I used to live in airports, airplanes, and cheap business hotels. I spent about 60% of my life on the road in my previous job.
It was pretty sweet. It only got in the way of about seven different relationships, which was nice, as jobs can sometimes be disruptive if you aren't careful.
In my current position, I don't travel much. My commute has gone from flying from place to place in bouncy little props to gritting my teeth in Seattle rush hour traffic. I like it much better. As fun as flying everywhere was, there's something to be said for living in a place where everybody drives as though they're in the movie Speed, except that rather than worrying about traveling below 55, they're careful not to drive above it. Taking that into consideration, "Slow" would probably be a better name for a movie about Seattle traffic.
Actually, "Slow and Stupid" would be even more accurate. Or "Slow, Stupid, and Mentally Retarded".
For real truth in advertising, the title could also be expanded out to, "Slow, Stupid, Mentally Retarded, and Prone to Using All Three Lanes at the Same Time While Driving Abreast at Exactly the Same Speed Which is Always Twenty Miles an Hour Below the Fucking Speed Limit and Only Speeding Up When it Looks Like You're Going to Try to Switch Lanes in Front of Me Even Though I Obviously Wasn't Taking Advantage of that Space Anyway and the Only Reason I Do it is Because I'm a Dick and I'm Going to Flash My Lights at You if You Pass Me Because Like I Said I'm a Dick".
The drive is so relaxing. It has to be. When you're getting passed by nut-rolling squirrels at the side of the road, there's not much to be gained by getting all uppity.
Sometimes I have to leave relaxing behind and get on a plane. Most recently, it was to go to Mix down in Vegas. I was the beautiful face for a bunch of the videos that came out of the conference. It's awesome getting to be the slinky video sex-dawgg for interviews about, like, computer languages and stuffs.
It had been a few months since my last air voyage, and airport security seems to have taken one more step toward total effing lunacy in my absence. I used to be able to get on the plane with my perfumes and wiener balm, BUT NO MORE.
Oh, no. No.
No.
The latest advance in airport security prohibits perfectly normal people from bringing their wiener balm onboard in their carry-on bags. What's next? No more rectal clamps? Like I'm going to check those. What if something needs clamping during the flight? Am I supposed to use a disposable plastic airline-provided rectal clamp?
I DON'T THINK SO. SICK.
To celebrate our safer skies and the geniuses who figured out that clever people can use Vaseline to take down a 747, I've put together one of my world famous comicitistical artings.
Before checking it out, I feel that I should warn you about one of the characters. From time to time, I'll toss in a character who does nothing. In this one, that character even gets the last line. I don't know what it is about him.
He just pleased me somehow (this quote not to be taken out of context).
Please enjoy this display of comic brilliance.
Tah.
