the ocean

How Did We Pass The Time on Our Ten And A Half Hour Flight?

-- Being hectored to place our belongings under the seat in front of us.
-- Bargaining with God.
-- Wishing our Xanax was not in our checked luggage.
-- Rethinking that burrito from the Chili's To Go.
-- Performing deep textual analysis on Us Weekly's Jon & Kate coverage.
-- Restoring seat back to its upright and locked position.
-- Overhearing delightful anecdotes about bass fishing in Georgia.
-- Wondering what clever euphemism for "delay" they'll come up with next.
-- Imagining our fellow passengers dead.
-- Creating delightful origami out of handiwipes.
-- Enjoying our favorite NBC Universal programming on a five-inch screen.
-- Verbally abusing the flight attendants.
-- Making up fun stories about the people illustrated on the safety instruction card.
-- Bartering sexual favors for leftover honey roasted peanuts.

Storm Warnings

I took a ten and a half hour flight from Chicago to New York on Sunday. This may seem contrary to everything we know about contemporary travel, geography, and good sense, but it is indeed the case. Although we boarded on time, we had a half hour runway delay at O'Hare, an hour of holding pattern over Ohio, and then an unscheduled stop in D.C. to refuel. And that, as they say, is where the fun really began.

They told us that we couldn't take off again because all of the airspace over New York had been closed due to inclement weather, that they didn't know when this would change, that we couldn't get off the plane because they didn't have a gate open, and that they were going to put in a copy of Seventeen Again for our entertainment. I know it may be hard to believe, but somehow Zac Efron's charms didn't manage to keep us happy for over three hours.

A woman in the row in front of me went into full on screaming conspiracy theorist mode, violently expostulating to our stewardess that the bad weather was all a lie because she had checked the weather before she left and it looked okay. Meanwhile, the baby in the row behind me engaged in a little screaming of its own, while its parents tried to calm it by singing Polish folk songs to it for the greater part of an hour and a half. And a group of passengers in the middle of the plane attempted a mutiny in hopes of getting their hands on some alcohol and cracker packages. It was not a pretty sight.

Just when I thought all hope was lost, however, they announced that we would be taking off for New York momentarily. About an hour later, we were actually off the ground, and about two hours later we were actually in New York. There did seem to have been some rain, for what it is worth.

I think it may be some time before I voluntarily get on a plane again. There are other places where I can catch up on the latest in teen cinema.

Sunday, Sunday

Well, it's Sunday morning, and I'm sitting here in my boxers watching Herbie: Fully Loaded, the ironically-named Linsday Loahn feature about an allegedly lovable car and the clearly deranged girl who loves it. Many Sundays this would be pretty much my entire plan for the day, but this week I have to get on a plane and head to New York for what will hopefully be my final business trip of the year. I'm guessing they won't let me lay out on the runway and catch some sun, either.

Last night I attended a coworker's party, which had a luau theme and ended up involving nearly an hour of hula dancing that was difficult yet necessary to ignore. They had also roasted a whole hog, which was unsightly but, as it turned out, somewhat delicious. But from my perspective all that really mattered was that they had alcohol, lots of beautiful delicious alcohol. I'm fairly sure I drank my weight in drinks served in coconuts.

But I would feel remiss if I did not mention what has clearly been the entertainment event of the season, the appearance of Katie Holmes on So You Think You Can Dance. Such a fantastic display of awkward flailing and subpar lip syncing has rarely been seen. Scholars will debate for decades the meaning of its thoughtful details -- the careful selection of a black men's jacket and no pants of any kind, the introductory section where she stared blankfacedly in several different directions -- but all anyone can say for now is, well, wow. Take a well deserved bow, Church of Scientology.

Busy Times

So the concert ended up being fun, of course. I mean, the train up there was awful -- completely packed with lots of angry people in culottes blocking up the aisles -- and I tripped on someone's enormous cooler and nearly split my head open, but it didn't rain and the performances were good. I ended up not having time to go by Jewel and pick up food to share, so I kind of felt like an asshole when everyone else was laughing and passing their delightful handmade treats around, but I was comforted somewhat by the delicious Taco Bell in my stomach from the train station food court. I also sustained a number of vicious bug bites, which I have no doubt will result in a fantastic case of Lyme disease, but I suppose it is the price of quality family entertainment. Oh, and there was lots of red wine. No one has ever not liked that.

I'm feeling pretty worn out after these eventful days, though, I have to tell you. Sometimes I wish it would turn out I had some sort of vitamin deficiency or glandular problem that's causing me to be tired all the time so I could at least get it fixed. But so far it turns out I'm actually quite healthy, damn it all. So I suppose I'll just have to keep going to bed at 11 PM like the other senior citizens. If I can just avoid a bedpan I'll be happy.

Culture, Damn It

Tomorrow night I am going to Ravinia for the John Legend concert. Now I understand that I should be excited about this. But instead all I can think of is all the work that will go into getting up there, fighting for a place on the lawn, and getting something to eat. Since this is a pop concert, it's bound to be sold out, which means that there will be lots of drunk people arguing over whose blanket was where first and how high chairs are allowed to be. And we will have to deal with the severe man with the sign who walks around the whole time enforcing the no talking policy. These are things I am not excited about. Oh, and taking the Metra. I fear the Metra, which always bears the possibility of stranding a person forever in the suburbs. It is fun to ride on the top level, however. The el could really stand to have an upstairs.

Anyway, I am doing my best to build up some enthusiasm for this event, which I did after all actually manage to get off my ass and purchase tickets for a full two months ago. I will be leaving work at 4:30, at least, which should be fun. And likely eating a mass quantity of cheese, which I always appreciate. Oh, and John Legend will be there. I suppose there is always that.

The Lost Weekend

Here it is Sunday night again and I feel like there's been no weekend at all. Part of that is because I went into the office for a bit today; any day I spend with a paralegal named Mary Frances is just not exactly going to involve picnics and sunbathing. Another part is that I went to a volunteer event yesterday; serving food to the less fortunate is not exactly the number one recreational activity for young adults ages 18-35. But I also think it's because the whole weekend it's been about sixty degrees out; it's hard to have hot fun in the summertime when you have to throw on a cardigan before you step outdoors.

But regardless, I am trying to make the most of the rest of my weekends by watching the instant classic Lindsay Lohan comedy Labor Pains on the ABC Family network. You see, it's the story of a young professional who, faced with the possible loss of her job, comes up with a crazy scheme to fake a pregnancy, which as everyone knows is a surefire guarantee of employment. It features some of the best acting this side of the instant classic Lindsay Lohan comedy Freaky Friday and has one of the most enchanting romantic pairings this side of the instant classic Lindsay Lohan comedy Just My Luck. But I have to be sure to catch it tonight because it is well known that ABC Family never reruns anything. They just have way too much fresh programming to share.

Anyway, I am not looking forward to work tomorrow. If only I could catch the swine flu.

Here to Help

I've met so many delightfully helpful people on my many journeys through this great land, and my most recent New York trip was no exception. On the flight out, I was lucky enough to be seated next to a very resourceful gentleman who, without so much as the slightest prompting, instructed me on everything from the way the tray tables worked to the quality of the book I was reading to the geography of the greater New York area. Unfortunately, the girl seated on the other side of him had headphones, so she didn't get to share in my education, but I guess it serves her right for listening to that godless pop music.

At the hotel I once again got some useful advice, in the form of a fellow gymgoer, who carefully explained to me the many failings of my current workout practices. I felt lucky that he had a medicine ball right there and could demonstrate the interesting calisthenics I should be doing instead.

And on the way back, I actually had a lady behind me in line at security who felt the need to fill me in on the various intricacies of taking off my shoes and putting my laptop in a separate bin. She spoke most feelingly on the subject of the liquids in a plastic bag policy. Carry on limits almost put her through the roof!

I guess I must just look like I need extra help. Is there such a thing as stupid face? And if so, does my employer have to give me medical leave for it? That I would accept.

Panic, Minus the Disco

I had another of my awesome sleep disorder attacks last night. So despite the fact that I went to bed early, I devoted a large portion of the night to pacing back and forth frantically in my room and thinking that I was going to die, and thusly got about three hours of sleep. It is always amusing, in retrospect, to think about the frenzied way my mind works when it hits the panic button. Last night, for instance, I was freaked out by Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason on AMC not because of Renee Zelweger's tiny eye slits but because my brain was simultaneously working on 1) the connection between Bridget Jones and Pride & Prejudice, 2) the connection between Hugh Grant and Music & Lyrics starring Drew Barrymore, 3) how scary it would be to be imprisoned in southeast Asia, and 4) whether I was going to die. I then flipped over to Burn After Reading on HBO, but let me just say that the sight of John Malkovich is calming to no one. Finally I ended up with an episode of Friends, which served me well for twenty to thirty trips across my room and back. I guess I should take back all those nasty things I said about David Schwimmer.

Anyway, I'm heading to bed again momentarily, and here's hoping tonight it actually involves sleep. I'm off to New York for work tomorrow and looking forward to all the wonderful LaGuardia-based time that typically affords. Who knows, I may even get a soft pretzel.

Concerns

I put on Miss Congeniality this afternoon while I was doing a little bit of work on my computer and I realized that I can no longer tell if I am enjoying it ironically or actually enjoying it for its merits just a little bit. I mean, yes, it is terrible, right? The concept is silly, the characters flat, the dialogue stiff and unrealistic, and even the costumes somewhat lame. But it does contain a makeover, and any movie that does so is pretty much automatically wonderful. And I have to admit that every now and then I find myself smiling just a little bit at Candice Bergen's ridiculously over the bitch goddess routine and William Shatner's well worn himbo shtick. And at least it's not Two Weeks Notice, right?

I mean, let's be clear: I do not own Miss Congeniality, I did not see it in theaters, and I have never watched it all the way through from beginning to end. Moreover, I have seen Miss Congeniality 2: Armed and Fabulous and can clearly discern that it is only to be enjoyed ironically, if at all. But I fear that as to Miss Bullock's first entry in the fish out of water market, my cold black heart may be melting just a little bit. And it terrifies me.

Current Events

So I did finally get the wireless hooked up. A second Comcast man came last Friday and most thoroughly set up my network. (He also watched TV for 20 minutes in my room and downloaded what looks to be Japanese animation onto my computer, but oh well.) I've been sitting out in my living room checking email constantly just because I can. And trying to get all my friends to bring their laptops over so we can play Facebook Scramble in real time. I worry I might be some kind of pervert now, seriously.

In other news, the return to work on Monday was every bit as difficult as I'd feared. The first morning back felt like it lasted about six hours. It didn't help that I got sneezed on in the el on the way down. I took a long lunch but didn't really feel like eating anything due to the five layers of barbecue still residing in my stomach. And then in the afternoon I'm pretty sure I slipped into a minor coma. GOP senators were congregating outside my office to make sure no one tried to terminate my life support.

But the good news is the week is half over now. I'd prefer that it be all the way over, but so far the laws of space and time refuse to bend to suit my fancy.

Independence

For a number of reasons, I am not one of those people who spends a lot of time complaining about his job. First, it doesn't really seem to do any good. No one has ever been told to take a weekend off because they were complaining about the hardness of their desk chair. Second, it is a great way to dry up any conversation. There are very few people in the world who want to hear about the unfairness of your secretarial assignment, let me assure you. And finally, but by no means least importantly, it can not infrequently get you fired. It turns out clients don't love having their business secrets turned into your sparkling cocktail conversation.

But regardless, I have to admit that I have enjoyed having the last three days completely off. I have been to Walgreens no fewer than four times. I have eaten five hamburgers off my grill. I have laid out on my roof and read Entertainment Weekly. And most importantly, I have left my blackberry in a drawer. Without even so much as an out of office message. You see, I'm an enormous rebel. Maybe I'll ever wear short sleeves to work tomorrow.

Tragically Undercelebrated Events in American History

-- Washington crossing the TJ Maxx.
-- The second, third, and fourth Thanksgivings.
-- The founding of Epcot center.
-- Lincoln's Gettysburg rap battle.
-- The signing of the Declaration of Awesomeness.
-- Jefferson's invention of the slave fuck.
-- The filming of Over Her Dead Body.
-- FDR's "Mo money, mo problems" speech.
-- Henry Ford's invention of pornographic mud flaps.
-- The Smoot-Hartley orgy.
-- The Muppet Civil War.
-- The Laverne/Shirley accord of 1978.
-- The invasion of an entire case of Burgundy.
-- Casual Fridays.

Sigh

Last night I had one of those phone calls with Comcast that begins with a question, escalates into a lot of angry sarcasm, and ends with a thank you. I don't know if they have special training for their customer service employees on how to enrage and perplex me, but I wouldn't be surprised. They hit all my buttons, from forcing me to describe the same problem about sixteen times to placing me on hold indiscriminately to trying to sell me unrelated goods and services. All I can say is Tanya is lucky they monitor their calls for customer service purposes; the fear of having the call serve as evidence in a criminal trial was all that kept me from some exceedingly choice words.

Perhaps by now you can tell that my technician visit for the wireless internet did not go well. In point of fact, it went fine at the time, but the wireless stopped working at all by the evening of the visit. Which was when I began to feel rather unhappy, in retrospect, about the fact that the technician had been on an exceedingly involved personal call for the duration of his visit and had therefore been unable to answer rather fundamental questions, such as "what's the password?" and "how do I use this thing?" As it turned out, Tanya from customer service could answer them no better.

So I have another service call scheduled for Friday morning. And they put a $50 credit on my account. That was where the "thank you" came from.