Monday, August 14, 2006

Flying High

Greetings from Colorful Colorado!

As hard as it may be to believe (well, it's hard for me to believe -- you probably haven't devoted much thought to the matter), I loved flying as a kid. It was an immense adventure, moreso than the destination itself. Why a kid who spent all his time reading got so thrilled about three and a half hours more when he'd just read, I know not, but if we weren't flying on a trip, I was disappointed.

Part of it may have been because I was the right height to fly. It's much more comfortable when you're 4'8" than when you're 6'1". Part of it may have been childhood, when anything new and different is amazing. And, who knows, maybe I suffered from some severe mental disorder that made me like pain.

Now? Now it's just a grueling chore. I went through a brief reversal in high school and college when I was terrified of flying (though I turned that to my advantage, once telling a girl that I was afraid the plane would go down, and I'd die without having kissed her), but everything eventually smoothed itself out, and flying became simply a big bucket of shit, but at least not a scary one. (though: for some reason the last few days found me digging out Firewater's "Psychopharmacology" album for the first time in years, having forgotten that it contains the song "Black Box Recording" -- maybe the worst thing ever to listen to before you get on a flight.)

I say this, as I degenerate further into a young Andy Rooney, because I flew cross-country today. As flights go, it was relatively painless, but it's all a matter of scale. I really lucked out -- my seatmate was an attractive woman rather than the usual sweaty man with Tourette's Syndrome (answering many years of prayers -- God apparently waited until I was dating someone semi-seriously to bring out the hot seatmate. Thanks, God), and the children behind me only took their harassment to the physical level a couple of times. I also slept most of the way, and it didn't crash. I still hated it, and am wondering how I'm going to survive the flight to Russia without drinking myself insensate. And it strikes me, the terrorists have it all wrong -- if they really wanted to fuck with us, they'd make it so we have to fly all the damn time.

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Indiscretions is being retired, and Natalia Antonova has a new home. Check it out.

1 comment:

Nanuk of the North said...

Height has nothing to do with flying comfort. I'm 5 feet flat and it's still uncomfortable, though I do admire how some stringbeans manage to coil themselves into their rows.