First Class

Flying home from Nashville a couple of weeks ago, I experienced my first tantalizing taste of the sublime comforts of flying First Class. I got the upgrade because my ticketed flight was packed full, and the offer was extended to any three passengers willing to take a slightly later flight. I immediately volunteered. A smart move. The difference from my usual experience back with the slovenly hoi polloi in Coach was astonishing. The gulf between the services you receive in First Class versus Coach is vast, my little droogies, making, say, the span between the walls of the enormous Valles Marineris canyon on Mars seem akin to a rain gutter on the roof of your house, for want of a more clear and understandable metaphor, which could probably have been supplied by an editor, however such is the nature of bloggerdom that editors are seen as unnecessary, non-value-added, grammar policing martinets, right Barb? But I digress.

The waitress (it was near impossible to think of her as a flight attendant), soon after the flight began, brought out a tray with cups of water and OJ, to soothe our delicate, parched throats. This was followed by an offering of a small bowl of warm and toasty mixed nuts. Then comes the platter of hot towelettes. I took the proffered towel, unsure of exactly what to do with it, glancing surreptitiously at the other passengers to gain clues. The guy across the aisle was vigorously rubbing his face with it, which seemed odd. I wiped my hands with the towel and daintily returned it to the waitress, uh, flight attendant, as she asked, “Care for something to drink?” I said, “Er, what’s available, I’ve never been in first class before.” Her smile widened and she said, “We offer everything that you can order in coach, but we also have champagne.”

“One Bloody Mary, please.”

“Very good, sir.”

And so began a beautiful friendship, with me quaffing a Bloody Mary roughly every 300 miles, because the waitress kept bringing an extra little bottle of Skye vodka, and I’m thinking how can anyone ever go back to coach, this is superb, and I’ll bet Batman Begins will be the in-flight movie (it wasn’t) but that didn’t matter because I was also served food, actual scrumptious food that had taste and color and texture, and I happily sat in my big comfortable first class seat and read a good book and actually enjoyed the flight.

Always take the upgrade…

Nashville

So here's a view out my hotel window in Nashville last week, looking down on the Ryman Auditorium (the original site of the Grand Ole Opry, and where Jonatham Demme filmed his Neil Young concert film Heart of Gold) on the left, and the purple building on the right is Tootsie's Orchid Lounge.

Tootsie's was great - good country music (no, that's not an oxymoron), and I picked up a t-shirt for my friend Mary Lou, because she always seems to buy me t-shirts from wherever she roams, and I wanted to pay her back, because in fact, I have so many t-shirts now it's ridiculous, so my policy is to just say NO to t-shirts, my god, it's great to take a stand, wouldn't you say?

I'll talk a little bit more about Nashville in a later, more cogent post...

Question Authority, Still

We chatted over breakfast today about hurricane Katrina relief efforts. We noshed on pumpkin walnut pancakes, a baked spinach broccoli egg dish, and fruit salad, and pondered the divide between the “was” and “now” of the gulf coast, and whether we voiced it or not, we were thankful we were able to enjoy such a care free meal among good friends and family. But what are they eating for breakfast on 4th Street in New Orleans? ML said she has been supporting an “anarchist” relief organization, with no ties to the government, and felt her donations were going straight to the needy, rather than through umpteen levels of organizational channels. Sounds reasonable and good.

Choices. How should we spend our own personal energy and resources, to help those in need? From global warming (or imminent mini ice age, depending on your view of the science) warnings, to Sub-Saharan African chaos and horror, through Middle Eastern jihadism and nuclear build-up, along with the USA circling the wagons, with fear being spread by the powers that be… Can we still make a difference? You and I?

Cycling Up The River Trail

I wake up a few minutes before 7:00 am, and realize I'm supposed to go riding with Barb this morning. I don't feel like it. I call her and ask, "Are we supposed to go on a ride this morning?" She says yes, she'll be over in fifteen minutes. I resign myself to this early morning splash of reality and say OK, see you in fifteen.

Later, we're cycling up the San Gabriel River bike trail. I'm slowly getting into it. My bicycle is well maintained; I can't hear it. I hear only a slight hum and the noise of the wind. I love that. On the way back home, about thirty five miles into a fifty mile ride, we stop to stretch. Barb is wearing this black cycling outfit, and looks fabulous. I swear to god, she looks like Aeon Flux. I tell her that outfit and a pair of high heels will get her into any nightclub in America. Of course, I look like I just crawled out of a cardboard box, my hair sticking straight up and my baggy shorts hanging straight down. I was wearing nice socks, though.

It turned out to be a very nice ride, though my butt still doth protest at around the mile 30 mark. I'm confident we'll have no problems at the STP in July.

Banal and Insipid

My wife has decried that my recent posts have been boring. That's OK. Let's think about what "boring" means for a moment. OK, stop, revert to your previous thoughts. I have the luxury of blathering on about inane subjects, which may or may not have any existential significance. But it kinda twinged me a bit when K said she didn't understand my blogs, and was surprised they came from my cranium. Hmmm. I'll cogitate on this and report back later.

Reading the above, I fully support my wife's position that I'm out of control. I promise to do better...