By now everyone's heard the stories: countless examples of sexual assaults. Everything from groping, boob-grabbing, ass-pinching, and camel-toe sliding tales of humiliation and embarrassment. And all under the auspices of the American government and "flying the (unfriendly) safe skies."
Yeah, fine, whatever. It's overkill. Everyone knows it's overkill. Only those who buy into the rampant "protect me" fear-mongering think it's not overkill. It doesn't take much to bring down a plane. Certainly there are explosives that fit within the 3-ounce limit imposed by the TSA. Certainly there are weapon assemblies that can be creatively sneaked onto aircraft via multiple terrorists.
Quick aside: Did you know that it's legal to ship a firearm on a passenger plane as long as it's in your checked luggage? Like someone couldn't take a butter-knife, stab their way to the cargo compartment, recover their bag, and REALLY cause problems. Hell, someone could do that with sharpened ear-tips on Flexon eyeglasses. Hmm... I probably shouldn't be giving anyone any ideas.
Anyway...
Heightened security measures aren't going anywhere for a while. Face it. People are just too afraid or too stupid. So, I'm going to propose a solution that will make (almost) everyone happy.
Quick aside: I actually kind of support the full-body scanners, but would prefer clear proof they don't pose health risks (like, at all). I think I'll wait for the ones from Total Recall.
Anyway...
Where was I? Oh, yeah... a solution that will make (almost) everyone happy.
Let us pick which TSA agent does the pat-down should we refuse the scanner. No, really... just like a menu line at a brothel (so I've heard...), line up the TSA agents and let us pick the one we get to let sexually assault us in the name of security. Sure, it's shallow, but shit... I'm okay with a Monica Bellucci lookalike groping me in the name of safe flying. I'm not okay with a Steve Buscemi lookalike doing it (sorry Steve... love your acting, but you're not my type).
In addition to the choice of gropers, let us be obnoxiously lewd in return. Like, seriously. Don't scream at us for not cooperating. If faux Monica rubs me a little close, let me share the fact that I'm having an erection without some government asshole threatening me with charges. I mean, shit, dude, you're the one touching me in all the places Mom and Dad told me not to let people touch me. I should be able to share the fact that I'd like to shove certain body parts in certain body parts of my government-endorsed rapist. It's a give and take, no? Isn't this about compromise?
Yes, it is.
So, there's my compromise. Let us pick who fondles us. And let us vocally share our (dis)taste for the fondling.
I can live with that.
Showing posts with label flying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flying. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Flight Index
Well, I'm afraid I have to be a bit lazy with writing at the moment, as I'm packing up to move... off to the wild blue yonder, so to speak, tomorrow morning. Fun times.
But as I've often written about flight or the sensation of flying, I decided to offer an index of sorts to some old pieces. Feel free to read them all, or read them none. I'll be back on track in a couple of weeks, I'm sure.
Too Sexy to Fly?
- a satirical commentary on the strange decision by a flight attendant to not allow a passenger to fly based upon her attire.
Blue Wings - a creative non-fiction from days of yore.
Tales from the Airborne I: You Gotta Go When You Gotta Go - another creative non-fiction from military days.
Abandon - metaphoric prose about taking chances.
Falling Through Life Like Sky Through Rainbow - metaphoric prose about being lost in purpose.
A Dramatic Prologue - creative fiction about an airborne assault by Army paratroopers, interspersed with references from famous works of theatre.
The Whale and the Albatross - metaphoric prose about the strange journey that is life.
Oceans - biographical metaphor about sifting through choices.
Borne - descriptive piece about the diversity of Airborne paratroopers.
Stardust - poetic prose about falling in love for a brief moment in time.
As a special bonus, here's the poem version of "Stardust." Both the original and the poem were written at the same time as I couldn't decide which was better... ultimately I went with the prose, but here's the poem in all its aborted splendor:
Stardust - (August 11, 2009)
A slumbering impatience burns away
as falling star touches the crown of the world
light scatters as aimless journey finally reveals destination
there's a melancholic realization
as ground approaches quickly
this view is captured for the first and final time.
but, oh, what a view it is
An all too brief glimpse of beauty
blue and white
as friction melts away fear
her body, once imposing reflection in the distance, now inviting
a scream of triumph as youthful lust streaks through cloud
finally knowing what it means to fly
and, oh, what a flight it is
The lives of others pass by
emotion and sensation
frozen for so long and long since forgotten, or misremembered
reawaken in time to enjoy falling in love
the impact but a mere moment, in her arms
the mystery of gravity finally solved
and what a woman she is
But as I've often written about flight or the sensation of flying, I decided to offer an index of sorts to some old pieces. Feel free to read them all, or read them none. I'll be back on track in a couple of weeks, I'm sure.
Too Sexy to Fly?
- a satirical commentary on the strange decision by a flight attendant to not allow a passenger to fly based upon her attire.
Blue Wings - a creative non-fiction from days of yore.
Tales from the Airborne I: You Gotta Go When You Gotta Go - another creative non-fiction from military days.
Abandon - metaphoric prose about taking chances.
Falling Through Life Like Sky Through Rainbow - metaphoric prose about being lost in purpose.
A Dramatic Prologue - creative fiction about an airborne assault by Army paratroopers, interspersed with references from famous works of theatre.
The Whale and the Albatross - metaphoric prose about the strange journey that is life.
Oceans - biographical metaphor about sifting through choices.
Borne - descriptive piece about the diversity of Airborne paratroopers.
Stardust - poetic prose about falling in love for a brief moment in time.
As a special bonus, here's the poem version of "Stardust." Both the original and the poem were written at the same time as I couldn't decide which was better... ultimately I went with the prose, but here's the poem in all its aborted splendor:
Stardust - (August 11, 2009)
A slumbering impatience burns away
as falling star touches the crown of the world
light scatters as aimless journey finally reveals destination
there's a melancholic realization
as ground approaches quickly
this view is captured for the first and final time.
but, oh, what a view it is
An all too brief glimpse of beauty
blue and white
as friction melts away fear
her body, once imposing reflection in the distance, now inviting
a scream of triumph as youthful lust streaks through cloud
finally knowing what it means to fly
and, oh, what a flight it is
The lives of others pass by
emotion and sensation
frozen for so long and long since forgotten, or misremembered
reawaken in time to enjoy falling in love
the impact but a mere moment, in her arms
the mystery of gravity finally solved
and what a woman she is
Monday, July 27, 2009
Oceans
Yesterday, for the first time in a long, long time, I actually played in an ocean. I've been to the beach on occasion, sure, but it hadn't really occurred to me that I've not been in an ocean's water for two years. Perhaps not ironically, it's also been two years since I've flown. Long-time readers recognize the emphasis of life that I place on travel, and short-time readers might make a connection to the recent The Whale and the Albatross... either way, humanity over the years, for me, has come to define itself by actions so distinctly inhuman.
Let me be frank: I am scared of flying, but will strap on a parachute and fall through the sky with a masochistic grin. I cannot swim to save my life, but have never been afraid of the ocean. I die often in dreams, and with the unusual exception of having my throat slit, my deaths in dreams have always been from high-speed impacts. Such impacts are unlikely in both the ocean and in the air with an open parachute, and maybe that's why I feel comfortable floating... any impact is either going to be softened, or have several rows of teeth.
Ah, well. I'm digressing. Of course, that's assuming I had a point to begin with, which my writing often does not.
I am, at this point in my life, starting over. Almost from scratch. All of my previous experience and education has, essentially and for various reasons, amounted to nothing. Objectively, this tabula rasa probably happened a while ago, but until now I've been terrified of staring at an empty page.
I don't know exactly why, but something was found in translation yesterday. I walked into the water, very aware of encroaching sunburn and a bad left foot (I'd have otherwise ran into the water), and let a wave crash into me. It spun me around and over, but rather than fight it, I just went with it... because, you know, why not? Vertigo underwater is actually much more awesome than vertigo stepping out of an aircraft.
But then my hand lodged itself into the beach floor below. Not sure it was an accident or out of some long-forgotten reflex, but in a moment that felt like a brief forever, with body pulled and pushed by wave and a hand feeling an ebb rip away a loose foundation, everything felt fine. So much so, that even drowning in that instant would have resulted in a smile on my face. Sure, I was in shallow water, but it didn't matter. The empty page suddenly looked inviting.
I've spent my whole life with a plan. A plan for school, a plan for career, a plan for love, a plan for this, that, and the other. It's taken me 31 years to understand that plans are made to fall apart. Murphy's law applies, and plans will no doubt be blown off track by an errant gust of wind or torn off track by a riptide.
I'm at a crossroads. A real one, this time, albeit unconventional and with more than two choices. Strips of sand heading north and south; shades of blue fading into the horizon. Hell, I'm not even sure I can see all of the choices yet, or ever will. But this is definitely a crossroads.
No, I don't have some new found appreciation for life and, no, I'm not going to be turning into some philosophical nice guy. I'm just not going be to afraid of white pieces of paper anymore.
After all, they can be folded into boats and airplanes.
Let me be frank: I am scared of flying, but will strap on a parachute and fall through the sky with a masochistic grin. I cannot swim to save my life, but have never been afraid of the ocean. I die often in dreams, and with the unusual exception of having my throat slit, my deaths in dreams have always been from high-speed impacts. Such impacts are unlikely in both the ocean and in the air with an open parachute, and maybe that's why I feel comfortable floating... any impact is either going to be softened, or have several rows of teeth.
Ah, well. I'm digressing. Of course, that's assuming I had a point to begin with, which my writing often does not.
I am, at this point in my life, starting over. Almost from scratch. All of my previous experience and education has, essentially and for various reasons, amounted to nothing. Objectively, this tabula rasa probably happened a while ago, but until now I've been terrified of staring at an empty page.
I don't know exactly why, but something was found in translation yesterday. I walked into the water, very aware of encroaching sunburn and a bad left foot (I'd have otherwise ran into the water), and let a wave crash into me. It spun me around and over, but rather than fight it, I just went with it... because, you know, why not? Vertigo underwater is actually much more awesome than vertigo stepping out of an aircraft.
But then my hand lodged itself into the beach floor below. Not sure it was an accident or out of some long-forgotten reflex, but in a moment that felt like a brief forever, with body pulled and pushed by wave and a hand feeling an ebb rip away a loose foundation, everything felt fine. So much so, that even drowning in that instant would have resulted in a smile on my face. Sure, I was in shallow water, but it didn't matter. The empty page suddenly looked inviting.
I've spent my whole life with a plan. A plan for school, a plan for career, a plan for love, a plan for this, that, and the other. It's taken me 31 years to understand that plans are made to fall apart. Murphy's law applies, and plans will no doubt be blown off track by an errant gust of wind or torn off track by a riptide.
I'm at a crossroads. A real one, this time, albeit unconventional and with more than two choices. Strips of sand heading north and south; shades of blue fading into the horizon. Hell, I'm not even sure I can see all of the choices yet, or ever will. But this is definitely a crossroads.
No, I don't have some new found appreciation for life and, no, I'm not going to be turning into some philosophical nice guy. I'm just not going be to afraid of white pieces of paper anymore.
After all, they can be folded into boats and airplanes.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Blue Wings
Irony, this one. Named after an airplane, she had never been on one until just after her 24th birthday. It wasn't that she didn't want to ride in one, it was just that she never had a realistic opportunity. Well, maybe there was a bit of fear involved. After all, two of her favorite celebrities, John Denver and JFK, Jr., met their demise due to airplanes. Then again, she wasn't planning on piloting an aircraft anytime soon. At any rate, she experienced her first flight, literally and, perhaps, figuratively.
He had discovered her in college. She was beautiful, quiet, with a smile that knew no equal. He was leaving the area soon, however, and saw no future with her. But, somehow, the winds of fate blew the way they always blew... unpredictably... and they wound up in the arms of each other.
He was alarmed a bit that she had never been on an aircraft. He had been flying since before he could speak, and the very thought of never having been in the air was alien to him. To her, the very thought of riding in the sky was equally alien. But, perhaps fearing his disapproval, she accompanied him on an airplane to Dallas, and she never looked back.
Also alarming was the fact that she seemed to be floating along in life, unsure of what she wanted to do, unsure of where she wanted to live, and nearly oblivious to the world outside of her circle. He had never lived in a proper circle, and the concept of being in one was yet another alien in the sky. To her credit, she accompanied him on her first extended voyage away from her home, and though she did often look back this time, it would ultimately be with a different set of eyes.
New places, new worlds, and a new sense of awareness became her. Suddenly, life at home revealed itself to be what it always ways... a dead end. Her wings, dormant for what seemed to be decades, finally started to sprout. Her career choices changed, and already the first in her family to graduate from a four-year college, she became the first in her family with a Master's degree. But her hunger didn't stop there... she earned a second Master's within a year of her first.
The little girl from the little town became a model, an actress, a marketer, an insurance rep, a college professor, a magazine columnist, and every door she opened merely led the way to more doors. Life, to be sure, is hers for the taking.
Her wings are full-grown now, and she no longer needs the nest she came from, nor the nest she lives in. Her sky, many shades of blue, is her new home... and, despite her accomplishments, despite the envy felt by nearly everyone who knows her, she has yet to stop flying. And likely never will.
He only hopes that she nevers flies away from him.
He had discovered her in college. She was beautiful, quiet, with a smile that knew no equal. He was leaving the area soon, however, and saw no future with her. But, somehow, the winds of fate blew the way they always blew... unpredictably... and they wound up in the arms of each other.
He was alarmed a bit that she had never been on an aircraft. He had been flying since before he could speak, and the very thought of never having been in the air was alien to him. To her, the very thought of riding in the sky was equally alien. But, perhaps fearing his disapproval, she accompanied him on an airplane to Dallas, and she never looked back.
Also alarming was the fact that she seemed to be floating along in life, unsure of what she wanted to do, unsure of where she wanted to live, and nearly oblivious to the world outside of her circle. He had never lived in a proper circle, and the concept of being in one was yet another alien in the sky. To her credit, she accompanied him on her first extended voyage away from her home, and though she did often look back this time, it would ultimately be with a different set of eyes.
New places, new worlds, and a new sense of awareness became her. Suddenly, life at home revealed itself to be what it always ways... a dead end. Her wings, dormant for what seemed to be decades, finally started to sprout. Her career choices changed, and already the first in her family to graduate from a four-year college, she became the first in her family with a Master's degree. But her hunger didn't stop there... she earned a second Master's within a year of her first.
The little girl from the little town became a model, an actress, a marketer, an insurance rep, a college professor, a magazine columnist, and every door she opened merely led the way to more doors. Life, to be sure, is hers for the taking.
Her wings are full-grown now, and she no longer needs the nest she came from, nor the nest she lives in. Her sky, many shades of blue, is her new home... and, despite her accomplishments, despite the envy felt by nearly everyone who knows her, she has yet to stop flying. And likely never will.
He only hopes that she nevers flies away from him.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Too Sexy to Fly?
Okay, so let me get this straight. In the past week, two women have gained notoreity for being "too sexy" to be on an airplane.
I'm sorry, what?
Apparently, some lady named Satara Qassim was flying from Las Vegas to Los Angeles and was asked to "cover up" by a probably all-too-jealous flight attendant (a.k.a. stewardess).
There are, in my mind, several things wrong with the above statement.
First, since when to airlines have dress codes? I get the fact that you're not getting into your cramped aisle seat butt-naked, but by being dressed nicely (a.k.a. sexy)?
Are you fucking kidding?
Not only that, the flight was from Las Vegas (a.k.a. Sin City) to Los Angeles (a.k.a. we like our hot women here).
Are you fucking kidding?
Dudes, I'm hoping everyone is with me on this... WHO THE FUCK CARES? Personally, I'd like to be on an airline full of women who look and are dressed like Satara Kassim (heck, I'd even take that overrated blonde who got snagged a week ago and somehow made it on The Today Show with Matt Lauer). I mean, who the Hell wouldn't?
We're talking about an industry that used to REQUIRE their stewardesses be gorgeous women. Maybe we should all band together and get Hooters to reopen their airline? If anything, lonely and horny men will flock to the airports for the chance of getting a wink and a smile (and a bag of peanuts).
Agh, political correctness is getting to me.
I get why stewardesses are no longer "hot chicks." Yes, I do. It's a legitimate industry that has no place dictating what their employees look like. But going so far as to tell a woman who was, near as I can tell, appropriately dressed for any occasion save a funeral that she can't fly because she's too hot?
Are you fucking kidding?
If the airlines want to impose a dress code for passengers, fine. Like I said, it's a legitimate industry that provides a paid service and they DO have a right to dictate certain things... as long as they dictate on paper and somewhere everyone can see it.
But, as Ms. Qassim implied, to put the interpretation (a.k.a. jealously) in the hands of the flight attendants themselves? Bullshit.
I call for all women to dress as sexily as possible and board an aircraft. Let the protests begin!
And vote for Clint Eastwood (who probably wouldn't mind being sandwiched between to gorgeous women beautifully dressed on an airplane).
I'm sorry, what?
Apparently, some lady named Satara Qassim was flying from Las Vegas to Los Angeles and was asked to "cover up" by a probably all-too-jealous flight attendant (a.k.a. stewardess).
There are, in my mind, several things wrong with the above statement.
First, since when to airlines have dress codes? I get the fact that you're not getting into your cramped aisle seat butt-naked, but by being dressed nicely (a.k.a. sexy)?
Are you fucking kidding?
Not only that, the flight was from Las Vegas (a.k.a. Sin City) to Los Angeles (a.k.a. we like our hot women here).
Are you fucking kidding?
Dudes, I'm hoping everyone is with me on this... WHO THE FUCK CARES? Personally, I'd like to be on an airline full of women who look and are dressed like Satara Kassim (heck, I'd even take that overrated blonde who got snagged a week ago and somehow made it on The Today Show with Matt Lauer). I mean, who the Hell wouldn't?
We're talking about an industry that used to REQUIRE their stewardesses be gorgeous women. Maybe we should all band together and get Hooters to reopen their airline? If anything, lonely and horny men will flock to the airports for the chance of getting a wink and a smile (and a bag of peanuts).
Agh, political correctness is getting to me.
I get why stewardesses are no longer "hot chicks." Yes, I do. It's a legitimate industry that has no place dictating what their employees look like. But going so far as to tell a woman who was, near as I can tell, appropriately dressed for any occasion save a funeral that she can't fly because she's too hot?
Are you fucking kidding?
If the airlines want to impose a dress code for passengers, fine. Like I said, it's a legitimate industry that provides a paid service and they DO have a right to dictate certain things... as long as they dictate on paper and somewhere everyone can see it.
But, as Ms. Qassim implied, to put the interpretation (a.k.a. jealously) in the hands of the flight attendants themselves? Bullshit.
I call for all women to dress as sexily as possible and board an aircraft. Let the protests begin!
And vote for Clint Eastwood (who probably wouldn't mind being sandwiched between to gorgeous women beautifully dressed on an airplane).
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Things I Did Today
I usually don't do lists, but today just seemed full of little profound moments that deserve to be listed.
I sat next to two ferrets on a flight from Atlanta, GA, to Reno, NV. This is not something I recommend for anyone else to do. Ferrets smell like piss. At altitude, ferrets smell worse than piss. And shoving your mouth full of sweettarts doesn't help you ignore the stench.
For the second time this year, I got a "bad vibe" from returning to a place that I had recently left.
I read about 400 or so pages of Dan Simmons' Ilium. Simmons is the author of my favorite science fiction novel of all time, Hyperion, and he certainly isn't disappointing this go around.
I saw someone I thought I knew for a split second. It was weird... it was like an electrical shock was sent through my sinuses and my awareness felt almost omniscient... but only for a second. I regret not taking a second look (I would have, but my origin flight was 2 hours late, and I only had 20 minutes to get to my connecting flight) .
I think I finally realized that I'm afraid of flying. Odd thing for a paratrooper to be afraid of.
I like my cats more than I thought I did. Strangely, I starting missing them before I even left Wilmington.
I had to turn in a cigarette lighter at a security checkpoint. Naturally, I didn't object and handed it over. Later, I realized that the particular lighter (a red Bic) had been with me in Arizona, Arkansas, Nevada, New Mexico, North Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, and probably California, New York, Oklahoma, and Washington. I know it's just a lighter, but throwing away such a loyal travel companion seems wrong somehow.
Money has officially become the most important thing in life to me. This is temporary, of course, but circumstance has prompted money's ascent up the "what matters to me" ladder.
I wrote this silly blog.
I'm going to sleep.
And that's today in a nutshell.
I sat next to two ferrets on a flight from Atlanta, GA, to Reno, NV. This is not something I recommend for anyone else to do. Ferrets smell like piss. At altitude, ferrets smell worse than piss. And shoving your mouth full of sweettarts doesn't help you ignore the stench.
For the second time this year, I got a "bad vibe" from returning to a place that I had recently left.
I read about 400 or so pages of Dan Simmons' Ilium. Simmons is the author of my favorite science fiction novel of all time, Hyperion, and he certainly isn't disappointing this go around.
I saw someone I thought I knew for a split second. It was weird... it was like an electrical shock was sent through my sinuses and my awareness felt almost omniscient... but only for a second. I regret not taking a second look (I would have, but my origin flight was 2 hours late, and I only had 20 minutes to get to my connecting flight) .
I think I finally realized that I'm afraid of flying. Odd thing for a paratrooper to be afraid of.
I like my cats more than I thought I did. Strangely, I starting missing them before I even left Wilmington.
I had to turn in a cigarette lighter at a security checkpoint. Naturally, I didn't object and handed it over. Later, I realized that the particular lighter (a red Bic) had been with me in Arizona, Arkansas, Nevada, New Mexico, North Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, and probably California, New York, Oklahoma, and Washington. I know it's just a lighter, but throwing away such a loyal travel companion seems wrong somehow.
Money has officially become the most important thing in life to me. This is temporary, of course, but circumstance has prompted money's ascent up the "what matters to me" ladder.
I wrote this silly blog.
I'm going to sleep.
And that's today in a nutshell.
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