Burning Inside

I hate flying.

I’m on a turbulent flight, I’m up high, I’m here, I’m nowhere. I’m out of control, I can’t even control my reactions to every bump, every shudder of this tin missile. You see that guy over there with his eyes closed, the sun reflecting off his face. That’s not me. I’m the guy turning around to glare at the flight attendant doing drink service because it’s an hour into the flight and I haven’t had a gin and tonic in a long long time. I swear to God I will vault over the seat to get a drink before too long.

So, yeah, I’m that guy and I hate flying. And if you’re wondering why I don’t take a pill, it’s because this flight from New York to Florida is a bit short of that. If we were going transcontinental, you can bet I would have taken an ambian with those g and ts I sucked down at Kennedy.

I mean fuck, what does it take to get a drink?

(1.5 gin and tonics and a roast beef wrap later)

I’m flying Song, which is my first choice after Jet Blue, though honestly, I think I prefer Song which has been around for a couple of years. They both have the TV’s in the seat, and they both are exciting new brands which is completely unimportant, but each in their own way promises something better. Jet Blue has big comfy leather chairs for one, and Song has great freaking food, in particular the aforementioned wrap. They also have a cheese and fruit plate that while excellent in flight food, is pedestrian. It turns out my sister really likes that plate, but the cheeses are something like swiss and muenster and that’s just lame.

Offhand, if I were going to design that plate, here is what I would choose; Manchego, gruyere, and a brie for the cheeses, grapes, strawberries and, pear slices for the fruits. Optional, a $4. mini shiraz.

I doubt that Song is going to be getting back to me on the subject as Delta is curtailing it’s subsidiary in a few weeks. In fact, I booked Song, but this is a Delta plane, which means no TVs, yet they had the food. I have to look into why they killed the brand. I’m curious. More on that some other time.

Don’t you love branding?

The funny thing here, now that I’ve slugged these two g and t’s is I am rocking! The dude sitting next to me probably thinks I’m a nutcase the way I’m pounding on the keys and digging on the death cab for cutie. It’s pretty funny, but at least I’m not noticing every goddamn bump anymore.

So, I’m on my way to Florida, big fucking shock, huh? I’m going to try to get some much needed relaxation, but if the last 25 trips or so are any evidence that won’t happen. My boys will see to that, won’t you boys? Man, I am lucky to have Florida to run off to whenever I need a break. My family is there, and my boys and history and the hot 1999 Toyota Camry. I know my way around and now even K2 is there, which is just fucking hot.

The word fuck just sounds so much better with this kinda buzz, right?

One more thing, and then I ‘m going to do some drunk web development.

Yesterday, my very 2^nd professional byline (and first in 11 years, natch) hit the streets in The Brooklyn Papers. I even got lead byline over the other 5 or so contributors to this particular piece, a sidebar in a special issue on faith. You would think this would be a huge deal for me, and I would be overflowing with good feeling. You would think.

The thing is, I wrote an article for this issue, on Santeria, an article my editor, last I heard, was very pleased with, though to be honest, I was not, but that’s a different story. The article is nowhere to be found, which would be bad enough, except it was referenced on the front page. What happened to my article? Was it a goof? Did it get killed for one reason or another? I have no idea, but I’ll write my editor soon enough. This wasn’t a death blow or anything, but I’ll tell you the truth, I was looking forward to seeing this in print, I was very much looking forward to it, and I was looking forward to giving my mom a copy because it would have made here really happy.

The short of it, I’m pretty pissed off. The long of it, I’m Burning Inside.