Music: Interpol - Take You On A Cruise
Mood: Alright
I like to consider myself a seasoned traveler. I don' 'fear' the concept of getting on a plane and going to some exotic or frigid destination. Typically, I find my seat, hope that the person next to me is decent enough to entertain a mild albeit worthless conversation, whilst I try and grab some winks before arrival. Most airline movies are dull and listless, so I don't waste much time there, instead I opt for the nouveau-traditional iPod approach.
(It's funny how having an iPod nowadays makes you seem so normal, whereas six years ago it was totally not cool for me to use my MiniDisc player on a trans-atlantic flight, and the flight attendents couldn't fathom the notion of recording your own music into a compliation 'disc').
Now, I don't think of myself as chatty when it comes to divulging information to complete strangers, but, I think it is fun to fabricate a life on the fly. Considering that the person next to you a.) knows nothing about you, b.) doesn't care enough to put stock in anything you say, c.) really wanted the window seat in the exit row that you have, it's all moot once the flight touches down.
Turbulence is interesting. Most people flip out and grasp the side of their chairs and start the profuse-sweating on cue. Some guys that think they're really badass and do the 'I gotta hit the head now or else' routine by making a very visible scene of their maneuvering to the lavatories. But then there are the few stragglers who are too much into their own thoughts to even notice that the plane is at a 60 degree angle and headed for the hills.
Usually these are the people that actually share worthwhile information. If you're sitting next to Jane Doe and she's working on a manuscript while the seat-belt light flashes, you've got yourself a winner. But if Pablo is praying to la Virgin de Guadeloupe and smelling like too much Aqua Velva, its a lost cause.
When it comes to putting luggage in the overhead bins, its always an intersting fight to see who gets what section. I don't travel heavy, so at the most I have a backpack and a jacket. But there's always the family of six kids that all have strollers and Pokemon Travel-PacZ, which must be placed in the space above because Doug and Tim and Lindsay and Frank and Mia all got too. This is something I hate. Don't get me wrong, kids are cool, so long as they don't invade my space or cause me undue stress. I like to look at the situation from a legal perspective: they are fine so long as they cause me direct or indirect burden's and/or harm.
I don't mind when I get to sit next to an 11-year-old boy or girl. They're usuallly too afraid to talk to a complete stranger with a 5 o'clock shadow at 8:15 in the morning. But every so often there's the one kid that's just so interested in why you chose to wear a black shirt instead of blue, why you listen to Interpol, why you go to a school on the east coast, and why you don't comb your hair. I try and be polite, at least until the parents come by to check-up on little Jimmy. Usually I perform my not-so-subtle "your kid is killin' me over here" routine. It's a very basic technique.
A Parent stops by, asks how everything is, here is what you do: when the question of "How are you" is posed, to very slowly lift your head upward, and make a wry forehead wrinkle as though you are deep into thought, BUT, at the same time, you feign a hint of exhaustion. You take a few extra seconds to respond, and then you say "I'm sorry, what was that you said" punctuated by a deep breath at the end. That typically solves the problem stat, and before you know it, you've got Grandpa Joe for the next four hours snoring in your right ear. Pick your poision I guess.
Flight attendents amuse me for unknown reasons. They're happy, but beyond a comprehensible level. They're frighteningly jubilant at every turn. You want peanuts, or a Sprite? You can have it, with a wide-grin and an shrieking "Here y'all go now" to boot. Male flight attendents, Mattendents as I call them, are a so depressing its terrific in a weird way. These are individuals that would much rather serve you small cups of booze and plastic meals and travel to not so exotic locals as Boston and Topeka instead of get a legitimate job at a normal place. Moreover, they're either straight and single or gay and engaged. But you never really know.
It's always 50/50 in the world of an airline carrier.
Mood: Alright
I like to consider myself a seasoned traveler. I don' 'fear' the concept of getting on a plane and going to some exotic or frigid destination. Typically, I find my seat, hope that the person next to me is decent enough to entertain a mild albeit worthless conversation, whilst I try and grab some winks before arrival. Most airline movies are dull and listless, so I don't waste much time there, instead I opt for the nouveau-traditional iPod approach.
(It's funny how having an iPod nowadays makes you seem so normal, whereas six years ago it was totally not cool for me to use my MiniDisc player on a trans-atlantic flight, and the flight attendents couldn't fathom the notion of recording your own music into a compliation 'disc').
Now, I don't think of myself as chatty when it comes to divulging information to complete strangers, but, I think it is fun to fabricate a life on the fly. Considering that the person next to you a.) knows nothing about you, b.) doesn't care enough to put stock in anything you say, c.) really wanted the window seat in the exit row that you have, it's all moot once the flight touches down.
Turbulence is interesting. Most people flip out and grasp the side of their chairs and start the profuse-sweating on cue. Some guys that think they're really badass and do the 'I gotta hit the head now or else' routine by making a very visible scene of their maneuvering to the lavatories. But then there are the few stragglers who are too much into their own thoughts to even notice that the plane is at a 60 degree angle and headed for the hills.
Usually these are the people that actually share worthwhile information. If you're sitting next to Jane Doe and she's working on a manuscript while the seat-belt light flashes, you've got yourself a winner. But if Pablo is praying to la Virgin de Guadeloupe and smelling like too much Aqua Velva, its a lost cause.
When it comes to putting luggage in the overhead bins, its always an intersting fight to see who gets what section. I don't travel heavy, so at the most I have a backpack and a jacket. But there's always the family of six kids that all have strollers and Pokemon Travel-PacZ, which must be placed in the space above because Doug and Tim and Lindsay and Frank and Mia all got too. This is something I hate. Don't get me wrong, kids are cool, so long as they don't invade my space or cause me undue stress. I like to look at the situation from a legal perspective: they are fine so long as they cause me direct or indirect burden's and/or harm.
I don't mind when I get to sit next to an 11-year-old boy or girl. They're usuallly too afraid to talk to a complete stranger with a 5 o'clock shadow at 8:15 in the morning. But every so often there's the one kid that's just so interested in why you chose to wear a black shirt instead of blue, why you listen to Interpol, why you go to a school on the east coast, and why you don't comb your hair. I try and be polite, at least until the parents come by to check-up on little Jimmy. Usually I perform my not-so-subtle "your kid is killin' me over here" routine. It's a very basic technique.
A Parent stops by, asks how everything is, here is what you do: when the question of "How are you" is posed, to very slowly lift your head upward, and make a wry forehead wrinkle as though you are deep into thought, BUT, at the same time, you feign a hint of exhaustion. You take a few extra seconds to respond, and then you say "I'm sorry, what was that you said" punctuated by a deep breath at the end. That typically solves the problem stat, and before you know it, you've got Grandpa Joe for the next four hours snoring in your right ear. Pick your poision I guess.
Flight attendents amuse me for unknown reasons. They're happy, but beyond a comprehensible level. They're frighteningly jubilant at every turn. You want peanuts, or a Sprite? You can have it, with a wide-grin and an shrieking "Here y'all go now" to boot. Male flight attendents, Mattendents as I call them, are a so depressing its terrific in a weird way. These are individuals that would much rather serve you small cups of booze and plastic meals and travel to not so exotic locals as Boston and Topeka instead of get a legitimate job at a normal place. Moreover, they're either straight and single or gay and engaged. But you never really know.
It's always 50/50 in the world of an airline carrier.
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