Isn't That Batman on Our Plane?

On the flight from LA to Albuquerque today, I was quite excited to see Batman walk onto the plane and sit directly behind me. I had a brief reverie about serendipitously finding myself on the Batplane, filled with awesome technology. Then I was sobered by the thought of how long it would take flight attendants to explain Bruce Wayne designed technology when they had taken decades to memorize the patter about seat belt buckles. My excitement further waned when I realized that it was not Batman but was, instead, just a pony-tailed Val Kilmer. 

I'm new to New Mexico. It is, as my son points out, neither. New nor Mexico, that is.

New Mexico is on fire. Today the Los Alamos Lab was shut down for evacuation. The sky is ugly when - a local assured me - it is normally a big sky, blue and unencumbered by an excess of architecture. Smoke was billowing off the peak of the mountain range between Albuquerque and Santa Fe. 

One little known fact about Santa Fe is that it is only 40 miles away from Las Vegas. An (apparently) better known fact about Santa Fe is that it is not 40 miles away from that Las Vegas. (That Vegas is 630 miles away.) 

The older I get, the more puzzled I am that more communities don't do what Santa Fe seems to have done. The city obviously has zoning ordinances that dictate a particular style, the flat roof, pueblo building that one associates with the southwest. People travel from all over to see this unique city which is not exactly surrounded by natural beauty. It is colorful, has some great buildings, fascinating art galleries and a plethora of shops and restaurants. Unlike a trip to, say, Ohio, a trip to Santa Fe actually takes you to some place you haven't been before.

Back to the flight. Planes are oddly intimate places where one is in close proximity to strangers. My favorite moment in the flight today was when the little girl across from me put down her Harry Potter book and calmly buckled her doll into the seat beside her. As we took off, the woman across the aisle and one row ahead grew visibly agitated as we taxied. Then, when the pilots accelerated, she squeezed her eyes closed and crossed herself, as the man across from her looked over at her. He did not need to cross himself for assurance: he was wearing a yarmulke. Dolls, signs, and holy hats as a way to deal with the anxiety of modern technology. No wonder we create super heroes, even if they look very ordinary without their makeup and special effects team.

Homeward Bound

I saw a small, whining child in the airport who was probably 3 years old. His t-shirt read, “MY PARENTS ARE EXHAUSTED.” They were.

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In Charlotte, N.C., I chose to eat at the BBQ. I like to eat food that reflects a regional personality, and I’ve just flown an hour and a half from Indianapolis to San Diego and am now, oh, an hour and a half further from San Diego. It seems small consolation to try odd and unhealthy foods. I order the fried okra and squash casserole with my sandwich. The okra is greasy and not that great, but the squash casserole is actually quite good – it could be served, in some fashion, in restaurants either crude or elegant.

But after I’ve chosen these sides, the man at the counter says, “Would you like a fried pickle,” with a southern accent that I can hardly refuse.
“Fried pickle,” I stupidly repeat. “Is that popular?”
“It is in more enlightened parts of the country,” he says. “But if you are from an undeveloped region of the country, you might not know about them.”
“That would be me,” I say. “Today I’ll choose enlightenment.”
He smiles happily and puts a breaded, fried pickle on my plate. About 30 minutes later, I swing by his station. “Here’s a sentence I never thought I would form when I woke up this morning,” I tell him. “That fried pickle was wonderful. Thank you.”
“Now you are enlightened,” he beams.
“Now I am enlightened,” I say. “And to think that all this time I was only one fried pickle away.”
“There you go,” he twangs.
As I walk away, I feel inexpicably pleased. This must be what enlightenment feels like, I think. I look back over my shoulder. My new friend at the counter has already turned his attention to the next person in line, but he catches my backwards glance. He smiles broadly at me and gives me a farewell nod. This must be the reason I’ve flown backwards to get home. A fried pickle. Suddenly blessed with enlightenment, I have a second realization: the pickle was not that great – I would have much rather gotten home a couple of hours earlier.

My enlightenment was enhanced when the next flight was delayed. Apparently, the folks at US Air sold us the tickets and boarded us on the plane before figuring out that we could not make it to San Diego on a single tank of gas. Stopping for gas in Phoenix turned our 5.5 hour trip into 7 hours. It seemed in-terminal (as in, I didn’t think that we’d ever make it off the plane and into a terminal).

Riding in coach, I once again conclude that I ought to have either been born rich or been short. A young teenage girl sitting in front of me with her mom and sister, headed to San Diego to vacation, put her seat back all the way even before we took off. About an hour and a half into our 7 hour trip, tired of contorting my legs into odd angles to conform to her seat back, I leaned over the seat and kindly asked her if she couldn’t sit up straight for at least two or three hours of our long flight. Looking startled, she quickly moved her seat up and did not once incline backwards again – for the next 5+ hours. When we landed in San Diego, I was so appreciative that I leaned forward one more time and thanked her for her kindness to my legs. She smiled and said, “No problem.” I then handed her a $20 bill and told her to take her mom and sister for fish tacos. Her expression of surprise and delight was worth some multiple of the $20.

Observations from the Tedium of Travel

Last year I traveled as little as I have in years. This year, I'll probably be making trips to Indy two to three times a month through the first nine months of this year, something that gives me lots of opportunity to endure sleep deprivation (a time zone 3 hours off from home) and close spaces.

The plane rides are less than amusing when the client finances travel in coach and you are nearly 6' 5". Today, on the leg from Indianapolis to Dallas, I sat between vivid illustrations of the two primary male urges: sex and violence. The guy to my right was watching Saving Private Ryan and the guy to my left was watching a new movie with Jessica Alba that included bouncing breasts and prolonged sex scenes - a bold choice for a man sitting on the aisle with a high-resolution, 17" monitor. I felt positively antiquated sitting between them reading a book published in 1822, but the one consolation for six hours of flying is the uninterrupted reading time. (And besides, neither offered a headphone jack.)

The book also helped me to endure the next leg of the flight, sitting beside a man who must have weighed at least 350 – perhaps more than 400. Stendhal's Cures for Love was at turns amusing and provocative. (And really, there is, of course, no cure for love. It simply has to run its course.) This former defense minister for Napoleon included commentary on the US that stills seems to yield insight. In the midst of his advice on sex and violence, he offered these notions:

"What deserves admiration in America is the form of government and not the society. Elsewhere it is the government that does the harm. They have reversed the parts in Boston, and the government plays the hypocrite in order not to shock society."

"Goethe, or any other German genius, values money at its true worth. One must think of nothing but making money until one has an income of six thousand francs a year and after that think of it no further."

"If for lack of personal security you substitute a healthy fear of lacking money, you will see that the United States of America … bears a strong resemblance to the ancient world."

Rather than plodding along behind Napoleon on foot, we're now traveling at 500 mph. But it seems as though we're still propelled by the same forces - if only with more vivid imagery.

Travel - Waiting Punctuated by Movement

Flying to the midwest today. Again I'm reminded that travel is merely waiting punctuated by movement. Wait in line to check in. Wait in line for security. Wait in line to board. Wait on the plane to take off. Wait to land. Wait for luggage.

At last! A Practical Solution to Traffic Congestion

Beginning Tuesday, Americans traveling into the US from Mexico, Canada and the Caribbean must have passports. Congress passed this new rule in 2004 in an effort to make the country safer. The problem is, only one quarter of Americans have passports.

So, what will be the impact of this? The short term effect will be Americans lined up at our borders, waiting for their paperwork to get through already overloaded government agencies. The medium term effect will be Americans discovering how affordable and relaxed life is in our neighboring countries. The long-term effect is best of all.

About 20 million Americans travel internationally each year. If some portion of them can't get back into the country, think about how much that will lessen traffic congestion. Abandoned houses will go onto the market, helping to make housing more affordable. Key employees will be lost and the demand for replacement workers will drive up wages. I would go on, but the unintended benefits of making this a safer country are beyond my ability to calculate. And here all this time I thought that congress didn't really care about quality of life issues.

Airport Security Made Simple

As a frequent flyer, I spend too much time in airport security lines. I've put time in line to good use and thought up a simple solution for the problems of having to repeatedly show ID: wear a simple t-shirt that has an arrow pointing up to my face and just below it text that says, "Yep, it's me."