty good sign that I don’t want to become your new best friend between Chicago and Atlanta. It’s a seat assignment, not a dating service. So maybe keep your brilliant plan for restructuring the airlines to yourself.
Now that that’s out of my system...
The trip to Jacksonville was divine. Temperatures in the 60s or 70s each day, lots of sun, an abundance of Waffle Houses and Snake Handling Baptist churches. I stayed with my friend Jodi, who lives in a huge four-bedroom house with a nice older lady who, I found, approves of drinking but not of swearing. It turns out I’ve forgotten which ones are the swear words. I mean, I knew "fuck" was out, but "ass?" I thought it was a clinical term.
Did you know that Jacksonville is the largest city in the United States in terms of square footage? (That’s probably the wrong term – it sounds like I’m a realtor trying to get you to make an offer on Jacksonville by pointing out the hardwood floors.) It’s also called "the city of bridges," most likely because they have a lot of bridges, two of which we ran across on an insane seven-mile trek that nearly led me to spend my last day of vacation in the intensive care unit sucking down jello. And I can now locate it on a map, I think. See, this vacation was a journey into knowledge!
We did a lot of fun stuff. Beach time, boating, Mexican food, drinks, the occasional burst of outlet mall shopping. But I’m saving the best part for last. For tomorrow, actually. Think of it as a February sweeps cliffhanger:
I went to a confederate ball.
Oh, you’re so checking back tomorrow. Probably with six of your friends. This is bigger than "Who shot J.R.?" Which, by the way, was also me.
