The flight itself is usually at the forefront of everyone's contempt, but my journey actually began at the security checkpoint. Never in a million years did I think I would raise a white flag, but apparently Aveeno Sensitive Skin Shave Lotion is evidence of Jihadist tendencies, because the cheerful bunch at the scanner decided that the public's right to feel safe on an airplane supersedes my desire to have a healthy, natural-looking complexion. The nerve!
So I'm sitting in coach and I can already feel the bumps starting to emerge from my jugular, but musing over it doesn't help and won't make the skin any smoother.
Luckily, I had two crossword puzzles at my disposal, so I was pretty content for the thirty minutes it took to solve them both. You never know how skilled you are until you have nothing to do except contemplate the various synonyms for colloquial.
I became so desperate for excitement that I started to envy John Lithgow (or William Shatner for all you Serling purists) in "Twilight Zone: The Movie," because at least he had that grotesque creature out on the wing to occupy his mind. All I had was a notebook, a magazine and a half-empty can of Welch's Cran-Apple to satisfy my creative yearnings.
I picked up a copy of this week's New York magazine and found solace in an article chronicling the history of self-loathing Jewish comedy, so maybe the constant griping of Larry David has rubbed off on me.
I think that's enough for now, because I have a feeling that the ultimate fighter to my right will kill me if I don't turn the light off soon.
I'll leave you with the following observations and tidbits:
When Minneapolis refers to itself as "the land of a thousand lakes," they're not joking.
If you happen to be flying Delta in a few weeks and find a decomposed lung lying around, it probably belongs to the guy sitting behind me who couldn't seem to shake an obnoxious coughing spit that lasted forever.
And finally, do terrorists have sensitive skin?
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