The Writing in the Sky

Rambling Ignorance About The Past and Future

2009-10-19T10:49:00.002-04:00

I had a dream last night that I was back working at the airline. I kind of miss that job and I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately. Probably because I’m currently writing a piece on how I transitioned out of the airline world into my new career.

Perhaps it’s only in my memory, but I enjoyed the job. Sure, there were rough patches… things weren’t always amazing. But there are memories that I’ll keep until I hit Alzheimer’s.

I remember hanging out in Vegas bars sipping “the best martinis in the world.” I remember walking along the Persian Gulf watching as families, different in almost every way from my mine, played in the grass with their children. I remember the crowds at Oktoberfest. I remember the traffic in Beijing. I remember the drunken chaos of Rio streets at 3 in the morning…

There is nothing quite so deceptive as nostalgia. In many ways, it’s dangerous. When you’re caught looking backward for too long you can forget how to move forward. When you’re stuck trying to recreate the past, you can’t focus on how to create the future.

And what does that future hold? Is it bankruptcy and chaos and the collapse of Democracy? Is it world war and violence and a dog-eat-dog world?

Or is it picnics in the park and smiling children. Is it wealth and luxury and equality of all people?

I don’t know. And neither do you. And neither do the news outlets who are telling us what will happen tomorrow.

We look to the past: for certainty. But the only certain thing is that the future won’t be like the past. So it’s time to get my head out of the clouds.

It may be because I’m young, and naive and don’t know that everything is going to be worse tomorrow than it was yesterday because that's the way it always is.

But if we’re going to get through today, we have to decide what to create for tomorrow.

Hotel Drama

2009-02-09T15:41:00.005-05:00

I was just reminded that I haven't posted anything here in almost a month. Woops. Sorry. I'm sure you've all been itching in anticipation.

The reminder came from another flight attendant, Blondie, who blogs at My View From 30,000 Feet. She's also on Twitter. If you're cool enough to be there, too, she's worth the follow.

Alright, I cave. When flight attendants start whining about flight attendants not blogging it's time to do something about it.

Last night I layed over in Chicago, at our usual airport hotel. Have you ever been unfortunate enough to be stuck in a hotel that uses "sleep number" beds? They're glorified air mattresses. Seriously, who thought that one up?

Ok. Enough of my griping. Here's the point. We checked in late- like, really late. It was after midnight by the time we got to the hotel. I always worry about walking into hotel rooms that late because I've heard stories... the kind of stories that are great as long as they happen to someone else

This is one of those stories.

A 737 first officer told me this on the hotel shuttle in Portland a few months ago. I'll try to retell it in his words. Please forgive me for knowingly manufacturing these quotes.

"So it was one of those hellish days when we work 4 or 5 legs with short sits in between. By the third leg I really had to go... you know. Number 2." I think his actual words might have been a little more descriptive.

"I never use the airplane bathrooms. I mean, I'd rather go into the terminal and risk sitting next to Larry Craig than use one of our 37 lavs." I made up the Larry Craig part but I think it adds something. "But with our crazy schedule, I didn't even have time to do that. I had to either give in and use the plane toilet or hold it 'til we got to the hotel. I held it and I'm damn proud of it,

"But I gotta tell you. By the time I made it to my room, I was hurtin'. Like, serious lower intestinal pain. But I made it and that's what matters." To be fair, not all Pilots are this gross... or funny.

"Anyway, I bust in my room and pretty much just rip my pants off and hop onto the john. Wow. I don't know what I ate but it was coming out with gusto." ...no misquoting there. "Anyway, I was only sitting there for a couple of minutes when somebody started banging on my door,

"You know how frustrating it is to be disturbed in the middle of a good..." have I lost my squimish readers? "So, I get up and answer the door. It's a big, bald, angry looking hotel-security guy."

"'Can I help you?" I ask him."

"'Can I help you?" he asks back."

"When someone asks you a question like that you look around to see what you're missing, right? You do it sarcastically to show him how stupid he is. Unless you happen to see what it is that you were missing- like a man and a woman standing behind you and looking a little freaked out,

"Apparently, my room was already occupied. 'You'll have to come with me, sir,' the big bald guy said to me,

"'Alright,' I told him. 'Can I flush first?'"

That's the story that was running through my mind as I walked into my pitch black hotel room at 1 in the morning last night. Luckily, there was no one in my bed. Still, I always check before I use the bathroom.

Somethings just aren't worth rushing.

Plane Lands In the Hudson

2009-01-15T17:20:00.002-05:00

You've probably heard by now that a plane ran into a flock of geese which shut it's engines down and caused it to crash into the Hudson. There were no fatalities.

For those of you outside the aviation industry, you're probably thinking, "I'm glad that no one died." For those of us who have been forced to watch hours of plane crashes, we're sitting around thinking, "That has to be the best pilot ever."

As far as I know, this is the first water ditching with no fatalities in the history of aviation. The pilot had to do absolutely everything perfectly and it turns out he or she did.

I'd just like to congratulate the Pilots, Flight Attendants, and rescue workers for an outstanding performance today. They're all heros in my book. Somebody give them a medal.

The Glory Days

2009-01-14T23:39:00.004-05:00

Sometimes I wonder what made me want to become a flight attendant. Actually, I'm forced to wonder that since the first small talk topic between older flight attendants and relatively new flight attendants (those of us with less than 7 years) is, "What made you want to become a flight attendant?"

I have to tell them something.

"Well, I majored in Fiction Writing."

Sometimes that's enough and the conversation moves on. Or they press further.

"Well how did you end up here?"

The truth is I just kind of fell into it. I was surfing around on Monster.com about 2 weeks before graduation thinking, "now would be a good time to find employment." I saw a job opening for "Flight Attendant" and clicked on the link for more info.

It took me to a welcome screen and asked me to take a pre-qualifying online test. Sounded good. I waste half my time taking pointless tests on the internet anyway. One more wouldn't hurt.

I took the test and answered such difficult questions as

"Is stealing from your employer wrong?"
"Should you help a customer even if it's outside of your job description"
"5+5+5=?"
"Is it acceptable to be a few minutes late for work if your employer doesn't notice?"

Surprisingly I passed the test. Even more of a surprise was the screen that I was taken to that said, "When can we fly you to Chicago for an Interview?"

Uhh... two week sounds good.

After a series of mind-numbing interviews I was offered the job.

Sure, what the heck. I have nothing better to do for the next two years.

That's essentially how I fell into this gig.

But now it's almost 2 years later. My friends have moved on to real jobs with real salaries and here I am, making less than $20,000 a year from the airline.

It's easy for me to get frustrated. Where's my big paycheck? What am I doing here? Why didn't I pick a more practical college major? I should have listened to the guidance councilors and majored in business.

These little mental hissy-fits usually only last an hour. Then I remind myself that last month I was eating in a little restaurant in Zurich Switzerland. The month before that I was in Kuwait City watching the sun set over the Persian Gulf as the Mosque called out the evening prayer. The month before that I was walking through a Buddhist temple in Narita Japan and before that I was standing on the Beach in Rio De Janeiro.

Why would I regret those experiences because I'm not making enough money?

What's the purpose of money if all you can do is work?

I look at my education the same way. It's not useful because of the money I can make from having a degree, it's useful because it positions me to be successful with my goals.

I'll keep improving my experiences and soon enough the money will come. I just see a few options and follow my gut. It's worked out for me so far.

It's a whole new year

2009-01-11T18:24:00.004-05:00

Apparently it's been 2009 for 11 days now. No, I haven't needed 11 days to recover from New Year partying. I've just been busy working on other projects.

Oh yeah, I've done some flying too.

None of the good flying.

I've just been hopping around the States, becoming envious of winters in Orlando but feeling relieved that I don't have to spend much of the winter in Boston or Chicago.

So what does Henry have planned for 2009?

I'm glad I asked for you...

Some of you may know that last month I started working on a new book. Not the fiction book, that's still in the works, but a non-fiction book.

Next month, I'll be able to say, "I wrote the book on stress free air travel."

That's right, in February I'm releasing my first e-book titled, "The Insider's Guide to Stress Free Air Travel." It's destined to be a classic if I do say so myself (and I have to say so because no one else will).

Now you can be a part of this Historic e-book's creation!

(Is that over-hype? Absolutely. But I'm happy with it)

Most of the book is done and I'm about to go into editing mode but I want to make sure I the book is as helpful as possible for everyone traveling on Airplanes.

So I'm going to ask for a little bit of feedback from you, if you're willing.

In the comments section at the bottom of this post, I'd like you to tell me what stresses you out when you travel. Is it airport parking? Security? Boarding? Checking Bags? Trying to get the number of that witty and attractive flight attendant on your plane?

There are no stresses too small to be overcome, so don't feel silly for mentioning any of them. It's amazing how many techniques flight attendants have developed for maintaining airplane sanity.

So fire away- What stresses you out?

Switzerland. A Bathroom Rant

2008-12-29T20:44:00.005-05:00

I don’t have the time to write the lengthy posts I used to. That’s probably because I’m back to flying a full schedule.

That’s good and bad. Good for bank account. Bad for writing. See. I don’t even have the time to write complete sentences anymore.

What I do have time for is a short rant.

I like Switzerland. I really do. It’s populated with unusually friendly, helpful, and attractive people. I only have one question.

Why can’t the Swiss put doors on their showers?

There’s a little slab of glass. It’s about two feet wide. What’s that going to do? The back end is completely open. The floor slopes slightly towards the drain under the shower head but what about the water that bounces off my head (trust me, my hair isn’t soaking it up) and ends up on the floor? What about that water? You don’t care about that water?

It makes you wonder… if the showers are this poorly constructed, do the Swiss even use them? Maybe the altitude has affected their brains. Maybe they just saw a shower on TV once and said, “Yeah, I think that would look nice in a bathroom.”

I use the showers. I need to use the showers. The last thing I need is one of our premier passengers writing me up for smelling. I can only imagine that letter.

I paid $10,000 for a first class seat from Zurich to Washington and I couldn’t get any sleep because your flight attendant smelled too bad. It was like he’d only seen a shower on TV once and never actually used one. Please fire him immediately.

Sincerely,

A guy with a lot of miles who is probably a friend of the CEO

If you think that letter is a stretch, I have some first class passengers you need to meet.

I’m going to describe my shower experience for you in a second. I just want to warn you, it involves nudity. Please blur out all parts you find offensive.

Hey, stop that! My face is not offensive. It’s the other parts I was referring too. Oh jeeze, now you can’t stop can you?

Lets just get this over with…

The towels are hanging in the shower. This always irritates me. I can’t properly dry off with a towel if it’s already soaked from being in the shower. I’m not aiming the showerhead at it, but splashes do occur. It’s a side effect of pressurized water.

Between two bath towels there’s a hand towel. Wait. That’s not a hand towel… I think it’s supposed to be a bath mat. It’s definitely bigger than a wash cloth. It’s slightly larger than the hand towels by the sink. The real give-away is the grainy feeling that proves it was never meant to come in contact with a human face.

I lay it on the floor. I’m glad my feet aren’t sweaty- the towel looks like it could only absorb one or two drops of liquid.

Either way, I get in and turn on the shower. I jump back as the cold water hits me. Well, at least it’s easy to get out of the shower. Is that the idea? No door allows you to expeditiously exit the shower when the water is too cold?

I let it warm up for a second then jumped back in.

Water splashed. I don’t blame the water. It’s just what water does. I blame the Swiss.

Build me a door next time.

I showered as quickly as I could. I didn’t want the water level to reach the bed in the room outside.

I was also afraid the any passing children might be caught in the undertow and drowned.

What? No! I wasn't expecting any children while I was in the shower. I was just saying, if any were passing... lets just keep the focus on the Swiss here.

I step out of the shower and onto the lame excuse for a bathmat. As I predicted, it was already soaked.

Then I made a mistake. As I was reaching for my toothbrush on the sink, I stepped off the bathmat and my foot lost traction on the wet tile. I spun around, hand desperately grasping for a shower door that wasn’t there.

As I fell backwards, almost in slow motion, my life in the bathroom flashed before my eyes. I saw every shower door I had ever ignored… I wished I could go back and ask their forgiveness for my ignorance.

Then I landed squarely on the toilet.

“Huh,” I thought. “While I’m here…”

Merry Christmas

2008-12-25T18:56:00.003-05:00

Working Christmas Eve and Christmas day has to be a little different than the rest of the year. So I wore a Santa hat and a Mickey Mouse Christmas tie (which I'm pretty sure used to belong to my dad).

The best part was the live safety demo we did. The purser knew the guy that wrote this and she does it every yet. So now, for your reading and safety pleasure- the Windsor Barlow Christmas Safety Demo.

‘Twas the night before Christmas

And all through the plane,

All the passengers stirred

And the stews were insane.

They stand in the aisles

Holding cards for your safety,

And beg for attention,

Not much given lately…

For passengers seated

In our exit rows

You may be required

To assist us, you know

If you find you’re reluctant

To help us when needed

Please let us know now

And we’ll get you reseated.

Now please check to see

That your seatbelts are tight

They’re easy to fasten

So please get it right

Just insert the fitting to fasten it well

And pull up on the flap

To release it, we tell

When fastened the belt should be snug on your lap,

So give an extra pull

To the end of the strap

Our plane has 4 exit doors

Two on each side,

Well-packed and equipped

With inflatable slides

And with four window exits

Just over the wings

There are ten total ways,

To escape everything.

Each exit is marked with a sign up above,

Your two nearest exits

Please take notice of.

And directional lighting

Will guide you to find

The exit you might

Need quickly sometime

This airplane has life vests

Stored under your seat,

Unless there’s a footrest

Then it’s next to your feet.

When pulled from the pouch,

The vest looks like this

Don’t take it out now-

Only if you’re at risk

Just slip it on over

Your head and then take

The straps from the back

To the front- Piece of cake!

When attached to the ring

Pull the straps till they’re stung.

(the feeling should be

like a bug in a rug)

To fill it with air,

Once you’ve left the plane

Pull one of the tabs

Like the end of a chain

And if it’s still needed

Pull the other one, too

You’ll stay above water

We promise; it’s true.

The vest can also be filled easily

By blowing in tubes on each side, as you see

Emergency oxygen

Is stored overhead

If needed it surely

Will plop on your head

Just pull the mask firmly

To start oxygen flow.

And place the mask over,

Your mouth and your nose.

When traveling with children

First don your own mask

Then put on your child’s

And don’t wait to ask

A uniformed crewmember

Will let you know when

To take off the masks

And breathe normal again

Seatbacks and tray tables

Must be upright and locked

As soon we’ll be leaving

(we’re frequently clocked)

And headrests and footrests

And video screens

For takeoff and landing

Must never be seen

Your carryon luggage

Should be under your seat

Leaving areas clear

By your legs and your feet.

Now last but not least

In your seat pocket you’ll find

Our own magazine of an unusual kind

It’s our gift to you, this holiday bright

Merry Christmas to all

And to all a good flight

How I Went to the Middle East and Became Canadian

2008-12-20T07:14:00.004-05:00

So I was up in First Class on the plane back from Kuwait, talking to John… you know John don’t you? John Kerry? The Senator from Massachusetts?

“John!” I say to him. “Why, I haven’t seen you since college! Remember Pittsburgh? 2004?”

“Of course I remember,” John Kerry says to me. “That was a lot of fun.”

“You better watch out John,” Brian says.

Oh wait. You know Brian don’t you? Brian Mulroney? The former Prime Minister of Canada.

“We’re stealing your best citizens,” Brian says. “I’ve just made Henry here an Honorary Citizen of Canada.”

“It’s true,” I say. “I just hope it doesn't cause any problems in customs.”

And, oh, how we all laughed.

Then I cleaned up their dirty dishes and brought them more water.

So there. I now challenge you to a name dropping contest.

The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly of the Holiday Travel Season

2008-12-10T17:14:00.005-05:00

I got back last night from a two day trip, which I may have complained about in the past but right now I'm glad to be working.

Relax- Introducing No Stress Travel

There's temporary good news for flight attendants and travelers. We're in the middle of what is the busiest traveling season of the year. Traditionally, people are full of that holiday cheer and fly all over the country to remind themselves why they only visit certain relatives once a year.

Those visits are going to be a lot friendlier this year for two reasons.

The first (and most sentimental) reason: when people are tight on money they start to remember the important things in life. Even if your family has a few annoying habits and Cousin Bob eats all the cookies every year, they still love you. Love is always better than money. People are starting to remember that.

The second reason those visits are a little better this year: Travel is stress-free. That's not just because the flight attendants are so nice and accommodating (even though we are), it's because there's no hassle in the airports anymore.

Flying is cheaper because the airlines are trying to attract customers and airports and airplanes are empty. No one is getting stuck between two large passengers so they can spread out. On the other side, the larger passengers don't have to endure the nasty looks or embarrassing comments of people next to them. The airplanes are only half full.

I flew 6 legs in the past two days, each on an Airbus 319 with a capacity of 120 people. The passenger load on each leg was- 62, 54, 45, 40, 42, and 70%.

Even better than that, there are less planes in the air right now which I'm told makes routing easier and more direct for the pilots (pilots, correct me if I'm wrong about that. That's what I was told by a gate agent and they aren't known for their aviation knowledge).

My trip was 4 legs yesterday. Houston to Chicago to Minneapolis to Chicago and home to Washington National. It was snowing in both Chicago and Minneapolis.

Based on my experience, when I saw the weather report I was sure that at least one of those flights was going to cancel. The weather in Chicago has been known to screw up flights all over the country.

But nothing cancelled. At least, none of my flight did. One earlier flight to Washington did cancel- more about that in a second. All of our flights went out without a hitch. We took minor delays for de-icing, but everything arrived within 20 minutes of the scheduled time.

It was great for passengers. There was no complaining, no missed connections, no harassed airline employees.

I mentioned that an earlier flight to Washington National had cancelled.

It did. But our airline offers almost hourly flights from Chicago to Washington and since most people arrive at the airport early anyway, most were able to get on the earlier flight. Those that didn't make the earlier flight, made the next flight. Every passenger that was booked on the cancelled Washington flight got to D.C., most of them before they expected to.

Our passenger load actually went down because even with people being rebooked on the flight before ours, there was still space for anyone who was already at the airport to catch it. It still left with empty seats.

The overselling problems of the past have all but dissapeared.

That sounds great!

Trust me, it isn't- not for either of us.

People have started to think of airlines as expensive cabs. It's easy to catch a cab. Just wave it down. If the cabby passes you, you swear at his tail lights and flag the next one.

What happens when there's only one cab a day?

Besides leaving thousands of cabbies out of work, the passengers have to find another way to get where they're going.

When airplanes don't make money over a long enough period of time they get parked. The airlines are going to resort to this if they have to.

If they can't fill two airplanes, they're going to park one of them and charge double for the one that still flies. If you don't get on the one that flies that day, try again tomorrow- and good luck because it's sold out.

Ticket prices are going to go up. The number of flights are going to continue to go down. And the people who are cheerily enjoying their family visits this year, will be sitting around in their living rooms next year, talking to their sisters and cousins on Skype.

What's the Ugly?

Oh that...

When I showed up for work at Washington National Airport early on Monday morning, I was greeted by a surprise.

Actually, I almost slipped on a surprise.

After passing through security (which is surprisingly painless at National) I caught a whiff of a smell. Not an aroma, not a pleasant scent- a foul "I hope that's not what I think it is," smell.

Someone had defecated in the hallway.

A very disgusted janitor was in the process of cleaning it up as I walked by, giving it a wide berth.

There was a tall black man in an expensive suit walking next to me.

Sniff "What's that smell?" he asked. "It smells like... shit."

"Uhh. I think that's what it is," I said pointing to the brown, liquid puddle. It was under a yellow caution sign with a picture of someone slipping. Now there's something you don't want to slip in for reasons other than hurting your back.

A final tidbit of news that's important to this blog

For those of you who don't like to see, or don't care at all about the occasional posts about writing, they're promptly going to stop.

Well- they're going to stop being posted here.

This blog is now fully dedicated to flying. My other website, The Creative Writer's Desk is in the process of a major overhaul and it's getting a whole lot bloggier. It's the only place I'm going to post about writing.

The Writing in the Sky is now going to be 100% about my travels and travel concerns.

If you want to subscribe to the Creative Writer's Desk, and keep getting those posts, you can do so here.

Narita III: Homeward Bound

2008-12-05T12:17:00.008-05:00

Qualified pursers go through a couple weeks of training that teaches them everything from how to take first class meal orders to how to deal with unruly passengers. This qualifies them in the company’s eyes to fly the purser, or head flight attendant position.

After the class is over, they quickly forget everything they were taught and develop their own style. This actually makes for smoother flights as long as the flight attendants are willing to be flexible on a trip-by-trip basis. Years of real experience is better than the lesson plans provided by a group of “experts” who spent a few weeks thinking about theoretical situations.

But just because a flight attendant gets purser qualified doesn’t mean he or she has to fly the purser position.

On the Narita flight we had 4 FAs with purser qualification. This wasn’t a problem on the flight to Japan. Everyone agreed on how things should run.

However, on the way back, we had two less working flight attendants (they were Narita based and had been stuck in DC from earlier operational problems) so the staffing of the airplane needed to be changed.

On a full Boeing 777 the normal staffing with 11 flight attendants would be 2 in first class, 4 in Business, and 4 in Economy with the Purser working in First or Business as needed (quick side-bar: Flight attendants love to whine about this. 10 years ago the 777 would be minimum staffed at 15 flight attendants with 7 in Economy, 5 in Business, and 3 in First. We would have gotten an extra $5 an hour in understaffing pay for each flight attendant under that which would mean they would make an extra $540 for a flight staffed with 11 flight attendants. The company recently decided to change the staffing levels effectively eliminating understaffing pay.) In our briefing, that’s the way the purser assigned positions.

The problem came when we found out that a few dozen people weren’t going to make the flight. This meant that there were only 3 people in First class, 20 in Business, and 175 in Economy. You don’t need 4 flight attendants and a purser in Business class with only 20 people to serve.

What do you do in this situation? The rational person might approach the purser and say something like, “Given the changes in the passenger load, do you think we could have another person helping us in Economy?” Or maybe, “I know you didn’t expect this but with the load changes I think we could use a little more help in the back.”

Non-confrontational. Effective. Doesn’t ruffle any feathers.

The bitter flight attendant, however, would stand in the back galley and start complaining loudly to everyone who will listen about how bad we were getting screwed and how stupid the purser is being and repeatedly say, “it’s just not fair. I’m gonna tell her, too.”

It took a bit of will power to just nod my head and walk away instead of saying, “Life isn’t fair. Get over it.”

I feel like I’m a rational person and I don’t like whining, but I didn’t volunteer to be the one to talk to the purser. I just put up with the complaints. One of the other ladies in the back (an area code FA who wasn’t whining), walked up to the front without telling us what she was doing and came back a few minutes later to find the other two complaining to me about the staffing unfairness.

A few minutes after that, I saw the purser walking up the aisle towards the back galley where we were setting up.

“She’s coming,” I warned them. I didn’t want to be found guilty by association if she overheard my flying partners talking behind her back.

“Hey guys,” she said when she reached the back. “It’s been brought to my attention that the loads have changed a bit so I’m going to send someone back from business to help you out.”

I appreciated the shocked looks on my two co-workers faces more than the purser, I think.

“I’m glad you decided to air this out with me instead of talking behind my back. Thanks for the good communication.”

She smiled earnestly and gratefully. I almost choked on my drink.

The first thing we do after take off is hand out the customs documentation. Supposedly this is the best time to do it, although I have my doubts. The idea is that people will be able to take their time and fill them out correctly.

However, I’ve found that no matter how much time someone has, they try to do everything as quickly as possible. That means they scarf their food, gulp their drinks, and scribble through their paperwork (oddly enough, they still seem to savor their time in the lavatories. I guess some things just can’t be rushed).

I follow the rules and hand out documents to the right side of Economy while John covers the left side. We then keep extras on the first beverage cart, the meal cart, and the final beverage cart.

It typically takes about 2 to 3 hours to do the first service (consisting of a first beverage and snack service, trash pick up, main course and beverage combined, trash pick up, final beverage, then final- as if it ever ended- trash pickup). That’s 2 to 3 hours where we don’t care if you screw up or lose your paperwork because we have more ready for you.

Naturally, no one asks for more right then. Nor do they ask for more during the deathly slow hours where none of us have anything to do. They ask for more paperwork, or tell us that they never got any during our final decent where we have the most to do in the shortest amount of time.

At about 20,000 feet, that’s well into final decent, the call buttons start ringing like the carol of the bells.

Hark how the bells
Sweet service bells
All seem to say
“I threw my docs away”

Oh how they pound
Raising the sound
Passengers wail
Telling their tale
“I need a pen!”
“We’re landing when?”
“Fill this out how?”
“Do I declare my cow?”
“I’ve lost, I’ve lost, I’ve lost, I’ve lost my papers.”
“I’ve lost, I’ve lost, I’ve lost, I’ve lost my papers.”
On, on they send
On, without end.
Ding, dong, ding, dong

Too much? Alright, I’ll wrap it up with one more short cautionary tale.

There was a younger man sitting toward the back of the airplane and like so many young men, he had a few beers with dinner. Then he had a few more after dinner. Never enough to make us worry about him.

In the final two hours of the flight, he started making frequent trips to the rear lavatory. He was pale and sweaty and the first time he came back I thought he might be sick.

By the fourth time, I was sure he was sick.

When he came out of the bathroom the last time I had to ask.

“Are you alright?” An obvious ‘no’ but I don’t want to accuse someone of being sick that isn’t.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think it’s all out now.”

“Can I get you a cup of water? Ginger Ale?”

“No. I’m ok. I’m not sure what was wrong but I feel better.”

“Well you had a few beers,” I pointed out.

“Not that many.”

“Did you take any medications?”

“Yeah, I took a Percocet so I would sleep.”

First of all, I’m pretty sure that percocet is not a sleeping pill, it’s a pain killer. Second, I’m pretty sure it’s one of those pills that comes with a warning, “Do not take with Alcohol.” It should add, “If you do, you may vomit 4 times."

I didn't feel bad for him. Unlike Mr. T, I don't pity the fool.

Narita II: The Temple

2008-12-04T17:41:00.005-05:00

I woke up at 7:30 with plenty of time to get some cultural value out of my short visit. Our pickup time was 2:30 that afternoon which left the whole morning to explore.

Lois and I had both been to Narita before but neither of us had visited the temple, Naritasan. The hotel manager told us at dinner the night before that the monks have a procession and a ritual a 9 o’clock every morning so we jumped on the 8:25 bus into town.

The concierge drew us a crude map that was supposed to serve as our directions to the temple. He was not good with proportions.

“You will cross over the train station and go right. You will see the temple on your left.”

He was an older Japanese gentleman but he spoke very clear, by the book English. I thought the directions sounded easy enough and in retrospect, they were technically correct. However, if I were giving directions I’d probably have mentioned how to get though the train station and I might have told you that the road bends and you shouldn’t be fooled by the broad alley which goes straight and that you’ll be walking for a little over a half a mile before you see the temple on your left. But he didn’t and we figured it out. Eventually.

After the 10-minute bus ride from the hotel it took us 30 minutes of walking in the right, then the wrong, then the right direction again before we found the Temple. We missed the procession of the monks but we got to see the ritual.

It’s called the Goma rite and the only information we had about it was from the pamphlet we grabbed from a visitors station. It says, “The Goma rite is a mysterious temple service in which we pray to Fudo Myoo [spelled with horizontal accent-lines over all the “o’s”], the main deity of Naritasan Temple, for the fulfillment of our wishes.” Not a lot to go on.

We had to take our shoes off to enter the Great Main Hall and place them in blue bags provided outside the door. We sat in the back and watched.

It’s very hard to understand the ceremony but I have trouble understanding Catholic rituals too so perhaps it’s just me. They chant, bang on a huge drum, chant some more, light a big fire and wave things through it to be blessed, chant some more, and read from a scroll.

Women were brining their purses to a monk who would run to the fire, hand them to the monk in fancier robes to be blessed in the fire. I later learned that this is because the women are traditionally in charge of the money in Japanese families. They were Goma-blessing their money.

People do a lot of strange things in a recession.

When I think of Buddhist monks, I think bald Asians with orange robes that meditate all day. Probably because I usually only see them in Kung Fu movies set in the 1600’s. None of the monks were wearing orange robes. They had an assortment of colors from black, to blue, to gold.

It was also amusing to see the modern sound system with its blinking green lights in the corner of the Great Main Hall.

After the rite was over we left the great hall with its big drums and sound system. There’s a giant urn directly in front of the Hall that burns incense. Locals were waving the smoke around their bodies, under their legs, and behind their neck (none of them got behind their ears) for good luck.

A lot of the Buddhist rituals seem to be for good luck.

We walked around for a while after that, me snapping photos like the mildly intrusive tourist I am. I try not to be but I love old stuff. Especially old stuff with historical significance.

Who doesn’t?

The history of the Temple dates back to 939 A.D. although the oldest structure standing was erected as recently as 1701 (they didn’t put a sound system in that one).

There are two Pagodas on the property. I grew up in Reading, PA- a little city that has it’s own Pagoda. It sits on top of the mountain and has red lights around each layer that are lit at night.

Seeing the two pagodas in Naritasan after growing up with Reading’s pagoda was like hopping in a Porsche when all I’d ever driven was a go-cart. Sure, go-carts are still fun but now I know what the real thing feels like. Go-carts make you grin; Porsches make you smile.

The larger of the two pagodas is called the Peace Pagoda, which is a deceiving name.

First, the pictures on the ground floor are mostly pretty violent. One in particular stands out in my memory. It depicts a dark, wild looking man (I can still see his crazy eyes) sticking a sword down the throat of a young Japanese boy. Maybe he was pulling it out- it would have the same net effect.

Second, the deity Fudo Myoo who is housed inside is not a peaceful guy. Besides being 10 feet tall and bright blue, he sits in front of a flaming background with sword and a rope.

Since all the plaques were in Japanese, we had to ask what his deal was.

We got two answers.

He’s either holding a sword to slash away material connections and a rope to bind evil doers or he’s holding the sword to slay evil doers and the rope to draw people away from material connections.

Maybe he’s just mad because he doesn’t know which he’s supposed to be doing.

On the third and fourth floors of the pagoda are thousands of tiny, hand-carved Fudo Myoos with different Japanese words beneath them. We didn’t ask about them but Lois guessed that they were probably names that families paid to have blessed- it could be good luck to have your name on a Fudo Myoo. I thought it was a valid assumption.

When we left the temple we walked through the garden. It wasn’t a garden as much as a wooded area but I’m not going to argue semantics with monks. It served the same purpose as a garden. It was quiet, peaceful, and picturesque. Lois and I were the only people there and the quiet trickle of the stream muted any stray noises which might have wandered in.

There was also a natural waterfall and who doesn’t love a good waterfall?

It was two hours since we’d gotten of the bus and we both wanted to get packed and showered. We covered the half-mile back to the bus stop pretty quickly and arrived just as the Hotel bus was pulling up.

Narita I: The Flight Over

2008-12-03T17:46:00.004-05:00

It was a long trip and it was broken into three fairly distinct parts so I've decided to post them separately for your benefit. It's not really fair to come to a blog expecting a post and have me force feed you a book.

This is the first part. The flight over.

The crews going to Narita are typically old…excuse me, I mean senior. Among flight attendants, they’re known as “area code flights” because in a company with over 15,000 FAs, their seniority numbers are only three digits. While I have to bid for 20+ schedules and consider myself lucky if I get one of them, they only have to bid for 2 or 3 and it’s unusual if they don’t get their first choice.

Keeping that in mind, I had a pretty junior crew with only 2 area codes. Most of my flying partners only had about 20 years and had picked up the trip out of open flying (Open flying requests are trips posted by flight attendants who have them in their line but don't want to work them for one reason or another).

Still, the most junior person, other than myself had 14 years which means I got to sit in the undesirable economy jumpseat that faces the passengers. It’s not too bad when the people sitting in the seats in front of me are friendly, not so nice when they don’t speak English and take off their shoes to wiggle their smelly toes. On the way to Narita, I got the toe wigglers.

The flight wasn’t full. There were about 30 open seats in the back of the plane and a few open seats in First and Business. Since Narita serves connections all over Asia, the plane is usually oversold with tons of stand-bys. However, since Bangkok has been a little unsettled recently, and by unsettled I mean in complete turmoil that had protesters barricading the airport, we lost a few passengers (today they finally reopened the airport so we’ll be enormously oversold for the next few weeks in that market).

There was a man in the first row of economy who either has a screw loose or knows something I don’t because he still thought he was connecting to Bangkok. The customer service agent came on and tried to convince him that the airport was closed. We tried to tell him. The people sitting around him tried to tell him. He just smiled, nodded his head and said, “That’s alright.”

“But sir,” the very frustrated customer service agent said. “The airport is closed. Closed. No flights in or out.”

He smiles. “That’s alright.”

He paid for the ticket so we can’t pull him off the plane but don’t say we didn’t warn him.

14 hours is a long time to be on an airplane and there isn’t much to do between services. Fortunately, flight attendants are masters of the art of small talk. We can chat with the best of them. But chatting only lasts so long, even for seasoned pros. Eventually it turns into one of two things: earnest conversation or jumpseat legends.

I prefer the jumpseat legends.

Flight attendants have a lot in common with fisherman. We work really hard in short bursts then stand around for long intervals, thinking up ways we can exaggerate our stories.

I started with one of my favorite stories.

There was a man on my flight returning from Kuwait. He claimed to be a contractor which could be Blackwater or one of the construction companies. He didn’t specify. Either way, he apparently enjoyed his Jim Beam. Kuwait is a dry country, like Iraq and a few other middle-eastern States so he hadn’t been enjoying his Jim Beam for a few months. We have lots of Jim Beam. Well, we had lots of Jim Beam before he got on board.

If you’ve ever been on a flight and felt ignored by a flight attendant, it might not have just been paranoia. Drunk passengers are no fun to deal with and can pose a safety risk so sometimes we pretend we can’t hear you when you’re asking for your third drink in 20 minutes. We’re not lazy (most of the time), we’re trying to keep you relatively sober.

Some people are persistent. There’s a pretty constant stream of flight attendants through the business section of the airplane so eventually the passengers see all 13 of our smiling faces. For the smart drinkers, that can be 13 drinks without anyone but the person next to you knowing about all of them.

It was half way through the flight and I had served him about 5 drinks. But he must have been mooching off of other flight attendants as well. He was a big guy. Five drinks in 6 hours isn’t really anything to worry about but 18 might be. I thought he was fine. He thought he was fine too, until he got up to use the lavatory.

He stood up and stumbled and probably would have ended up face down if he didn’t find the galley wall first. He looked surprised but he straightened himself up, gave me a guilty smile, and started pulling on the lav door, just above the sign that said push. When he finally switched to push, he pushed too hard and the door flew open and he fell inside, locking the door quickly behind him as if that would make it look like he meant to jump in the bathroom.

He wasn’t done yet. After taking a little longer than normal in the bathroom, he opened the door. I was standing in the galley and I stopped to watch him. He raised his hand and waved to me, doing his best impression of sobriety, and then took a step forward out of the bathroom. Only he didn’t. It seems that he forgot the order of walking. Lift the foot then move it forward. He got the move it forward part but forgot the lift. He stumbled out of the bathroom and there was no galley wall to stop him from falling. I made a half-hearted attempt to catch him- something like "oh no, you're falling. Let me catch you... oops. Too late." He ended up on the galley floor. I helped him up, being the nice guy that I am and walked him back to his seat and made sure that he buckled in.

“Thanks,” he said. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Yes sir,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“Can you get me a Miller Lite?”

“Not a chance.”

He’s the only person I ever cut off.

I like telling that story to flight attendants. I get appreciative chuckles and knowledgeable nods. Positive reinforcement. My mother would say, "simple pleasures are the best."

From there the conversation jumped to in-flight emergencies. I knew I’d lose this one in a contest of oneupsmanship. The worst thing that’s ever happened while I was on board, besides the drunk contractor, is a few people passing out, some cuts and bruises, and children projectile vomiting.

But I didn’t know how terrifically I’d loose.

I hadn’t considered how many flights you can work in 40 years. At an average of 5 flights a week (a low estimate) multiplied by 52 weeks a year multiplied by 40 years, you get 10,400 flights. Try multiplying that by an average of 150 passengers per flight (another low estimate) and you get over a million and a half chances for someone to get seriously ill, injured, or incapacitated.

One of my flying partners was the purser on a flight 20 years ago that had a bomb threat called in. The flight crew had to search the entire plane for a bomb at 30,000 feet. That included digging through trash, overhead bins, and under everyone’s seat. Try explaining that to the passengers. Do you just get on the PA and say, “Pardon us ladies and gentleman. We’re going to be tearing the plane apart looking for a bomb?”

Not if you’re Cheryl. You keep the passengers calm and actually impress them with your devotion to customer service by telling them someone lost their diamond engagement ring and you’re trying to find it. Smart and effective.

My other flying partners had people die, people almost die, people break bones, smack their head on something and pass out from blood loss, lose control of their bowels, and other equally uncomfortable or dangerous situations. There was even a woman who was on a flight with a retired race horse in the cargo hold that died in-flight.

I’m glad I got to tell my story first because there's no use trying to beat a dead horse.

After 14 hours in the air, we landed safely in Narita and made it to the hotel. On most layovers, everybody pitches in a dollar and tips the driver. But tips insult the Japanese. I mention it because it’s fascinating to me that a culture can be insulted by money. It’s a strange concept for an American. Also because it another one of those simple pleasure.

It’s winter so it gets dark at about 5 in Narita, which is the same time we get to the hotel. Nothing to do but eat dinner, have a beer from the automatic beer machine, and get some well-earned rest.

Narita Pictures

2008-12-02T15:44:00.005-05:00

Hopefully I'll be done typing up the story about my trip to Narita and I'll be able to post it tomorrow. Since it's apparent that I won't finish it today, I thought I'd at least post some of the pictures. I took these at the Buddhist Temple, Naritasan.

Back to Work

2008-11-29T06:37:00.001-05:00

It’s back to work for me. Today will be my third visit to the small city of Narita, Japan, outside of Tokyo. Hopefully this time I have something more interesting to write about when I get back than the fantastic, amazing, wondrous automatic-beer-dispensing machine in our hotel.

I worked yesterday. I was on stand-by, which means I sit in the airport and wait until someone misconnects or doesn’t show up.

The hardest part about stand-by is the packing. Stand-by trips can be up to four days long and in that time span the weather can range from Chicago Blizzard to L.A. heat- mostly because they’ll send me from Chicago to L.A. and usually back again.

The contents of my bag last night (excluding the necessary socks and underwear) were: Gym shorts, bathing suit, jeans, shorts, flip-flops, wool socks, t-shirts, and sweaters.

I was a boy scout. Always be prepared.

Yesterday, I showed up at the airport and was assigned a short trip to Hartford. The original crew misconnected so the airline scrambled to replace everyone so the flight could get out on time.

Unfortunately, one of the replacement reserves assigned to our flight didn’t get the message, which means we had to delay boarding while they pulled a poor reserve off of his first flight to Frankfurt and assigned him the Hartford turn. We boarded a plane full of grumpy passengers 45 minutes late.

Worst of all for Matt, the reserve pulled off the Frankfurt flight, the Customer Service Reps were making announcements about the delayed flight, blaming it on a tardy crew member- which was perfectly accurate- then they see Matt show up 40 minutes after they’re supposed to be on the plane and a few of them make somewhat snide comments to him.

Not nice and certainly not fair to him.

Naturally this was all before the pilots realized that the plane had pressurization problems.

According to the mechanics, the plane’s pressurization system was working fine but according to the cockpit monitoring system there was a major problem.

Your average pilot enjoys breathing and these two were no different. They insisted that they fix the system, despite the mechanics request to defer the problem until the plane came back.

This thanksgiving weekend, I’m grateful for pilot’s discretion.

Our already grumpy passengers weren’t so grateful.

The pilots were being very kind, I thought, and giving frequent updates about the nature of the problem and the different things they were doing to correct it. They eventually decided that it really was a computer problem and they were going to have to replace that computer. An hour later they had no estimate about how long that would take- only that it would be a while.

One first class passenger flagged me down as I was walking by.

“What’s the problem?” she asked.

“I know as much as you do ma’am. There’s a computer problem. Something about the pressurization system.”

“I know that,” she said huffily. “But they also said the system is working. It’s just the computer that’s broken.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well then why don’t we go?”

I fought the urge to say, “because computer is broken,” which would have been the most obvious answer but also the answer most likely to tick her off. Instead I said, “If we develop problems at 30,000 feet, then we wouldn’t know it was happening.”

“Well is that likely?” she asked in a way that made me feel as if I had said something rude.

“No, ma’am. I’d like to go just as much as you” I lied. If we don’t know that we lost cabin pressure at 30,000 feet then we all die of hypoxia, giggling like babies while our brains are slowly depleted of oxygen. “But it’s up to the pilots.”

“Fix it soon,” she said.

I’m sure she meant to say please.

Another half an hour passed. The mechanics were going to need to take the front of the airplane off and completely rebuild the system. So the pilots decided to refuse the plane for a working version a few gates down.

I got a call on the jet-bridge as the passengers were deplaning.

“Hello is this Flight Attendant Bingaman?”

“Yup.”

“The replacement plane is actually the aircraft that the original crew is coming in on. You and the rest of the crew are released for the day.”

Awesome. Let that crew deal with these people.

I got to go home which I was glad for but Matt wasn’t thrilled to be pulled of his first Frankfurt for a cancelled flight and four hours of duty pay (at $1.50/hr). I guess that’s just the way the airplane crumbles.

Turkey Time

2008-11-25T23:21:00.003-05:00

I'm visiting my parents for Thanksgiving so I'll be taking a few extra days off from blogging. But first, I'd like to wish everyone a happy Thanksgiving and remind you all to really over-eat Thursday so when you over-eat during the upcoming holidays, you can look back and say, "Well, at least I did better today than at Thanksgiving."

I've also added a new feature so you can rate my posts and let me know what you really want to hear about. When you get to the end of the posts you'll see, "Reactions" followed by "Love It", "Not Bad," and "Waste of Time."

Pick one. It'll make me smile.

Misery of Being a Lazy Cat

2008-11-23T11:06:00.004-05:00

I sleep in 'til 11 or noon every day. When I get up it’s only long enough to get a bite to eat and make it to the sofa where I’ll lounge out for a while longer. Perhaps I’ll play with my toys for a bit but I’m going back to sleep after that and I’ll be upset if you disturb me.

This is not the life of a cat. It’s the current life of a reserve flight attendant and it’s getting to me.

I’ve worked fewer hours this month than most people work in a week.

If you have a real job, you’ve probably worked 15 days so far this month and are enjoying your 6th, well deserved day of rest. In my case, I’ve worked 4 days this month and am suffering through my 18th, undesired day of rest.

Incase you're wondering, that irritated kitty is my roommate's cat, Ming Soo (I’m not responsible for the name). She’s the only one in the house working less than me.

The good news is, I haven't missed an episode of House, Bones, NCIS, Dexter, or The Fringe yet this month. That means I've watched more hours of TV than I've worked.

Ok, so it's not all bad. I've been spending a few hours everyday in the library with my writing. I'm making serious progress on this novel. I even got to kill someone yesterday (fictitiously). Since I have my vacation coming up in February, I plan on finishing the whole thing by the end of that month (did he say finish? Yes. Finish. What a wonderful concept).

Until I start working again, and there's always hope that I'll work tomorrow, I'll just keep wearing the letters off my keyboard. Enjoy your daily jobs you lucky readers.

Beards and silly pictures

2008-11-17T22:43:00.003-05:00

I forgot to mention, I've been beardless for a few weeks now. It was just a phase. A fun and manly phase. I was reminded when I saw this video on youtube today. It's another man's adventures in beard growing and it has a kicking song to go alone with it.

Since I don't work very often anymore, I've been spending a lot of my time posting images to go along with the content on my website. I usually try to keep it relative to the article it's with but I was having trouble finding the right image to go with the "Guide to Fiction Writing" page. In my most amateur attempt to get something up there, I drew a treasure map, with the treasure being "better fiction." After I saw it, I couldn't stop laughing so I posted it to the website. Unnecessarily distracting, I know, but still amusing. Anyone have a four year old that can give me some pointers?

A New Home page and a trip to Vegas

2008-11-14T16:04:00.004-05:00

This whole "job" thing isn't really working out. I think I'm still an employee but they don't work me very often anymore. The airlines still aren't making money. It has something to do with stocking up on oil when it cost $120 and not having any money left to buy it at $50. I shouldn't complain. It gives me more time to work on the website and my novel (which I haven't talked about for a while because it's going so well and I don't want to jinx it. Crap. Did I just jinx it?). I've updated my website's home page and spent a few days learning html so it doesn't look so... amateurish.

My last trip was back to Vegas, which can be dangerous but I ended up flying out with my bank account unscathed and a nice dinner from the Cheesecake Factory in Caesar's Palace in my gut (currently still on my gut).

Caesar's Palace is, by the way, the most fantastically lavish hotel I've ever set foot in. It's laid out like a shopping mall with stores that I can't afford and restaurants that I can afford but usually don't waste money on.

Luckily one of my fellow crew members insisted on Cheesecake Factory ("Seriously man, this place has the best martinis in the world;" They were okay) so we ended up there anyway. The ceiling is painted sky blue with clouds and the fountains are actually more impressive than the their counterparts in Rome. That may just be because every once in a while they start shooting fire and water at the same time.

After dinner we went into the Casino and I watched my new friend lose $400 on the craps table in just under 20 minutes. Since the casino was obviously cheating, we left and went to the craps tables in Treasure Island down the street where he won back $200 of the money he had lost. I didn't put a bet down. Mostly because the craps tables in both places were like a Vegas hospice: where people and their money go to die. Everyone at the table with the exception of me and my coworker (who actually was old enough to be my father) had qualified for social security by the time I was born.

I don't usually play, but because I was standing at the craps tables and getting free drinks for hanging out with a gambler, I suddenly thought that I was good at blackjack. It turns out that irrational decisions (Like hitting on a 16 when the dealer shows a 6) are a good idea and I walked away with $75 (my hit card was a 5 giving me 21 and the dealer ended up with 20) which covered my dinner and a bit more.

I suppose the moral here is to eat at restaurants you can't afford and only gamble when intoxicated. I don't know, that's just what it said in the pamphlet the casino handed out.

Flying: Favorite European Cities

2008-11-08T18:58:00.002-05:00

I'm going back to Las Vegas tomorrow. My employer seems determined to tempt me into bankruptcy through gambling. It’s been a while since I’ve been out of the country, almost two months with the exception of my short excursion to Canada. As a reserve flight attendant, my trips are unpredictable. I never know where I’m going until the night before at the earliest, 4 hours before I board the plane at the latest.

I enjoy living in the states and visiting everywhere else. It’s like living in a small apartment and having lots of friends with mansions. It’s great to visit but I don’t envy the bills they have to pay to keep it. Recently, it feels like my friends aren’t inviting me over anymore. It’s part of the job. I really shouldn’t complain. Most American’s never leave the country, much less frolic around Europe and get paid for it.

Having said that, right now I’m missing the old countries of Europe. I was wondering recently, what is it that I miss? This post is my romanticized memory and recommendations for your own travels.

Munich, Germany. It may be because I have some German blood in me, it may be because other than English, German is the language I’m most comfortable with, but either way, Germany tops my list of places to visit in Europe. History is all around you when you walk down the cobblestone streets of downtown Munich in a way that America is lacking. People were walking those streets, and most of the streets in Europe for centuries before Columbus climbed on his boat and rediscovered the new world.

It’s not that the history of Munich is better than the history of any American city (I’m not sure what better is when it comes to history), its just much bigger. There is a unique feeling of history when you’re walking through it. If you find yourself in Munich the first thing you should do is visit the original Hofbrauhaus. Not only is it one of the oldest beer houses in the world, it’s also the place where Hitler rose in influence and power. He used to hold Nazi meetings in the famous beer hall. The Germans are very conscious about preserving their history, the bad along with the good.

Take a walk through the expansive parks if it’s a nice day. If it’s warm enough, you can swim in the river with locals and tourists alike. The first time I was there I took a bike tour (Mike’s Bikes if I remember correctly). It’s a fun way to see the city and get some history if you don’t mind being a stand out tourist.

Amsterdam, The Netherlands. How did that country get such a wilderness-like name? You hear a lot about the sex and drug culture of Amsterdam. What you don’t hear a lot about is how friendly the people are and how beautiful the city is. I wrote about my first visit there in this blog before, but since it’s one of my new favorite cities, I’ll bring it up again here.

The red-light district is worth a walkthrough. They also have some famous art museums and the Ann Frank house. It’s such a diverse city that I think I’ll have to go back a few more times before I can give you a real to-do list. Trust me, I’ll do my best to do just that. If you want to read about my first visit, here it is: http://planeprose.blogspot.com/2008/07/flying-exploring-new-city.html

Paris, France. It’s one of the most hyped up cities in Europe and for a good reason. Some of the native Parisians are a little course towards Americans, but for the most part they let us be. There is nothing as artistically inspiring as walking through Paris on a warm day and taking in the architecture. There is no city in the world that tries so hard to remain beautiful. The Eiffel Tower is a must see, but once you’ve seen it and climbed it, it’s attraction fades. The real gems of the city are the Arch de Triumph and the Louvre.

You could spend a decade walking through the Museums in that city and still not comprehend the true value of the art. My personal favorite so far is the reconstructed Napoleon Apartments in the Louvre. The man had everything he owned plated in gold.

After you’ve seen the sights you can really start to appreciate the city. Find a café, overpay for the food, and sit there for hours and relax with a friend over a bottle of wine or two. I’ve been there enough now that I can skip overpaying for the food. I find someone who is feeling social, we buy a loaf of bread, some cheese and a bottle of wine and sit around talking until they’re gone.

Writing: The Website

2008-11-06T20:00:00.000-05:00

I've blogged about it. I've talked about it. I've spent (sometimes wasted) hours and hours of my life reading about website design, web writing, and web marketing. I've even spent a few hours doing actual writing (a "few hours" in this case is more like a hundred hours). I'm finally ready to share it.

Today I finished editing and putting together my first author interview. The author is actually a fellow Pitt graduate with a fantastic author-like name, Cameo Rowe. His first Novel, Defenders of the Realm I: The World Mystic Arts Tournament is being released a little later this month. He's a cool guy and an interesting case study in starting writing early. He writes fantasy, in case you didn't pick that up from the title of his novel.

If you've spent any time reading this blog, you probably know that I'm a little weak in the self editing department. So there are probably some typos and errors in the website. I've tried to get them out but feel free to complain about them in which case they'll be promptly removed.

The website is supposed to be a creative writing help website. There's a lot of competition out there in that particular niche so my expectations, finically speaking, are pretty low. What I really hope to get out of it is the experience, the contact with other writers, and some quality time thinking and writing about writing.

So if you're interested in creative writing, or if you just want to see what I've been working so hard on, click over to the Creative Writer's Desk at http://www.creativewritersdesk.com. If you know anything about web design or have any comments or suggestions, feel free to post them here or send me an e-mail at henry@creativewritersdesk.com.

Until next time, I'll have my head in the clouds or nuzzled up to a computer screen. Thanks for stopping by.

Election Results

2008-11-05T13:59:00.005-05:00

You've probably stopped by today to hear my thoughts on the election results. I'd hate to disappoint you, so here they are, listed in the order they occurred to me.

1. I'm glad it's over.

2. We're the cool kids on the block again now that we're so progressive.

3. I'm going to sit back and let the change come.

4. What are we changing again?

5. Who is Jon Stewart going to make fun of now?

6. I thought the Concession and Victory speeches last night were both pretty good, as far as the rhetoric goes.

7. Hopefully this "tax us into a utopia" thing works out.

8. Who's older? McCain or Biden's Mom?

9. Does G.W. have a hole he can hide in for the next 30 years?

10. I'm glad it's over, really. What can we obsess over now?

Airplane Sanitation- Oxymoron?

2008-11-04T15:00:00.001-05:00

It's election day, finally. If you live in a heavily contested region like I do, I bet you can't wait until the whole thing is over and whoever wins settles into his new office and start breaking promises. And of course, it looks like it's going to be Obama. No, I'm not watching exit polls, or even waiting for them to start counting the votes. I'm trusting in the Redskins.

The Redskins are 17 for 17 at prediction the election results. When they win the game before the election, the incumbent party wins. When they lose, the incumbent party gets the boot. The Pittsburgh Steelers handed them a 23-6 loss last night. The Democrats were celebrating, Steelers Fans are having mixed emotions.

But back to the real subject of this post, the question you've had on your mind for so long and I've repeatedly failed to answer- How do you fly around in airplanes without breaking out in hives or having your face swell?

I admit, I knew the question was out there but since it had never happened to me, I thought you all were just being silly. That changed Sunday.

I stepped on the plane Sunday afternoon with my usual, arrogantly un-swollen skin with every intention of remaining healthy for the rest of the day. I was supposed to work to Chicago, sit around for three hours then work to Miami, FL, where I would layover at our beach front hotel until the next afternoon when I came home again.

I never made it to Miami, because, as you may have already guessed, I broke out in hives and my face swelled. However out of pain comes learning, and the events of this weekend have inspired me to help you avoid such disastrous results when you fly. I'm still not sure what caused my body to begin distorting itself, but I've come up with a list of three healthy "Don'ts" that may keep you safe.

1. Don't Forget To Wash Your Hands.

Maybe it's because I know how many people use the Lavatories on the airplane or maybe its because I've seen the cleaning crews wipe off the toilet seat and then the mirror and then the sink with the same rag. If you can hold your breath the whole time you're in the bathroom, good for you. But if you can't, and you even find yourself looking when the bathroom door is opened, you should probably take a moment to wash your hands.

Most airplane toilets are flushed by air. When you hear that great big whoosh, most of the contents are going down the hole. However, little flecks of urine and feces are also being blown out of the toilet, where they linger in the air for a moment or two before settling down on the walls and counter and door. So wash your hands and open the door with a paper towel. I'm no doctor, but I do believe that foreign feces can cause infection when it comes in contact with your healthy skin.

2. Don't Drink Out Of The Can.

We give you a cup for a good reason and it's not just because you asked for ice. Those can's are dirty. When a plane gets back from a trip, all the unused cans go back into the catering facility where they aren't washed. A man with gloves (the kind you use to make sure you don't cut your hands, not the kind they use in surgery to keep things clean) picks them up and puts them in a bin, which has come off of a different airplane and sends them off to another plane to be handed out by another group of flight attendants. They fly around the world picking up dirt. Eventually they're going to be picked up by someone who hasn't washed his hands when leaving the bathroom. It's just not worth the risk. Use the cup.

3. Don't Trust The Tray Table.

They're washed... sometimes, if the plane landed in a station with plenty of cleaners... and they had the time... and they felt like going the extra mile. The point is, if you drop something on the tray table, just imagine that you dropped in on the bathroom floor. The 2, 5, and 10 second rules don't apply. It's now radioactive food. Don't eat it.

Ok, so I don't want to scare you away from airplanes. I just want give you a little heads up. If you do have an allergic reaction, I found that Clariton, which is the only antihistamine they sell in Chicago O'Hare, works pretty well at calming the symptoms. If you just get sick, well, though it out buddy. It's probably just some feces in your blood stream. That's what the liver is for, right?

Jumpseat Legends: An American Halloween In Europe

2008-10-30T22:07:00.004-04:00

Happy Halloween. Here's the final Jumpseat Legend as promised. I hope you don't get too scared to get on a plane after reading. It'll make your skin crawl... or your eyes roll. I'm just trying to get some kind of reaction.

It was the middle of the long flight from Atlanta to Munich, Germany. Most passengers were asleep but there’s no rest for the four tired flight attendants who were in the aft galley of the airplane, getting everything ready for the arrival service, which was still 3 hours away.

“What are you guys doing when you get there?” Amy asked the rest of them.

“I’m going to sleep the whole layover,” Alan said.

“Come on, Al,” Deborah said.

“It’s Alan.”

“Whatever, Alan. It’s Munich. You have to have a beer or two.”

“Yeah, don’t be a slam-clicker,” James added

“A what?”

“Slam-clicker. You know, slam the door. Click the lock.”

“I’ll be whatever I want to be. Do you know how many times I’ve been to Munich?” Alan asked.

“Do you?” Amy asked.

“A lot. It looses its charm after a while. It just turns into another expensive European city.”

“But tonight is Halloween,” Amy pointed out.

“They don’t celebrate Halloween in Europe,” Alan said. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

A call button rang on the right side of the airplane.

“I’ll get it,” Alan said and walked into the dark cabin.

The light was illuminated above an elderly couple in the 22^nd row of seats.

“Can I help you,” he asked them, turning the light off.

“Ja, unseren audio ist kaputt.”

“I guess you don’t speak any English,” Alan said frustrated. It was just another reason he hated these international flights.

“You vould have guessed incorrectly,” the man said. “But I vould guess zat you don’t speak any German.”

“You’d be right,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“Our audio isn’t vorking properly. Ve can’t hear anything.”

“I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can do about it right now. If you’d like we can offer you a coupon that you can redeem on a later flight,” he recited the company standard message from memory.

“Zat vill be fine,” the man said. “But can ve have different seats for this flight?”

Alan looked around the completely full aircraft and wondered where the man thought he was going to move. “I don’t think that’s possible. We’re full today, as you can probably see.”

“Vell this is most inconvenient!”

“I’m sorry,” Alan said. “I agree that it’s unfair.”

“Ve should be given free drinks as compensation! On Lufthansa ve vould be given drinks!”

The company didn’t agree with them but then the company executives weren’t going to be stuck on board with them for the next few hours.

“Alright,” he said. “What kind of drinks would you like?”

“Beers.”

And the Germans live up to their stereotype again, Alan thought. “I’ll be right back,” Alan said.

Alan walked to the galley and started digging though the beverage carts for the couple's drinks. He started to wonder if the audio was even broken at their seats or if they just wanted some free drinks.

Another flight attendant call button rang in the cabin. “I’m going back out anyway,” Alan said. He looked up and realized that none of the other flight attendants had moved to answer it anyway. Another call button rang. Then another, and another, and another.

“What is going on out there?” Amy asked.

“I don’t know,” Alan said. “I think the audio is going screwy.”

“Well what do they want us to do about it?” James asked.

“Haven’t you heard? We’re wearing miracle suits,” Alan said. “We can fix anything.”

“Lets go answer ‘em.”

The four flight attendants went out into the cabin and located the call lights.

“Yes sir, we understand there’s a problem with the Audio. We’re going to reset the system and see if that fixes it.”

One more call light went on in the middle of the cabin and Deborah walked to the back of the plane. “I’m going to make an announcement,” she said. She hadn’t quite reached the galley when the oxygen masks deployed. Ignoring the bursts of screams from the passengers, the four flight attendants ran to their jumpseats and put on their masks. Amy turned on the cabin lights to make sure that everyone woke up.

A few seconds later the captain spoke over the PA. “Ladies and gentlemen, this we are not experiencing a decompression. This is just a malfunction of the oxygen mask system. There is no need to wear the masks. We’re working to fix the problem.”

The flight attendants took off their masks as the phone rang at each of their jumpseats. The captain had made an all call.

“Is everything alright in the cabin back there?” he asked.

“I think so,” Alan said. “There were some problems with the audio system and then the masks dropped. The customers are a little bit shaken up but they seem to be doing alright.”

“We’re having some problems up here,” the captain said. “Our circuit breakers are popping like crazy. We’re going to divert to the closest station but we’re at least an hour from touch down. Start prepping the plane for landing.”

He hung up the phone and the four flight attendants in the back of the plane stood up. The emergency oxygen systems on the plane are chemically operated. When the mask drops and the passenger puts it on a chemical process starts which pumps oxygen for about 20 minutes. There are two side effects from the chemicals. First, it smells horrible, something like the combination of burning plastic and bad breath. The second byproduct of this process is heat. When all 250 masks are pulled at the same time, each unit heats to about 130 degrees and the cabin below gets toasty. It was 90 degrees and getting hotter.

A woman started screaming in the cabin. Alan jerked his head instinctively towards her and saw something drop out of the oxygen mask compartment onto her lap, which made her scream even louder.

“It’s a… It’s a…aaahhh,” she screamed again.

As he was running up the aisle towards her another dark object fell out of an oxygen compartment to his right.

“RAAAAT,” screamed the woman on whose lap the animal landed.

The woman jumped up and started spinning in circles, trying to throw off the animal that had latched onto her blouse with its teeth. Unfortunately, it had a good grip

Rats started pouring out of the overhead compartments, literally being smoked out by the heat of the oxygen system. Hundreds of rats.

Passengers started screaming and stomping at rats that had nowhere to run without being stomped at by another passenger.

“Stand on your seats,” Alan shouted. “Stand on your seats.”
To his amazement, the passengers listened and crawled up and stood, knelt, or squatted on their seats, still wary of getting too close to the open mask compartments above their heads. Alan kicked a few rats out of his way as he made it to his jumpseat again and picked up the PA. “Flight attendants, grab a fire extinguisher.”

Alan felt a sharp pain in the back of his leg. “Aahh! What the?” There was a rat latched on to his Achilles tendon just above his shoe. Instinctively he reached down and grabbed it, ripping it off with a chuck of skin still in its mouth. It hissed and scratched but couldn’t get its teeth at him. The rat was emaciated. He couldn’t feel anything but fur covering bone.

“Great,” he said as he threw the rat against the wall and watching it fall limp on the floor. “Starving rats.” He kicked a few more rats that were trying to sneak up on him and pulled the fire extinguisher off the wall. “Well, it doesn’t get any worse than this.”

Then the lights went out. The screams from the cabin grew even louder. It’s exactly the kind of panic that you don’t want in a hollow metal tube flying 600 mph, 31,000 feet above the ground. It was no longer just passengers screaming, Amy and Deborah were also hunched up on their jumpseats, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Alan lit his flashlight and held it in the same hand as the fire extinguishers hose, spraying a rat whenever he could find one. It was only a minute before the other flight attendants realized that they too were carrying flashlights and aimed them at the floor.

The phone rang again. Another all call from the captain. "What is going on back there?"

"Rats," Alan said as calmly as possible.

"Rats? They must be chewing threw the power lines. We're going to get this plane on the ground as fast as we can. Try to keep everyone calm."

"I'm trying," Alan said, blasting another rat with the fire extinguisher. "But they keep getting excited. It has something to do with being bitten by rats."

The rats had stopped attacking Alan, except for one or two who would occasionally charge him, only to be met by a blast of halon from the hose. Most of the animals were fighting for hiding spots under the few blankets that had been thrown on the floor. In the dim beam of his flashlight, he saw four rats fighting for a place under one blanket.

The emergency lights flickered and then came on. However, this didn’t alleviate the panic in the cabin since the passengers could once again see what they were scared of.

They want to hide, Alan realized. “They want to hide,” he yelled over the noise.

“So do I,” James said, spraying a rat under the jumpseat he was standing on.

“Give them somewhere to hide,” Alan yelled back as he sprayed another rat. “Throw your blankets on the floor. Throw anything on the floor. Give them somewhere to hide!”

The passengers started to empty everything they had onto the floor, blankets, coats, purses, one man even took off his shirt and threw it on the floor. It wasn’t enough. There were just too many rats fighting over too few hiding places.

Alan walked threw the cabin and opened overheads. “Get off that jumpseat,” he yelled to the other flight attendants. “Dump the luggage. They need more places to hide.” James didn’t move from his jumpseat but Amy came down, hesitantly and joined him in the aisle, opening bins, unzipping luggage and dumping it on the floor. The rats took the hint and eventually settled into their temporary, travel-pro luggage homes.

“Ladies and Gentleman, this is your captain. We’re diverting to London Heathrow. We’ll be on the ground in 20 minutes. Flight attendants, prepare for landing.”

Those last five words had never been more welcome to Alan and the other flight attendants. As he strapped into his Jumpseat, Alan looked over at James and said, “I think you’re right. I will have a beer or two on layover.”

“A beer or two?” James said. “I’m going to have a bottle of tequila or two.”

The rats stayed put on descent, finding plenty of good bedding in the open suitcases. The passengers for the most part, calmed down but eyed the bags warily, making sure the stowaways didn’t come out.

The plane touched down in Heathrow and as it began to brake, Alan realized that the luggage was not going to stay put. It started sliding and rolling forward, and rats began to abandon their makeshift homes en mass. They skidded and rolled towards the front of the plane and passengers screamed and lifted their feet to avoid them. The doors weren’t pressurized anymore and sooner or later one of the passengers was going to jump up and open one. Alan reached up and hit the evacuation switch above his seat and the flight attendants jumped into action. The plane stopped suddenly as the captain put everything he had into the brakes, the rats and a few passengers who still hadn’t fastened their seatbelt went airborne, soaring a few rows forward or into the seat in front of them. Flight attendants popped up.

“Release your seatbelts and get out, leave everything. Stand back,” the screamed as the pulled the door handles and evacuation slides inflated.

“Come this way, come this way. Jump, Jump.”

Rats and people both flooded out of the plane and into the damp London air. After the plane was evacuated and the other flight attendants had abandoned ship, Alan walked through to make sure there were no injured passengers still on board being eaten by rats. When he reached the front of the plane without finding anyone, he looked out at the group of people huddled in the grass, still watching their feet for starved rats.

“I guess Halloween came to Europe after all,” he said as he jumped onto the slide.

For less fictional accounts of rats on a plane, check out these links.

http://gridskipper.com/56515/rats-on-snakes-on-a-plane

http://blogs.usatoday.com/ondeadline/2006/07/mice_on_a_plane.html

Jumpseat Legends: The Burnt Out Flight Attendant

2008-10-28T22:10:00.002-04:00

“This is a non-smoking airline. Federal Law prohibits disabling or tampering with lavatory smoke detectors. We now invite you to sit back, relax and enjoy your 5 hour and 20 minute flight to Los Angeles,” Jane said, finishing her preflight announcements and hanging the PA receiver back in its mount in her jumpseat.

Sit back and relax. Yeah right. She was a smoker and it was more like 6 hours and 20 minutes of work during which she definitely wouldn’t have a smoke break. She sighed. She typically didn’t bid these cross-country lines. It was too long between cigarettes and the customers who flew between New York City and L.A. were as high maintenance as they come. There wasn’t enough liquor or coffee on the plane to keep them happy. They were mostly B-list actors, directors, or New York hotshots who had enough money that laws didn’t apply to them on the ground.

“Flight attendants, prepare for take off,” the captain said over the PA. Jane reached for the buckles of her harness. It was getting harder to reach around her growing hips with every trip. These jumpseats were designed for the 120-pound flight attendants. She had been one of those years ago. Thank God the unions got those restrictions taken away, the 190-pound Jane thought.

A call button rang in the 24 seat first class cabin of the 757. There was still a minute or so before the plane was actually going to take off so Jane got up to answer it. It may have been a nervous flyer. In Jane’s 27 years of flying she had become very good at calming peoples nerves quickly.

The call button was illuminated above the seats of a young, and irritatingly attractive couple. “Is everything alright?” Jane asked them. Without bothering to look up the young woman, a surgically enhanced blonde in a red shirt and black mini-skirt, handed Jane an empty plastic cup from her pre-departure drink and said, “I’ll have a Bacardi and Diet Coke.”

Jane snatched the cup. “I’m sure you will,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll have a few of them. You’ll just have to wait until we’re in the air.” The young woman shot Jane a ‘how-rude’ look as she strutted away. The words ‘young punks’ were echoing in her head as Jane strapped herself, with some difficulty, into her jumpseat.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. Double check your seat-belts,” The captain said as he turned onto the runway. “These things go really, really, really fast.”

The flight had gone as Jane expected it to so far. “More coffee, more coffee, more coffee, my reading light doesn’t work- it just dings, That’s the call light, the reading light is the other one, Oh, thanks, more coffee with Baileys.”

Jane answered three more call lights after the dinner service was over and then plopped into her jumpseat just as the seat belt sign came on. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the captain said. “We’re expecting a little bit of turbulence up ahead. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.” Jane smiled. She had a few minutes with an excuse to lounge out in her jumpseat.

The half plastic blonde, however, thought that this would be a good time to visit the bathroom. Jane didn’t really care that the woman was up but company policy dictated that she had to remind the woman that the seat belt sign was on.

“Ma’am, the seat-belt sign is on,” Jane said.

“So?” the woman asked.

“So?” Jane repeated. “If you remember the announcements that I made earlier, you’d know that you should return to your seat and fasten your seatbelt. I said it. The captain said it. The little picture of a seatbelt being fastened says it.”

“Oh,” the blonde said as she slid her purse the rest of the way up her arm and opened the bathroom door. “When you gotta go, you gotta go.”

Jane sighed. She wanted to grab the woman by the ear and march her back to her seat but she wasn’t a police officer. She could only tell people what they had to do, not make them do it. It wasn’t often that Jane wished there was an FAA officer on board but she would have enjoyed seeing this woman get the $1000 ticket for ignoring crew instructions.

But nothing happened. No one stood up to writer her a ticket and Jane just slouched back into her seat. A few minutes passed and the woman still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom. No one else had gotten up which was a relief but Jane started to wonder about the woman in the bathroom. After all, 10 minutes is a long time to be in an airplane bathroom.

Then she smelled it. Nicotine. She recognized it before she comprehended it. She stood up and checked the ovens. They were both off. Then she looked at the bathroom door. Aha! The blonde was smoking in the bathroom.

Jane was both jealous and angry. The woman was as rude as it gets and then wanted to rub it in her face. Under normal circumstances Jane would have knocked on the door and politely asked the woman to extinguish the cigarette. But not this time.

There are two kinds of fire extinguishers on the airplane. There’s the Halon extinguisher for electrical and chemical fires and the water extinguisher for material fires. The Halon sprays a wide burst of foam and gas to smother fires while the water extinguisher shoots a concentrated, high power beam of water and antifreeze.

Jane picked up the Water extinguisher and knocked on the door. “Are you alright ma’am?” she asked.

“Go away,” the woman said, irritated.

Not that easy, Jane thought. She lifted the metal flap covering the locking mechanism and slid it to unlock as she jerked the door open. The woman was leaning against the sink with a lit cigarette in hand. She cocked her head, took another puff and blew the smoke at Jane. “What?” she said.

Jane smiled at her. The woman didn’t see the fire extinguisher until it was too late. Jane twisted the knob and pulled the trigger aiming the beam of water at the woman’s hand. The blonde screamed as the beam of water hit her knuckles and the cigarette went flying, landing in a puddle of water in the corner.

“You,” the woman said wiping the splashed water out of her face, “are going to pay for this you fat…”

“Oh no,” Jane said cutting her off with a big, calm smile. “Your shirt is on fire, too.”

“What? No it’s… aahhhh.”

Flying: Where Have I Been?

2008-10-23T18:30:00.002-04:00

It’s a fair question since it’s been over two weeks since my last post. I’ve been wandering purposefully around the U.S. It’s not my fault, my employer seems to think that they shouldn’t have to pay me if I don’t fly wherever they tell me to. But since you asked, or since I asked for you, here’s the answer.

Portland, Oregon

I was excited to go to Portland because I’ve enjoyed every other trip to the Northwest corner of the country. However, Portland was not what I expected it to be. I walked from the Hotel to Downtown Portland, which took me through Chinatown. First Impression: it seems Portland residents prefer their bars to have ...ehem… adult themes. Live nudes signs flashed at me from every other corner. I thought it was just the wrong section of town until I actually reached down town and the Coffee Bars were almost as bad as the alcoholic bars. Bikini Coffee Co. Stores outnumbered Starbucks. The Baristas in Bikini Coffee Co. dress in white bikinis and dance behind the counter as they pour cups of coffee for business men. Why white bikinis, I wondered, wouldn’t coffee stains show easily on them. It’s an indication of the culture of Portland that I was intrigued by the color not the fact that the coffee girls were half naked.

In addition to the adult theme of the town, the population of Portland seem to be split between houses and street corners. There were more homeless leaning against lamp posts (albeit very ornately decorated lamp posts) and fire hydrants than I’ve seen even in San Diego or New York. Unlike San Diego Homeless, these street residents seemed to be close to my age, not many were older than 30, and have to deal with a lot more rain and cold than their Southwester counterparts.

To top it off and send me back to my hotel, I was approached by a man outside of the Nordstroms whom I would have thought was homeless if he didn’t have a clipboard (it’s an unusual accessory for a homeless person to have). He identified himself as a member of Green Peace. He told me all about how the company who owned Kleenex was destroying the world by promoting Global Warming. He also told me that I could help by giving Money to Green Peace and not using Kleenex.

I didn’t give him any money but I did tell him that I thought Global Warming was a conservative conspiracy to flood Hollywood, thus drowning all the liberals and saving the country. While he was still deciding if I was serious or not I gave him my best republican handshake and walked away. What a town.

Las Vegas, Nevada

I have an appreciation for Las Vegas. Sure it’s loud everywhere you go and leaves Portland in the dust as far as Adult themes go, but it’s also a town where people go to throw away their money and call it fun. I had about 16 hours to kill in Vegas. I don’t mean to brag (yes I do) but I’m a pretty decent poker player.

I walked into the Poker Room of the Venetian Casino at about 4 o’clock that afternoon and sat down at a $1/$2 table just as five of the other players were getting what I would find out was their 4^th round of Patron shots. There it was, I had five targets already and I had only been there for 10 seconds. The minimum buy in for that table is $100 and the max is $300. I don’t know what these guys did for a living but they didn’t come with empty wallets. I did my best to make sure they left that way. They’d lose their $300 and put down $300 more. When that was gone they’d put down $300 more. “It’s Saturday Night in Vegas, Baby,” one of them said every time he bought back in. Indeed it was. I left Las Vegas with February’s Rent money in hand.

Huston, Texas

Everything is bigger in Texas and that includes the passengers. We had a dozen passengers who were on the verge of needing seat belt extensions and the Airbus seatbelt extends to fit at least a 46-inch waist. There are only three seatbelt extensions on that plane which means we were almost in a situation where we had to off load passengers because they were too big to buckle their seat belts.

I found myself in a rather embarrassing situation on this flight. A man came on the plane and asked me for a seatbelt extension. I said I’d bring him one and went to get it as he found his seat. After I had gotten it and found where the gentleman was seated I tried to hand it too him. Usually I do this as discretely as possible because it can be a sensitive issue for some people when they don’t fit in their seats. “Sir, your belt,” I said as I handed it to him below the seat line. There was one of the odd moments where everyone is suddenly silence just as I said it and at least three or four people looked, including one lady who turned around to see who I was handing a seat belt too. The man, who apparently did fit in his seat belt gave me a look that most people reserved for murderers and rapists. “I Don’t Need It, Thank You Very Much,” he said as I quickly retreated to the back galley.

We had a 19 hour layover in the Huston Airport Marriot which is a nice hotel but not exactly the ideal location. I watched some Monday Night Football and got two workouts in. Not my idea of an exciting layover.

Vancouver, B.C.

I’ve been in 17 different countries but until Tuesday I had never been in the closest country to home. Our friendly neighbor to the North had never merited a visit. It’s strange too, that my favorite professional sport is Ice Hockey and I still hadn’t gotten to Canada where they live and breathe Hockey. Luckily, that’s been remedied.

It was another layover in the airport but Vancouver Airport is definitely a few steps above Huston. They have rivers and waterfalls running through the terminals. There were two aspects of the layover that made it better than Huston. First was the Hotel. It was, without any competition, the nicest Hotel I’ve ever set foot in. The Fairmont has all of the amenities that make a hotel comfortable and added all of those that make it feel more like home than home. There is mood lighting in Bathroom which is good because sometimes when you’re on the hopper it’s easier to go with dim lights. It had a separate shower and bathtub. I’m six feet tall and I could lounge out in the bathtub, which I found out by doing so still in my flight uniform (obviously without the water). The bed was one of the most comfortable around. It felt more like floating than lying down.

The other part of the trip that made it fun was the birthday party we through for one of our flying partners. He turned 50 on the 21^st and that isn’t something you can let go without a drink or two. We found a restaurant in the domestic terminal that was more reasonably priced than the $40 a plate restaurant in the Hotel Lobby. Rodney, who was the one celebrating his birthday, had spent 28 years as an aircraft mechanic for the Air Force before becoming a flight and was full of interesting stories. It’s always the crew that makes a trip fun.

I have another Jump Seat Legend Coming but I haven't had the time to work on it recently. I'll post it soon. The last and scariest will come out on Halloween.

Jumpseat Legends: When Turbulence Bites

2008-10-08T14:54:00.003-04:00

It was a sweaty summer day in the Dallas Fort Worth Airport and the flight crew was trying their best to keep cool as the plane was filling with passengers. Jen was greeting while Neil and Mary were dealing with luggage and seating issues in the back. Jen was trying her best to stay alert and focused, but her natural cheeriness was pretty well worn out after the first half of the third leg. They were starting the fourth and final leg of the day.

“Good afternoon… hello…hello… hello, welcome aboard… hello.”

A man came down the jet bridge with a yellow lab wearing a “Don’t Pet Me. I’m Working” harness. The man wore thick sunglasses and a hat pulled low over his forehead.

“That’s a pretty dog,” Jen said.

“Is he?” the man asked. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh,” Jen said embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“Can you help me find my seat? He’s pretty good with numbers,” the man said lifting the dog’s harness, “but he’s having some trouble with the alphabet.”

Thirty minutes into the hour and a half flight the flight attendants were in the aisle with their carts doing a beverage service. The captain’s voice comes over the PA.

“Ladies and Gentleman, this is your captain speaking. ATC is reporting some heavy turbulence up ahead and it looks like we aren’t going to be able to miss it. Please return to your seats and make sure your seatbelts are securely fastened. Flight attendants, please be seated.”

Jen, Neil, and Mary parked the carts in the galley, returned to their jumpseats and strapped in.

The turbulence was the worst any of them had been through. The plane dropped five feet and then was thrown ten feet back up. The cart tipped over in the galley sending buckets of ice and exploding soda cans rolling down the aisle. A few passengers were letting out short chirps of fear but those were quickly drowned out when the blind man began to scream.

The sound of fear and the sound of pain have two different tones. Fear has a higher pitch, it comes from the sharp exhalation of lungs holding their breath. Pain comes from deep within the lungs, maybe even from the sub-lungs. It’s more like a roar than a scream.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHH. He’s got my leg! He’s got my leg!”

Dogs have a lot of senses that people lack. They can hear, smell, and feel things that we’re unable too. They cannot, however, predict turbulence and so they’re more prone to panic than people when the floor starts throwing them around. Also, planes aren’t equipped with doggy seat belts.

The normally docile Lab had bitten into his owners leg as the plane started to pitch him around and wasn’t letting go. When the plane dropped another ten feet, as the passengers and flight attendants were being thrown up against their seatbelts, the dog was thrown up against the cabin ceiling and then dropped back two rows behind where he promptly decided to hold on to another passengers arm…with his teeth.

The man who’s arm he had latched on to was a bit stronger than the blind man and he was able to grab the dog and throw him towards the aisle. The Lab slid into a woman’s ankle and again tried to hold on. She was too quick for him and was able to plant her heel into his nose, which sent him rolling backwards down the aisle as the captain pulled the plane upwards in an attempt to rise above the violent turbulence.

The Lab, with blood and panic smeared all over him rolled down the aisle towards the back of the plane. A leg was sticking out from the last row of seats and the panicked dog grabbed a hold of it.

“OOOWWW! You son of a,” BANG.

Unfortunately for the dog, he had grabbed a hold of the leg of a Federal Air Marshal, one of the few people allowed to carry a firearm on an airplane.

“Stay calm,” the Marshal shouted as people began to scream again. He lifted his badge in the air for everyone to see. “I’m an Air Marshal.”

The cabin went silent as people tried to comprehend everything that had just happened.

“Did someone shoot my dog?” the blind man asked in a cracked voice. “Did someone shoot Teddy?”

Jumpseat Legends: Playing With Fire

2008-10-01T16:02:00.010-04:00

We’ve finally reached October. As the weather turns cold we get in the seasonal mood for bone chilling stories of ghosts, goblins, and ghouls… something I’m currently out of. What I do have plenty of are jumpseat legends; those scary stories that travel the world on the uncomfortable pads of airplane jumpseats. In addition to my other posts this month I’m going to be putting up a weekly Jumpseat Legend. This is the first.

Playing With Fire

The scheduled trip was New York’s JFK to Mexico City on an Airbus 320, which holds just under 150 passengers. It was a routine trip for the crew with a short layover, less than 14 hours. More time than is really needed in Mexico City where it’s almost too dangerous to leave the Hotel. The pilots, Tom and Scott, were busy at work in the cockpit and the flight attendants, Jane, Gloria, and Stewart (not Steward), were finished their safety checks when the passengers started to board. Gloria and Stewart took their positions in the aisle and Jane stayed by the door to greet.

Flight attendants quickly develop a knack for making pleasant conversation out of nothing and Jane was an experienced flight attendant. The greeter has between 3 and 6 seconds from when the passenger steps onto the aircraft until he or she reaches the aisle to size them up and make pleasant conversation. “Hi. Welcome aboard,” gets old fast so, like most flight attendants, Jane used her 3-6 seconds with more personalized words.

“Hi, I love your purse,” she said to the first woman who came aboard. “Is that Prada?”

“Welcome aboard. Let’s go Yankee’s,” she said to the man with the baseball cap.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she said to the next man who was wearing a disheveled suit to match the three days of hair rusted on his face. He was toying with a pack of cigarettes in his right hand. “Remember, don’t play with fire on the airplane,” she said pointing to the cigarettes.

Fast-forward… The door is closed, please turn off all electronics….to fasten your seatbelt, insert the metal fitting… cleared for take off… Ladies and Gentlemen, we’ll be offering you a beverage service shortly, followed by…This is your captain speaking. We’ve reached our cruising altitude of 37,000 feet and we’ll be turning off the fasten seat belt sign [ding]. Please feel free to move about the cabin... would you like a beverage... that service seemed to go fast didn't it?

Three hours into the flight most people had drifted off to sleep or slipped their minds into a book. Stewart walked up to Jane in the front of the airplane.

“Hey,” he said. “The lav in the back has been locked for like a half an hour and nobody is answering the door. Did you lock it? Neither of us in the back did.”

“No,” Jane said. “We’ll figure it out.”

As the two walked to the back of the aircraft, Jane noticed that only one seat was empty, the seat that the man in the disheveled suit had been occupying.

The woman next to the vacant seat was awake and reading a book.

“Excuse me,” Jane said to the woman. “Were you traveling with the man in this seat?”

“No,” the woman said. “Never saw him before in my life.”

“Do you know how long he’s been gone?”

The woman looked at her watch. “Can’t say for sure. Maybe 45 minutes. He spent the first half of the flight scribbling on a sheet of paper like his life depended on it then he got up and ran to the back. He was kind of sweaty. I think he may be sick.”

“Thanks,” Jane said.

In the back of the plane, Jane knocked on the lavatory door. “Hello?” she called. “Sir, are you alright? Do you need any assistance? Sir, we’re going to open the door now.” She looked at Stewart and said, “Open the door.”

“Why me?” he asked.

“Because he’s a man and you’re a man. It’s more appropriate.”

“I think he’d like it better if it were you,” Stewart said.

“That’s another reason for you to do it.”

“Fine.” Stewart lifted the small metal placard above the occupied sign and slid the latch to open the door. He pushed gently. The door didn’t move. He pushed harder.

"Sir, are you holding the door shut?" he asked. Stewart leaned against the door and it opened slowly with a screech of metal scraping along metal.

He turned to Jane and Gloria and said, "He broke the door."

"Look," Jane said. A foot was lying limply on the closed lid of the toilet seat, facing the wrong way. The leg it was attached to extended upwards with a very slight slope.

"Oh my," Gloria said. "That isn't good." She peeked her head into the bathroom and erupted in an earsplitting scream that woke all the passengers on the plane. Ripping her head out of the bathroom and backing up into the galley she stuttered, "He's...he's...he's..."

Stewart poked his head into the bathroom and quickly pulled it out. "He's hung."

"We've got to get him down," Jane said quickly. "Stew, get him down."

Stewart threw his weight against the door so it would open enough to let him in. Airplane restrooms aren't designed to hold two people, especially not two grown men, but with some effort Stewart made his way in and broke off the stabilizing arm that the man had tied one end of his belt around. He left the other end of the belt around the man's neck.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, excuse the interruption," Jane said over the PA. "If there are any qualified medical professionals on board will you please identify yourself to a flight attendant."

There was a doctor on board and he was already on his way to the back of the airplane from first class. He knelt down next to the man that Stewart was pulling out of the bathroom and loosened the belt around his neck.

"Well, he's dead," the doctor said.

"So I could have left him there?" Stewart asked.

"No," the doctor said. "You couldn't have. If you leave him there for long enough his head could have popped off."

"Really?" Stewart asked as Gloria ran into the other bathroom to vomit.

"No," the doctor said. "Not really."

There was a sheet of yellow legal paper folded several times and sticking out of the mans breast pocket. Stewart pulled it out and unfolded it. "It's his suicide note."

"You can't just read his suicide note," Jane said. "It's private."

"He didn't address it to anyone in particular," he said. "See. No salutation."

"What does it say?" the doctor asked.

"It's a confession, I think. It says he'd rather die than go to jail."

"What?" Jane asked.

"I guess he burnt down his car dealership for the insurance money. He says he knew he was caught when the flight attendant told him not to play with fire. Look, it says, "The FBI will have a hard time arresting a dead man.""

Jane never again greeted a passenger with anything other than, "Hi, welcome aboard."

Presidential Trivia (1789-1945)

2008-09-28T13:22:00.006-04:00

I don’t do political posts but I found a Chicago Tribune article with interesting facts about our past presidents. Apparently I wasn’t paying attention during high-school history because some of this presidential trivial was new to me. I decided to look a little bit closer at the first 32 presidents to see what else I missed (To be honest, the presidents after FDR don’t all have interesting trivia).

Because we don’t all work for airlines, and some of you poor souls had to work more than 9 days in September, I won’t make you go through the trouble of looking it all up. Check out the facts and if you ever find yourself on a game show you can send me a thank you note.

George Washington (the original G.W.)- The only president unanimously elected by the electoral college. At the time of the American Revolution, George Washington was the richest man in Virginia, and probably the richest in the colonies. He was strongly opposed to the formation of political parties believing them to be divisive and bad for democracy.
John Adams- Successfully defended the British soldiers involved in the Boston Massacre (see, you can learn about history by watching HBO). Was the first president to live in the White House. He was the first president to use his power to control the army to fight a war without a declaration, the Quasi-War with France, starting a trend that would essentially nullify Article 1 section 8 of the Constitution, which gives Congress the sole power to declare war.
Thomas Jefferson- The first president to take action against slavery by abolishing the importation of slaves into the United States. He owned slaves but was outspoken against the practice of slavery. His intention was to set his slaves free after he became debt free but he never paid off his debts.
James Madison- The smallest president, standing 5’4” and weighing in at just over 100 lbs. Along with Jefferson, he was the original organizer of the Republican party (later known as the Democratic-Republican Party). His wife Dolly, saved the famous Gilbert Stuart portrait of Washington before the British burned the White House.
James Monroe- The last revolutionary war veteran to serve as president. He is also the only president to have been shot in action, taking a bullet to his shoulder in the battle of Trenton.
John Quincy Adams- Not a very interesting President although he was instrumental in implementing a plan for a stronger national infrastructure. He was the first president who followed his father into the “family business” of running the country.
Andrew Jackson- First president to have advisors. He called them his “Kitchen Cabinet.” He remains the only president to have ever paid off the national debt (and it looks like it’ll stay that way). Lived through the first assassination attempt when the would-be assassin fired two pistols at him at a distance of thirteen feet – both misfired.
Martin Van Buren- The term “O.K.” is credited to Van Buren. He was born in Kinderhook, N.Y. and was known as “Old Kinderhook.” This was shortened to Old K. then to simply “O.K.” and the term okay was the eventual derivative.* He was the first president to have been born in the United States.
William Henry Harrison- The shortest presidential term, lasting only 32 days. He gave a 105 minute speech outside in bad weather without a hat or overcoat and developed pneumonia shortly there after.
John Tyler- Tyler’s wife began the tradition of playing “Hail to the Chief” when the president appeared at public functions. She was rather proud of her husbands inherited job.
James Polk- Acquired California, which was one of his campaign promises, then did not run for reelection. He was the first president to have his picture taken while in office.
Zachary Taylor- Received his nomination for presidency late because he refused the postage due envelope. Fought in the war of 1812. Nicknamed “Old Rough and Ready,” but he rode sidesaddle into every battle.
Millard Fillmore- Arguable the worst presidential name ever. First president to open trade with Japan. The last president from the Whig party.
Franklin Pierce- Gave his inaugural address from memory. First president to say “I promise” instead of “I swear.” Strongly opposed to freeing the slaves.
James Buchanan- The first bachelor president.
Abraham Lincoln- First president to be assassinated. First president with a beard. Other than that, his legacy is pretty well known.
Andrew Johnson- Had no formal education. He was taught to read and write by his wife. First president to be impeached. He was buried with his head resting on a copy of the constitution.
Ulysses S. Grant- The S. stands for nothing. It was a clerical error when he was accepted to West Point. His given name is Hiram Ulysses Grant. He didn’t correct the error because he didn’t want to have the initials “HUG” written on his uniform.
Rutherford B. Hayes- Banned alcohol from the White House to “set a good example” for the rest of the country.
James A Garfield- Second President to die by assassination but it wasn’t the bullet that killed him. Doctors operated with non-sterile equipment and it caused an infection. It took him 80 slow and painful days to die.
Chester Arthur- As a lawyer, Chester won a discrimination case in New York that allowed blacks the right to ride in streetcars. Nicknamed “elegant Arthur” for his fashion sense.
Grover Cleveland- See below.
Benjamin Harrison- First president to lose the popular vote but win in the electoral college. First president to use electricity in the White House. Once made 140 different speeches in the span of only 30 days.
Grover Cleveland- The only president to be elected to two, non-consecutive terms.
William McKinley- The first president to ride in an automobile. He didn’t live long enough to talk about the experience. It was an ambulance in Buffalo N.Y. that took him to the hospital after he was shot. He died shortly afterwards.
Teddy Roosevelt- Youngest President ever, taking office after McKinley’s death at the age of 42. He was the first president in office to receive the Nobel Peace Prize. He tried to have the words “In God We Trust” removed from U.S. currency. First president to travel outside of the United States while in office.
William H. Taft- First President to own a car. Last president to have facial hair. He had a bushy mustache.
Woodrow Wilson- First president to receive a doctorate and first president to cross the Atlantic while in office.
Warren G. Harding- Had the largest feet of any president. He wore a size 14 shoe. He once gambled away a set of White House china dating back to Benjamin Harrison’s presidency.
Calvin Coolidge- He rarely spoke. Once a dinner guest made a bet that she could force him to say more than two words. His reply- “You lose.”
Herbert Hoover- Only Quaker to be elected to the presidency. Donated his entire presidential salary to charity (only president until JFK to do this). He spoke fluent Chinese and would speak it with his wife when they didn’t want to be overheard.
Franklin D. Roosevelt- The first president whose mother was allowed to vote for him. The only paralyzed president. First President to have an Aircraft.

*update on 10-08-08. The origins of the term "O.K." according to the National Parks Service. I found a more detailed explanation that contradicts this view. Interesting article- http://www.wordorigins.org/index.php/more/436/

Sources- The Chicago Tribune (http://www.chicagotribune.com), Wikipedia (http://www.wikipedia.org), The National Parks Service (http://www.nps.gov), The White House (http://www.whitehouse.gov/history)

Flying: Rio de Janeiro

2008-09-26T11:41:00.012-04:00

Update on 10-01. This was emailed to me today and I couldn't resist adding it to this post even though it has nothing to do with the rest of the content.

I have found out that there ain't no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them. ~Mark Twain

I've been trying to figure out how to write about my trip to Rio using PG-rated language and topics. I can't do it. I've been working on it for a few days now and it just isn't coming out in any way that would be appropriate for a wide audience. The marketing slogan for Las Vegas, "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" is pretty widely known but no one really believes it. People cut loose and have a good time when they visit but they don't really believe that Vegas is its own world. It's just a dark corner of real world where most of the time people aren't paying attention. There is another saying, perhaps less known but more widely believed, "What happens south of the equator, stays south of the equator." I don't feel that it would be appropriate for me to drag people's dirt back north with me so I'm going to write this post and leave out all the fun yet scandalous details of my trip. There is a large statue of Jesus standing on a mountain over looking the city, I'll let him deal with their problems (see the caption).

"Really? Right in front of me!?"

Rio de Janeiro is infamous among Airline Personnel. If you wander around town alone anytime after dark, you’re probably going to lose some money either to a robber or to the police who are essentially robbers with badges (Badges?! They don’t need no stinking badges!). But that’s not what the buzz is about. The buzz is about the sex. Pilots and flight attendants who consistently fly the Brazil trips, both Sao Paulo and Rio, quickly earn a bad reputation. Some deserve it, some don't; people have an easier time generalizing in groups than analyzing things on a case by case basis.

Despite all of its moral shortcomings Rio's landscape is among the most breathtaking in the world. We Americans are very proud of our country's aesthetics; from the rolling hills of Pennsylvania to the Rocky Mountains to the Grand Canyon to the California coasts. We got nada on the the Brazilian landscape. The Amazon Jungle creeps right up to the edges of the mountain peaks which puncture the city's western Skyline. The buildings, homes to someone even if they wouldn't pass even a lenient safety inspection in the states, crawl right up the sides of these mountains until the slope turns to cliff, 90 degree rock face for 500 feet in some cases. To the east is the ocean with long beaches and rolling white waves. Small islands, uninhabitable rocks really, keep the tankers and industrial ships a long distance from the shore. The sandy beaches are covered by day with locals in thong bikinis (both sexes) and kids playing a local game which is basically volleyball with their feet.

I went into town that night with a couple of the women from my crew and we had some drinks at their favorite local bar. They would point out the prostitutes as they came in. We'd watch as they sat down at a table, ordered a drink and waited. Eventually someone would come up to them, pick up their bar tab and they would leave together. This happened over and over.

Rio is a party town. It reminds me a bit of New York on the weekends. If you don't need sleep, you can stay out and drink and party until the sun comes up and even then, as long as you still have cash in your pocket, the party doesn't have to stop.

The statue of Christ has been named one of the new seven wonders of the world. My plan for the second day of my visit was to hire a car to drive me up to see it but pouring rain put a damper on that.

I enjoyed my trip to Rio, seriously, look at the pictures, they were worth the flight alone. I'm just not sure how often I'd like to go back.

Sorry about the boring post but I felt obligated to post something and obligated to not say too much. After all, coworkers are coworkers and there's no use spreading gossip and speculation.

Flying: Rio Pictures

2008-09-22T14:45:00.010-04:00

Just got back from my 10 hour flight up from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. I'm a bit more than a bit tired so I'm just going to put up some pictures now. I'll follow up with a real post sometime tomorrow.

The View from my hotel room

The Beach Front. We stayed at a resort

The Pool

The Friendly (but slow) Staff

Jobi. Our watering hole in Downtown Rio.

The New and Improved Bearded Man

2008-09-18T19:22:00.003-04:00

“There are two types of people without beards- boys and women. I am neither one.” -Greek Saying

“A woman with a beard looks like a man. A man without a beard looks like a woman.” -Afghan saying

In my last post I mentioned that I’ve grown a beard. Some of you think that this is an easily accomplished feat stemming from three weeks of laziness. You are correct. Others have asked, what is the purpose of such a foolish façade of facial refiguring. Since dabbling in the ancient art of Pogonotrophy- the cultivating or growing of a beard, I’ve learned a few things.

People see you differently.

Of course this can be taken literally, you have a beard thus your appearance has been altered (for the better). But what I mean is that people think of you differently. In Ancient Greece, among the older Germanic tribes, and in Russia (before Peter the Great who first taxed beards then ripped them out as a symbol of progress) beards were worn as a display of virility. There was more shame associated with losing the hair on the face than on the head. Even in modern culture a beard is a sign of a certain kind of virility. A man with a beard is assumed to be older which is internationally associated with wisdom. He is assumed to be tougher and more “manly.” And he is assumed to be ignorant of the more effeminate qualities of the world. For example, there are several questions I haven’t heard since growing a beard.

May I see your ID?
Would you like room for cream in your coffee?
Does my lipstick match my shoes?

Bearded men are not all capable of surviving in the wilderness and winning sword fights to the death.

It’s a natural assumption. Some bearded men in fact look like they’ve just walked out of the woods but its not universally true. This is a myth perpetuated by that evil entity that distorts everyone’s world-view: Hollywood. I may have been guilty of believing it myself. I’m not sure. Bearded men aren’t wrong about anything but if I had the thought before I grew a beard I may have been foolish enough to fall into this trap. If I was hoodwinked, I now understand how it happened. Russell Crowe in “Gladiator.” Now that was a manly beard if ever there was one. Consequently, Russell crow was the best Gladiator. Did any of the other Gladiator’s have beards? No. They had scruff but it wasn’t enough to beat a real beard. The evil and incestuous Emperor (Joaquin Phoenix)? Clean shaven (wussy boy). Hollywood subliminally implanted in our minds that beards win sword fights. However deceiving that film was, I have not found any hidden sword fighting techniques between the rough and virile hairs of my chinny-chin-chin.

As for the first part about bearded men being automatic wilderness survival experts well, I’m not going to waste my time addressing that. Some things are so obviously true that they don’t need justification.

Beards make you more honest.

It isn’t a rumor, it’s a fact. Think of Wolf Blitzer, the most trusted reporter on any form of broadcast media, he has a well cropped beard. Then think of Bill O’Reilly, no beard, not much truth to what he says. It’s actually a simple explanation, although the physics of it are hard to conceptualize. However, for your benefit, my non-bearded readers, I’ll give it a shot. The molecular structure of a lie is similar to the molecular structure of milk. They’re both created in the… well, I’ll call it the “Indecent” region of the body, they both spoil quickly unless pasteurized (a process of sterilization) and they can cause severely adverse reactions in people who aren’t accustomed to ingesting them. They also both stick to beards. It’s actually harder to get them out of a bearded mouth than to put them in. This is why bearded men quickly stop drinking milk and telling lies.

Shampoo is a sound investment for everyone.

This isn’t as obvious as it sounds but before you judge, consider the amount of hair on my head. Purchasing a quality shampoo hasn’t been high on my list of priorities (ranking #465, between walking across burning coals and flossing my teeth; yes, bearded men are actually capable of listing their priorities). The unfortunate consequence of being so virile is that my face itches. I mean, I’m so manly now that I hardly notice. Obviously, like Chuck Norris, I feel no pain now that I have a beard, but it still becomes an annoyance, like that fly in the far corner of the room. You don’t feel him but still want to kill him. Now that I’ve invested in a shampoo (or taken a few bottles from hotel rooms) the itching seems to have stopped. For my balding yet clean shaven counterparts, I recommend purchasing a bottle for the day you finally decide to become a man.

Bearded men are better writers.

Think Hemmingway and Dostoevsky. This is also proof that women writers will never reach their true potential until they start ingesting massive doses of testosterone and grow a beard. Perhaps it isn’t expressly true that having a beard makes you a better writer but it certainly make you a better thinker. Without the beard scratch I wouldn’t have thought up nearly half of the brilliant ideas, which will clinch me my Pulitzer, National Book Award, and Nobel Prize for Literature. They may even give me an honorary citizenship to the UK just so they can award me the Man Booker Prize. I’m not sure, the queen will be calling any day now to verify.

Flying: Narita and the Amazing Beer Machine

2008-09-17T16:15:00.005-04:00

“I am a Crew Member of an airline. I do not speak your language. Misfortune, excessive alcoholic beverages, and jet lag force me to seek your assistance in obtaining food, shelter, and protection. Please take me to someone who will provide for my safety and see that I am returned to my crew. My colleagues will reward you.”

-T-shirts sold in the Jet Lag Bar in Narita, Japan. The Japanese translation is also on the shirt.

Seventeen days without putting on a blue polyester suit, walking down a jet bridge, or strapping into a jumpseat. I suppose most people would consider it normal. For me it’s two and a half weeks of routine sleep and the strange sensation of turning off my cell phone- my definition of abnormal.

My cell phone’s battery lasts about two and a half days before it needs to be recharged. Recently, if I noticed it was low I’d plug it in while I was sitting at my computer writing, which was something I’d gotten used to doing anytime I wanted. When I went to sleep with my cell phone slightly less than half charged the day before I went back on call, it didn’t occur to me that it might cause problems.

At 5:09 the morning of the 14^th my cell phone rang less than a foot from my ear with the loudest ring tone I have. When I picked it up I saw only one power bar left above the caller ID which read “Crew Desk.”

“Mr. Bingaman, this is Sherry with the Washington Crew Desk. We have as assignment for you today. Let me know when you’re ready.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll be working ID 5001 of the 14^th with a check in time of 11:04 at IAD.”

“Where am I going?”

“It’s a three day trip to Narita.”

“Thank you.”

I set my alarm for 9:30 and went back to sleep.

Packing for international trips used to be a meticulous process. I’d imagine all the things I could possibly do on the layover and pack accordingly. These days, I don’t even bother to look at the weather. There are three things I keep in the bottom of my suitcase no matter what: a jacket, a swimsuit, and my toiletries kit. Other than that I’ll throw in a pair of shorts, a pair of jeans, a couple undershirts, a polo, and the appropriate amount of socks and underwear for the length of the trip. The only things that ever really change are the books in my duffel bag and the currency in my wallet. When I woke up at half past nine, all I had to do was shower and throw the appropriate clothing in my suitcase and my new book (The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao) in my duffel.

When I’m not working shaving seems like a waste of time and energy (I’m going for the scruffy forlorn writer look) so I had 17 days of growth on my cheeks. The company has very strict guidelines concerning facial hair. Male flight attendants have to be clean shaven or have full, well cropped facial hair. I looked in the mirror after my shower and decided that 17 days growth is pretty much a full beard (not quite a Santa Clause beard but better than the Dr. House “look how much I don’t care” beard) so I shaved the excess hair from my neck and put on my uniform. Mountain man meets flight attendant. I like it.

I showed up to briefing 20 minutes early which has become a habit for me and printed out all the paper work. Work positions are chosen in seniority order, usually first class goes first on international flights because it’s the easiest and economy goes last because it’s the most work. I saw that I’d be flying with one of my classmates who was behind me in seniority which meant that I had at least two choices, a rare treat.

When everyone was there, the purser started the briefing by passing out the crew customs forms needed for Japan.

“Fill these out now so you don’t forget,” she suggested.

The third line down asked for the passport number. I suddenly had a heart-breaking image of a lonely blue passport sitting on my bookshelf in front of authors Hornby, Ishiguro, Johnson, Kesey, and Kostova.

“I forgot my passport,” I blurted out, interrupting whatever trivial flight detail the purser was going over.

“Excuse me,” said the supervisor who chose that exact moment to walk into the room. “What did you forget?”

“My passport,” I said.

“Go tell the coordinator. We’ll have to put a Stand-by on the trip. This means you’ll be getting a DNF [Did Not Fly],” she added just to rub it in.

“Hold on a minute,” on of my coworkers said. “The flight doesn’t leave for an hour and a half. Do you have time to run home and get it?” Coworkers are much more likely to try to find solutions than supervisors.

“No,” I said. The employee bus takes too long to get to the lot. “But I have roommates. They might run it out for me.”

“We’ll brief without you,” the purser told me. “Go call them.”

“Tell the coordinator anyway,” the supervisor said. “Just in case.”

I ran to the front of the office, the only area I get reception.

One of the problems with my generation, the tech-gen (besides our infuriating inability to use whole words) is that we sell ourselves completely to technology. We have cell phones so we laugh at land-lines and don’t memorize numbers. I opened my phone to call my roommate, David, who I knew was home and the screen flashed “Low Battery.”

I didn’t pack my charger. I can’t use my phone in Japan anyway but it’s decidedly inconvenient when I have to use it in the States and have no battery power left. My phone has problems with ordinary calls, so it stands to reason that it would be even worse with a nearly dead battery. It took me three tries to get David and to communicate my problem, tell him where the passport was, and then to hear him say he was on his way.

I ran outside, which takes about 10 minutes from the C gates when you catch the people mover (Dulles still uses the bus system between terminals but they tried to glorify it by dubbing it a “People mover”) and luckily I did. David was calling me when I got to the door.

“Where are you?”

“I’m outside door 4.”

“Upper or Lower Level?”

“Lower.”

“Ok, I’m right there. I think I see…” and with that my phone shut off and would remain off until I got home.

With my passport in hand and my earnest thanks delivered, I ran back through the airport and made it to the plane in time for passenger boarding. I found out that I had been assigned to the Economy Galley, one of the positions that I wouldn't have taken with the choice I should have had but I was too glad to actually be on the plane to complain.

The most difficult part about these trips to Asia isn’t the work we have to do, it’s how incredibly boring 14 hours in a plane can be. We had 3 hour break, but other than that, we just stand around and help passenger figure out how to open the bathroom door (Push. You just push. Push right there in the middle…where it says “push.” Seriously? You were here an hour ago…You still have to push. Yes sir, both doors are the same, push that one too).

Japan is the only country besides the United States that requires all foreigners to scan their fingerprints and takes their picture every time they enter. They also check passports, which was a relief because I’d hate to have gone through all that work to not have my passport checked.

We got to the crew hotel at about 4:20 and Cindy, the girl from my class, and I agreed to meet up in the crew restaurant to have a beer and go explore Narita.

Japan has an interesting mix of technology. Some things are high-tech (like the escalators that don’t start until you step on them and the elevators whose buttons are a computer touch screen) and some are low-tech (like the 12 inch old tube TVs in the rooms that have separate VHS players).

The beer tap in the Hotel’s Crew Restaurant was fascinating. You took a frosted mug from the freezer next to this beer machine and placed it on a pad that had arrows pointing towards it. Then push the Beer button and watch the magic. The pad is really a little mechanical arm that raises about four inches after the Beer button is pushed. A small door opens and another arm extends and rests against the side of the glass. The glass is then tilted by the arm and the platform and a spout descends until it’s touching the inside of the glass just beneath the rim and begins pouring the beer. When the beer is almost full, the spout retracts and the beer straightens. Before it comes back down, a different spout opens and a perfect amount of head is added to the beer. The platform lowers back to level and the beer is ready to be consumed.

I was tempted to chug the beer and replace the glass, just to watch the whole process again. Honestly, I probably could have gotten black-out drunk purely in admiration of this ingenious machine. Fortunately for me, I had promised Cindy that we were going into town but still, I now know my first purchase after I make my first million dollars. There were also a vending machines that sold cans of beer in the hotel and even on the streets of Narita, but after that machine… well, beer will never be the same.

One of the older flight attendants, and I don’t consider a flight attendant older unless they’ve been flying for the company longer than I’ve been alive, wanted a shirt from a bar in Narita so we promised we’d buy it for her if we saw it. The bar was called Jet Lag and it sole purpose was to sell alcohol to flight attendants and Pilots. The shirt my co-worker wanted was black with the amusing text from the beginning of this post written on the front and translated to Japanese beneath. It was 7:00 by the time we made our way into Narita and we actually found this bar before anything else. Our Pilots were there and insisted on buying us a round (which turned into two, which turned into three) and by the time we left, it was 9:15 and everything else was closed.

After 3 beers (5 beers) and no sleep we were both pretty tired anyway. It seemed like a long bus ride back to the hotel with a Japanese man badgering me and insisting, through his son who was the translator, that I wasn’t a flight attendant but a pilot who was just being modest and that I was going to marry Cindy (who is actually getting married next month, though not to me, Kathleen, I swear).

24 hours is really a short visit to Japan, especially with the interrupted bouts of sleep I got that night. The time there is 13 hours ahead. No matter how tired, I just can’t sleep all the way through the day, even if it’s the night.

The flight back was easy with a rare 40 empty seats in economy and two hours less flight time. One of the FAMs (Federal Air Marshals) was bored and entertained me on the way back with amusing stories of his time as a secret service agent and travels as a FAM.

When I finally got through customs and back to my apartment, I very carefully put my passport back in my suitcase where I know I won’t forget it and plugged my phone in to the charger because there are a few mistakes that you only make once.

Flying: Back to Work

2008-09-14T09:36:00.002-04:00

I haven't flown for 18 days, not since China. Today I'm back to work and that means I'll have something good to write about when I get back on Tuesday. The trip today is a 14 hour flight to Narita, Japan on a Boeing 777 airplane. 25 hours there and a 13 hour flight back. I should be home about between 3 and 4 on the 18th. I'm spending a lot of time in Asia, aren't I? I promise you something interesting by Wednesday.

Writing: Driving Myself Up A Wall (then running around on the ceiling).

2008-09-04T09:17:00.004-04:00

"In general, poets do not know where the on/off switch is, anywhere in life. They are usually off unless they are forcibly turned on, and they stay on until they are taken to the emergency room, where they are medicated and turned off again."

-Charles Baxter, Novelist, Professor, and one of the best writers on writing, in his book of essays, "Burning Down the House."

I haven't flown since I got back from China, the result of being out sick and a schedule with big chunks of days off, and I won't be flying again until after my Recurrent Emergency Training on the 13th. That doesn't mean I haven't been working. I recently discovered that I don't know where my on/off switch is. Right now I have nothing to do but read and write, so that's all I'm doing. Between the website I'm building and the novel I'm working on, I've written or rewritten 110 pages at least, since August 28th.

I can't stop myself. I feel a nagging guilt whenever I'm away from the computer. That's why I started carrying a little notebook and pen wherever I go. My meals have mostly been purchased from the salad bar of the Grocery Store across the street and eaten at my desk. My girlfriend has been more than a little jealous of the attention I'm paying to writing but I can't stop myself. I've never had to before.

There is was always something to stop be. I had to get to bed because I knew I'd be flying the next day, or before that I had to go park cars (when I valeted in Pittsburgh) or go to class. This is my first chance, since I decided that writing was what I wanted, to do nothing but write. I love it.

I've made progress on the novel in the last four days. It's becoming layered, the themes are starting to develop and I've finally settled on the perfect (or at least the most perfect so far) ending. I write until I'm out of ideas every day, which has been getting later and later, I was up until 4 in the morning the other night. Then I'll wake up with a batch full of new ideas of mysterious origin since I was pretty sure my head was empty when I went to bed. It's fascinating to me and I'm terrified of losing momentum when I'm forced to go back to work.

I bought a book last week, "The Paris Review Interviews, vol. I," and it's proving to be good motivation. It's a book of the best writers they interviews through the Review's long publication and has some powerhouse names in fiction. My favorite interviews are with Truman Capote (who wrote lying in bed), Ernest Hemingway (who wrote standing at his desk, probably so he wouldn't fall asleep when he read his own work), and Kurt Vonnegut (who didn't mention how he wrote so I assume he sat like a normal person).

I mention the book because it contrasts the different ways writers work and the different ways they come to their work. Hemingway and Vonnegut both lived through war and traveled the world before they started writing. They filled their heads with stories and information and then one day, decided that they knew enough to write a book and did it. But Capote published his first short story when he was 12. It was supposed to be printed in thee parts in a local paper. After the first part ran, enough people recognized it as a scandal involving Capote's neighbor that parts 2 and 3 never ran.

It was also interesting to read the interviews in light of the authors personalities. Capote loved to talk and would answer each question, always making himself out to be the victim of someone or other who was trying to stop him and then give vivid detail of how he overcame that obstacle. Vonnegut, according to the introduction to the interview, rewrote the entire interview so it was essentially Vonnegut interviewing Vonnegut. Hemingway was bitter, felt anxious and said several times that his time would be better spent writing. Several times he told the interviewer off. Once, his answer was, "What a question. But full marks for trying." Another time he talked for a bit before he ended by saying, "I see I am getting away from the question, but the question was not very interesting."

All the writers were asked this question in some form, but I thought Hemingway's answer was the most interesting.

Interviewer- What would you consider the best intellectual training for a would-be writer?

Hemingway- Let's say that he should go out and hang himself because he finds that writing well is impossibly difficult. Then he should be cut down without mercy and forced by his own self to write as well as he can for the rest of his life. At least he will have the story of his hanging to commence with.

I'm not sure if I've actually said anything in this post. I felt like I should come in and write something because we're four days into a new month and I haven't posted yet... so here it is, another of my disappointingly abrupt endings. But I have to go, I'm starting to hear the nagging again. Only 9 more days until I start to lose the momentum and I'm going to spend three of those at Rehoboth Beach, not writing at all. Lets hope I get to bed before midnight today or I'm going to drive myself mad.

Writing: Building a Website

2008-08-30T16:53:00.003-04:00

I'm on day 11 of my website and so far I've only put up 4 pages. It's a rough start but I want to make sure that I do it right from the beginning. The first two days were spent planning and laying out the format and creating a business plan, a way to make money from the undoubtedly numerous amounts of people who will visit my site on a daily basis... so that leaves 9 days for actual web page construction. Almost one every other day. Not bad when you look at it like that. In two months if I can keep this pace, which I can't so lets give it three months , I should have a halfway decent website.

I'm basically following the three-tier web page outline. The first tier is the home-page. It lays out the purpose of the website and acts as one of the main attractions. The tier-two pages are subcategories of the home-page theme. So for example, the home-page is about creative writing. My tier two pages are Fiction, Nonfiction, Interviews (As soon as I get around to them), Writer's Block, and possibly book reviews/recommendations. Sounds like I don't really have it all that well planned out doesn't it? Don't worry, I have backup plans for my backup plans. The tier-three pages are the heavy content, like the articles and interviews.

I've deleted as much as I've written at this point, which isn't unusual. Yesterday I spent about as much time trying to fix the links between pages as I did actually writing them. This would be easier if I didn't have to learn HTML on the fly. Ah well, I'm getting there. Luckily I don't need to know too much because the web-host I'm using, Site Build It! does most of it for me.

Alright, back to the old word processor, not for the website, its off to the book for now... I've left my protagonist in a sticky spot and he doesn't do a good job of writing himself out of those while I'm working on other things. I wish he would. It would make my life a lot easier.

Flying: Ich bin ein Beijinger

2008-08-26T11:25:00.007-04:00

I was ready for Beijing. I packed my bag with everything I’d need for the short, 28-hour layover I was going to have.

Camera, check.

Crew ID, check.

Camera batteries, check.

Flashlight, check.

Camera, check.

I really wanted to have my camera in China. It’s a once in ten lifetime opportunity, to be in that close of proximity to the Olympics in a Communist Country that is trying to build its image as a world super power as opposed to an evil world super power.

“Good Morning Ladies and Gentlemen,” the captain said over the PA shortly after takeoff. “Welcome to flight 897. My name is Captain Nick and we’re glad to have you on board for this thirteen-hour flight to Beijing in the People’s Republic of China. Our flight today is going to take us North over Buffalo New York, up through the northern part of Canada coming back down through Russian Siberia and then into China. If there is anything we can do up here don’t hesitate to let us know.”

The plane going over was mostly empty. We only had 95 passengers in the economy section where I worked which comes out to about 37% full. Business class had a similar load and only first was full but that was with deadheading flight attendants who were being positioned for Press Charter flights to New York and Chicago.

There are different types of tired on flights. It’s obviously tiring to work on a full plane for 13 hours but it can be just as wearing in a different way when the plane is empty. It’s boring. We have to stay awake but with nothing to do. I ended up drinking obscene amounts of coffee and eating an equally obscene amount of airplane food that made my stomach feel less than calm. Combined with the peaks and crashes from caffeine, it was a difficult flight.

Six hours into the flight I decided to pull out my camera (check, still had it) and make sure I had enough space left on the memory card for the amount of pictures I wanted to take. I turned it on and it read “No Data.” That was strange because I remember downloading the Brussels Pictures onto my computer but I didn’t remember clearing them off of the memory card. In fact, I was sure I hadn’t cleared them off the memory card. I was right. All of the Brussels pictures were still on the memory card, which was safely plugged into the card reader in my apartment, 5000 miles away, and 2 miles below the airplane.

The built in memory of my camera can hold 15 pictures and I have no idea how to get them off of it, having lost the cord that connects the camera directly to the computer. Not cool. There was nothing I could do about it. But still, I was going to China and I would still know I’d seen whatever it was I was going to see.

Unfortunately, you can’t.

The plane landed in Beijing at around 2 pm local time, a 12-hour time difference placing it almost exactly on the other side of the world.

After spending twenty minutes in customs trying to get the paperwork for the entire crew in order I passed though the gate and was officially in my first communist country. I was slightly irritated, though not surprised, to discover that China is the only country that rivals the United States in irritating customs practices. We cleared one at a time, having our pictures scanned, our visas checked and double checked, and our passports stamped. Then we walked out into the airport to wait for the rest of our crew. There was an American girl sitting at a table on the other side of the customs hall, with a Chinese customs guard and a translator. She smiled at us half-heartedly as we gathered in front of her, one at a time.

“ Hey guys,” she said. Her voice was measured, cracking slightly at the end. “Where are you coming from?”

“D.C.,” I said. “How ‘bout you?”

“Chicago,” she said. Her eyes were puffy and red, we had interrupted her crying.

“What’s going on,” one of my flying partners asked. “What’s with the escort?”

“My visa is expired,” she said. “By fifteen days, I didn’t even notice until they pulled me out of line and pointed it out.”

Having an expired visa isn’t something that many people let happen. It wasn’t her fault entirely, although I can’t imagine being so careless (coming from the man who left his camera’s memory card behind). Customer Service agents are required to check everyone’s visa before they get on the plane. The company will be getting a healthy fine for letting her board with an expired visa. But it’s China. There have been dozens of news stories lately about people being denied visas because of their activist work in certain organizations that are suspected of being sympathetic to Taiwan. If they’re that picky about whom they give visas to it’s crazy to assume they won’t check it when you get there.

She was hoping to get it renewed in the airport because apparently someone had told her that was a possibility. If she were important enough I suppose it may have been, but judging by the fact that she was sitting alone with two Chinese escorts, I didn’t think she fell into that category. She was going back to the states on the first flight out, no matter where it was going. The Chinese don’t mess around with visas. They’re just as strict as the Americans.

I had grand plans for that first night in Beijing. It was the night of the closing ceremonies and the fireworks show that was planned was supposed to rival the show from the opening ceremonies. When we got to the hotel, I was pretty much abandoned by the crew. It’s not that they didn’t like me, I don’t think. But they flew together a lot and were a bit cliquey with each other. They made dinner plans that didn’t include me and stuck to them.

I tried to go out on my own. I’ve done some bold things in my life but trying to find my way to the Olympic stadium on my own in the most over populated city in communist China was too overwhelming even for me. I decided that my best course of action was to take a nap and wake up in time to watch the ceremonies on TV.

I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes. It was just going to be a two-hour nap. That’s all I needed. Just two, maybe three hours. I woke up five hours later to the erupting fireworks all over the city. It was too smoggy out side to see them properly so I figured I’d catch the reruns later. I went back to bed and slept right through to five o’clock in the morning the next day.

I was scheduled to get picked up at 4:15 that afternoon, meaning I had to be back in my room by at least 2 to get packed, showered, and check my e-mail before I left. So by 7:15, after watching Chinese News broadcast in English, (which, by the way focuses on very different topics than the American Election or Global Warming) I headed down to the front desk to ask how to get anywhere.

I had two options. First I could wait an hour and fifteen minutes for the hotel shuttle that would take me to the pearl market. Second, he could give me a card with the name of some tourist attractions and places of historical interest in Mandarin for a Taxi Driver and English for me. I took the card and asked how much it would be to get to Tiananmen Square.

“About 50 RNB” he told me. That comes out to 7.35 USD. After hailing a cab on the congested street outside the hotel, and driving for a half an hour through significant traffic, I was dropped off outside of Tiananmen Square at 8:45 am. 49 RNB. Not a bad guess by the front desk.

Beijing is a living city, not one given to sacrificing progress for the sake of preserving history. However, it’s also a culture in which history is everything. The Government has a tricky job balancing the two. Even a communist country needs the support of the people to get anything done, and especially to get things done at the pace the Chinese do. To sell a vision to 1.3 billion people tell them it’s their legacy on the line. “Don’t you wish to be remembered as favorably as the generation who built the magnificent Forbidden City, or the Tiananmen?” (Tiananmen translates to “Gate of Heavenly Peace” according to Wikipedia. They had a translation on a plaque outside the gate too, but I didn’t write it down then). But all around this history the city is crawling with Skyscrapers and architecture to rival any American city.

There is always the contrast when I travel of the old and the new that we seem to be lacking in the states. It’s not that we don’t have contrast but our contrast tends to be between a hundred year old building and a new one. In China, the difference is between the Tiananmen, built in 1420 AD and the CCTV Headquarters building, scheduled to be completed by December.

I snapped my 15 pictures in about an hour using all the memory space built into my camera and took a taxi back. I thought that was all of Chinese Culture I was going to see during my first visit. I was wrong.

I got back around 10 am, and took my laptop down to Starbucks to buy a 18 RNB ($2.64) grande coffee and enjoy the free wireless. I checked my e-mail and wrote a couple of my own and then decided to double check the flight before I went back up to my room to pack and get ready. As soon as I pulled up my trip information I realized that it looked different. Departure was now scheduled for 08:30 instead of 18:00. There was only a moment of panic before I realized that the date had also changed. I now had an extra night in China. I was a little confused but I headed back towards my room to drop my computer. I was going to take advantage of it, even if the company hadn’t bothered to inform me of the change.

I was entering the hotel Lobby when I saw a flight attendant who had deadheaded out. I had flown with him a few times before. His name is Baron Von Transfer (His name is actually Baron von Hawse but he goes by von Transfer because he’s been based in San Francisco, New York, Chicago, Honolulu, London, Narita, Japan, and currently flying from D.C.).

“Hey, they stole your plane,” he told me.

“They what?”

“They stole your plane for a charter. You aren’t leaving until tomorrow.”

“I just saw that,” I said.

“Well what are you doing now?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Going out again I guess.”

“Well I’m meeting up with Brian,” he said. “We’re going to the markets. Want to tag along?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. I’d been dying to be invited out since I got there. “Do I have time to drop my computer off in my room?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Meet us outside the Starbucks in like five minutes.”

I hustled back up to my room and plugged my computer back in ($30 world wide power adapter from duty free, one of the best investments I’ve made) and practically skipped back downstairs to the Coffee Shop.

We jumped in a cab and pointed to the Silk Market on the little card that the Concierge had given me.

“Market? Ok,” the drive said.

We got to the market, which was a five-story warehouse looking building by the Chinese World Trade Center.

“It’s not good to shop on an empty stomach,” Baron said when we got there. “You guys want to get some food first. I know a good Thai place around the corner.”

We agreed and walked two minutes around the block to the Thai buffet. The food was good at first. I loaded my plate with Red Curry Chicken, Chili beef, and a strange seafood salad. There were chopsticks and a fork and knife set next to the plate. I picked up the chopsticks. When in China… I though.

“You know Thai food is really eaten with a fork,” Baron said. “I’m not criticizing your method of eating,” he followed up quickly. “Just letting you know. The British colonized Thailand. It’s one of the only Asian countries that doesn’t use chop sticks.”

I like interesting tidbits of history like that. I also like eating fast so I traded my chopsticks for a fork and dug in. I had finished the chicken and beef and was half way through my salad. I took a bite and something crunched. I’m not usually picky about my food with the exception of raw tomatoes but I was curious so I pulled the crunchy morsel out of my mouth and looked at it. It looked back at me with eyes dangling off broken tentacles.

“Crawfish,” Baron said matter-of-factly and kept eating.

Brian picked one up with his chopsticks and made it crawl across the table towards Baron. “Help me,” he said in a high falsetto, crawfish voice. Baron snorted so hard that his chicken almost came out of his nose.

The market is five floors of small stands specializing in one or two types of goods. The first floor is mostly clothing, the second is shoes and leather goods, the third is sportswear, the fourth and fifth are jewelry and accessories. Bargaining is the unofficial State sport of China. There’s an art to it.

There are two key facts to remember. First, the shop keepers won’t walk away from a profit, no mater how small the margin. Second, they’ll whine, cry, threaten, and lie until you bring your price up or walk away. Even if you know that you’re still probably going to get ripped off until you figure out just how to haggle with a Chinaman.

Baron is the gold medalist of Beijing bargaining. He has form, poise, and a perfect technique. He starts by asking what they want for the item. Lets say a pair of board shorts.

“150 RNB,” they say. That’s about $22. If the shorts were real, it would be about $13 less than in the states.

“150?” he’d ask in disgust. “Don’t play games with me. I’ll give you 30.”

“30?!” they say looking shocked. “You want steal food from my family’s table? I like you so I give you special deal. One time only. 130. Final offer.”

He’d laugh. It’s a game and they both know it. Baron knows he’s going to pay more than 30 and the shop keeper knows he’s going to get less than 130. They’re both going to seem inflexible.

Baron examines the shorts more closely, looking for bad stitches, Velcro that doesn’t stick, or any other reason to not buy the shorts. He can’t find any, they’re pretty good quality. By this time he’s come up to 35 and the new final offer from the shopkeeper is 100 RNB.

For the next minute Baron will insist on his price of 35. He’s not moving. The shopkeeper has gone to 90 but it isn’t sticking. He’s getting frustrated. He looks distraught. At that point, if I were interested in the shorts I would have paid the 90 just to keep the grown man from crying. But not Baron. He’s been there before. He knows what he’s doing.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll give you 50.”

The haggling is back on. The Shopkeeper is going to try to leak a few more dollars out of Baron but he’s heard a price he can do.

“I do 80,” he says.

At this point Baron knows he has him so he turns around and starts to walk away. “I said 50,” he calls over his shoulder. The man stays put to make sure Baron isn’t faking it then runs out and grabs him by the arm.

“Ok, 50,” he says. “Don’t tell. I starve if I give too many away like you. 50. My baby starve. 50 RNB.”

Baron takes out his money and after the exchange, they shake hands and both are smiling. It’s just a game. Everyone is happy.

After the shopping is done, about three hours of this show where Baron does the bargaining for all three of us, we jump back into a cab and head back to the hotel.

It’s about 5:00 when we get back. Brian and I make plans to meet for dinner at the Red Door Restaurant across the street at 6:30. We eat dinner, have a drink, and then both of us are dead and we go back to our rooms. I remember lying down in my bed and setting my alarm and don’t remember anything else until it woke me up at 5:15 the next morning.

By 7:30 that morning we’re on the airplane, safety checks done and ready to load the passengers and head back to DC. There are about 30 Olympians onboard, heading to Dulles Airport to make connections home. Half of them have medals, all of them were happy to be there for the experience and even happier to be going home. The athletes aren’t hard to spot; several of them were very recognizable since I’d been watching them on TV for the past three weeks. Men’s and women’s Diving, Men’s Water Polo, woman’s track and field (the shot put girls were bigger than me), Men’s and Woman’s Rowing, and a swimmer (Michael Phelps was booked on our flight but the Olympic committee hauled him off to London to promote the 2012 games). All of them were happy to talk to us about the games.

Any athlete that wins a medal is happy to show it off and be congratulated on it. The flight attendants in the aft galley, myself included, were happy to be shown off to and do the congratulating. It’s strange how patriotic and proud a chunk of gold can make you. I don’t usually consider myself to be emotional about things like that, but all of a sudden, with the men’s diving bronze and woman’s rowing gold medals around my neck, I was. They didn’t let me keep them but they did give me a Team USA rowing Pin. It’s on my work vest. I think I’ll leave it there for a while.

Flying: Beijing

2008-08-23T09:16:00.002-04:00

Not a real post, more of an update. I'm on my way to Beijing, China, current host of the Olympic Games. We have almost the minimum legality layover, (layover time has to be 2x flight time so in this case 27 and a half hours. Ours is barely 28) so I should have just enough time to step on the great wall, snap a few pictures, catch the fireworks of the closing ceremonies and then get enough sleep to work the flight home. Check back. I'm taking a camera and I may even have a comment or two about my first visit to a communist country.

Writing: Chasing Success

2008-08-22T12:46:00.003-04:00

It's no secret that the Airline industry is in turmoil right now. Completely unpredictable fuel prices, upset customers, employees, executives, and an outdated business plan have left customers and industry workers alike wondering what the industry is going to look like next year, next month, and even tomorrow. Even so, most flight attendants, myself included, have no desire to get out. It's simply too good of a lifestyle to readily jump out of.

That doesn't mean we aren't strapping on our parachutes just in case. Being a flight attendant has its stresses but it also has its rewards, most notably, the rewards of time and travel. As a writer (at least a struggling wannabe writer) I've taken the most advantage of the time off to spend time with what I really love: Creativity.

For me, it's more important to work with something I love than to make a lot of money. This is a complete reversal in thinking from my teenage self to now but thats what growing up is all about, right?

Success is reaching you're goal. There's no use in making a load of money if the only thing you do with it is work and make more money. The money has to have a purpose. What does it do for you? Does it allow you to see the world? Does it open doors to change things you don't like about the world or your community? Does it allow you to own a house on the French Riviera and allow you the time to while away your time there... wait a minute, I do what money like that. But I want money so I don't have to worry about money. Income from a job is good, but the job can drag you down. Employers expect employees to be in an office (or at a construction site, or somewhere making money for them) for eight hours a day, at least five days a week. For the employee the goal is to build up enough wealth to do the things you want in your spare time or when you retire. Not enough people do what they want to be doing all the time and make money at it.

Two sidetracks that I should probably point out. I'm not saying that people shouldn't have office jobs. For a few lucky people, a job can be the outlet for accumulated skills that let you go home every night and not dread going to work the next day. I'm just not one of them. When I am in an office (or airplane) I can't wait to get out of and spend time hunched up in front of my computer tacking on the next thought or scene into whatever it is I'm writing.

The second note: I realize that this is a very contemporary middle class American attitude towards money. When we're sure that there will always be money, even if we don't enjoy the time spent earning it, there is much less wondering where the next meal will come from and much more time spent in self wallowing pity, thinking we could be doing something more 'fun.'

Back to the post.

"Ladies and Gentleman, your attention please. We're very sorry but due to bad weather in the Chicago Area, you're flight is delayed for rerouting."

I've decided to take a different route. It doesn't involve giving up flying at all, in fact, the flight benefits I get could help me to actually realize this goal more easily.

I'm starting my own website devoted entirely to Creative Writing. Specifically, the goal of the website is to be a resource for creative writers, or people interested in the art of creative where they can find articles on writing Fiction or Non-Fiction, discuss current topics with other writers, and read interviews with established authors about writing.

It's a good way to fuel my obsession. I love to write for two reasons (or two prominent reasons, there are a lot more). The first is because I love stories. I love to hear them, read them, or tell them and I've been doing it in a variety of ways since I was a kid. The second reason I love to write is because it helps me to organize my thoughts. I'm very right-brained (thats the creative side) so when I have what I think is a good idea I have to get it down fast before it's over run with something else that I think is a good idea. If I don't stop to write I get frustrated and feel like my head is flooded. If I don't write, the ideas start to pool and rot and I start drowning in my own mind (metaphorically speaking).

By starting this website I have an excuse to do more research (which is something us writerly types love to do), refine my writing, and hopefully get to sit down and have extended conversations with people who's writing and advice I love and respect. They win by having some publicity (no matter how large or small) and hopefully by selling more of their books, the visitors to the website win by having these interviews, articles and essays and hopefully sound advice available at the click of a mouse, and I win because I get to put it all together.

The two questions I asked myself before I started the whole process of brainstorming and gathering information (which is what I've been doing for pretty much the last 72 hour straight with only brief interruptions for sleeping and food) are as follows.

Am I credible enough to write essays on writing and have them taken seriously?

Would cashing in on this website via Google Adsense and affiliate marketing ruin the good intentions I have and destroy my writing?

The first question I spent the most time thinking about. I do have a fairly respectable degree from Pitt in Creative writing. However, it's undergrad and lots of other people can claim an undergrad degree in writing and I don't consider them experts. I've spent the majority of my fee time for the past five years dwelling on, researching, and writing fiction. Even when I'm not sitting in front of a computer, when I'm just staring out the window I'm thinking about writing. What will make it better? What am I doing wrong? What are other people doing right? Why are oranges called oranges but pears aren't called greens?

I'm not an expert yet but I believe that if anyone spends enough time focusing on one topic, eventually they'll become an expert. The website, if I follow through and make it everything I dream it can be, will make me a credible expert. Problem solved. All I have left is the hours and hours of work to get there.

The second problem is the corrupting influence of money. My socialist instincts (courtesy of the University System) tell me that making money this way is wrong. My capitalist instincts (courtesy of reality and my current economic woes) tell me to CASH IN, BABY. The conclusion I've reached is that making money isn't going to ruin the intentions of what I'm doing as long as I offer something of value. My guess is that I won't make money unless the site actually deserves to make money. Therefore if I do make money I'm making it because I deserve to, and if I don't, it's because I haven't put enough valuable content into the site.

That's the version I'm sticking with.

So thats the new plan, supplemental to flying, I know have tons of work to do on a website. I'll post more details, including links and such when it's up and running which may take up to a month. I'm not going to post it until I have some substantial content to go along with it. Meanwhile, I'm learning the ways of the web, including site design, high value key words, Adsense and spider programs. Wish me luck faithful readers.... I'm gonna need it.

Flying: Brussels or Flowers and The Mystery of Shoes

2008-08-18T21:52:00.016-04:00

"Before you criticize someone you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way when you criticize them you're a mile away and you have their shoes."

It seems like whenever I'm in Europe, I come at exactly the right time for this festival or that festival and if I would have come a day earlier or a day later I would have missed it and aren't I the lucky one? For example, I was in Munich for Oktoberfest, Frankfurt for the largest Eurpean Christmas Market, Paris for Bastille Day, and yesterday I was in Brussels for the flowercarpet, which takes place one weekend every other summer. Yes, I am the lucky one but not as lucky as you think, at least not to be catching these festivities. I'm lucky to be going to Europe so often, but Europe is full of these festivals. They happen often enough that if I had been there on a different weekend I would have simply had the privilege of attending a different festival.

The flower carpet is an enormous design in the main Platz of Brussels that is made entirely of different flowers.

(For a better idea of the actual pattern see the website http://www.flowercarpet.be)

The crew and I met up at 4 o'clock after a nice nap to go down to the platz and see the design and then go out for drinks and dinner. You can see the picture but it doesn't quite do the thing justice... not quite, but almost. One of my coworkers, Teri, summed up all of our feelings when she said, "Ooh, ahh...alright, there it is. Lets go get a beer."

That's exactly what we did. We met up with the pilots at a little bar, aptly named for the statue it faces, "Manakin Pis." The Manakin Pis fountain is well known to anyone who's been through Brussels. It's a raunchy little statue of a child urinating into a pool. Really, it's world famous.

You can judge for yourself if it deserves it's fame. The legend behind the statue claims that some royal figure or rich merchant visiting the city long ago lost his toddler son. He organized a search of the city and the child was found urinating in a corner of the city, just two blocks from the platz. The royal man or merchant was so grateful to the people of Brussels for returning his son to them, he constructed this fountain, so his son will always be pissing on the city. He's been doing it for at least 300 years. Brilliant.

We had our drinks, then made our way back towards the hotel to a great Indian restaurant where we ate spicy food until we cried and then went to bed. It was a fun crew. A great layover.

The real action of the trip, however, all occurred on the plane ride home. It started during boarding. I was working in the back galley, setting up, counting the food, getting the drink carts set up, all the things that we need to have done before the plane door closes and we start getting paid. I discovered to my dismay, that the caterers hadn't boarded any trash bags, which makes cleaning up difficult to say the least. I walked up to the door where the agents were to ask for more. That's actually a inaccurate statement. I fought my way against the torrential river of passengers in a heroic quest to reach the door. Half way through the Economy section (197 passengers) I stumbled across a pair of shoes in the middle of the aisle. Really, I stumbled on them. Flat black, mens shoes. I held them up, perhaps a little irritated, and inquired as to whom they belonged. The gentleman sitting next to them said he had found them under his seat and didn't know who's they were. I held them up and asked louder, "Do these belong to anyone here?" I sized them up next to my feet for everyone to see and said, "they might fit me so you better claim them now. Comfy shoes! Going once, going twice?" I got no response. As far as I could tell everyone had seen me do it. Phantom shoes. It's really not that unusual to forget things on the airplane, but shoes? Really? What did the guy wear off the plane?

I handed them to the agent and told him where I found them.

"Zomevon must have leafed zem behind," he said. "I vill take zem." I handed him the shoes and made my request for trash bags (I never did get those trash bags).

The service went reasonably well, or as well as it can go when 197 people ask you to repeat yourself.

"Would you like to have the chicken or pasta for dinner today, sir?"

"Sorry," they'll say, pulling their headphones off or looking up from their book. "What are the options?"

"Chicken or pasta."

"Oh, chicken please."

Then we turn to the person next to them, "And for you, sir?"

"Sorry, what are the options?"

"Chicken or Pasta."

"Oh, Pasta please."

To the person next to them, "and for you, sir?"

Pulling off their headphones, "What?"

"Chicken or pasta."

"Chicken," they'll say. "Geeze, didn't stewards used to be friendly."

Picking up the trash was fun without bags, but we were lucky enough to have a few hundred empty soda bins to store garbage in (are those bins washed before new sodas are put in them? you may ask. I don't know but I don't recommend drinking from the can).

Then the breaks started. We're contractually guaranteed breaks on flights longer than 8 hours. We have our own little curtained off area with those comfy economy seats to try and sleep in. I was on second break.

There are six bathrooms in the economy cabin of the Boeing 777. Four in the center of the airplane, and two in the rear. The two bathrooms in the very back of the airplane are right next to the door and facing the back jump-seats on either side. I typically like sitting in the back. It's out of the way and unlike the jump-seats at door 3, they aren't directly facing the passengers which encourages inane conversation during take off and landing. However, the problem with facing the bathrooms is usually realized when bad airplane food is mixed with the human digestive system. One could say that it doesn't smell as nice as the flower carpet in Brussels.

I have a new reason to dislike the jump-seats in the back and it comes as a result of mixing airplane food and children with sensitive stomachs. I'm hanging out in the back of the plane by myself, chatting it up with the occasionally passenger who has wandered to the back for a drink or because they can't sleep. I saw a mother and child waddling down the aisle towards the back. The mother has her hand cupped over the little girls mouth. What is she doing? I wondered. They turned to corner towards the currently occupied bathroom. I was about to recommend that they use the opposite toilet which was open when the girl leaned forward slightly and vomit shot in three lines out of the little girls mouth and between the mothers cupped hand. If I were Belgian, I may have been inspired to create a new fountain. However, at the moment, I was really just inspired to rush them into the open bathroom on the opposite side of the plane.

"Over here, quickly," I urged them, pointing at the other side. The mother quickly dragged her daughter across the galley in the direction of the other restroom. However once there, for some reason she thought that the aircraft must have been constructed differently on that side and she couldn't seem to locate the restroom door. She was instead spinning around in circles looking for it when the child vomited again. I had barely moved my foot in time as vomit splashed to the ground where it had been a moment before. Not quite as impressive as James Bond dodging bullets, but I was happy it missed me. I opened the door and the girl made it in just in time to dump the rest of her stomach's contents on the closed toilet seat.

Cleaning up vomit is not my favorite pass time on a plane. I almost lost my own lunch a couple of times in the process but eventually, using the two bio-sanitation kits, the other flight attendant and I got the mess on either side at least mostly scooped up. Then I dumped a pack of coffee grounds on either side to help the smell, which was still not quite bearable, and threw a blanket over it so it didn't look so much like a white, brown and corn chunky mess.

I was never happier to go on break.

It was a relatively peaceful flight again, until the middle of the arrival service when a gentleman approached the cart and said, "excuse me, I can't seem to find my shoes."

"Your shoes, sir?" I asked while Teri, who was facing away from him scrunched her face to prevent herself from laughing out loud.

"Yes," he said. I don't know where they are."

"How long have they been missing?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said. I took them off when I got on the plane and I haven't seen them since."

"You waited 7 and a half hours to look for them, sir?" I asked.

"Well I didn't need them during the flight, did I?" he said. With the amount of vomit on the floor I disagreed with him but I didn't mention that.

"They were under someone else's seat during boarding. When no one claimed them I gave them to the Customer Service Agent."

"Well where are they?" he asked.

"In Brussels," I said, also trying not to laugh. "Do you have another pair?"

"Yes," he said. "In my checked bags."

"Well I'm sure we can get customer service to mail them to you from Belgium," I said. At least he won't have to take them off for security, I thought. I wanted to tell him that, but for some reason I didn't think he'd appreciate the humor.

Flying: Planes, Trains & Automobiles

2008-08-11T14:35:00.007-04:00

Neil: What's the flight situation?

Del: Simple. There's no way on earth we're going to get out of here tonight. We'd have more luck playing pickup sticks with our butt cheeks than we will getting a flight out of here before daybreak.

~Steve Martin and John Candy in "Planes, Trains & Automobiles" (1987).

My Sunday was planned out and I wasn’t going to let a nasty blister on my left foot stop me from spending the day with friends in NYC. I listed myself on two flights for the day. One from Dulles to LaGuardia at 8:20 am and another from LaGuardia back to Dulles at 8:50 that night. It was perfect on paper. My friends even volunteered to pick me up at the airport, which I hadn’t counted on.

The day started out beautifully. I checked in early for the flight that morning which I didn’t need to do because I was the only one going through the security line and I only had a day bag to carry with nothing but a book, a camera and a notepad. The Customer Service agent gave me the first exit row to myself on the 757, which has excessive legroom even if you’re 9 feet tall.

The first exit row is facing the jumpseat at the boarding door of the aircraft so I had time to talk to one of the flight attendants while he was seated.

“How are you liking it so far?” he asked when he found out I worked for the company. It’s a pretty common question. It’s a job that you love or hate. Sometimes both at the same time.

“It’s great,” I told him. “Like today, for example, I’m flying up to the city for the day and flying back at night. What other kind of job lets you do that? I’m loving the freedom of it.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. “As long as you’re making it on the flights you want it’s great.”

After a few moments of confusion caused by the discrepancy of the arrows pointing to the C gates, my friends, (Whose names are Brett and Jacklyn, and as far as I know they're the only two who subscribe to these posts) picked me up and we drove to the Upper West end where they have their shoe-box apartment. Of course, in Manhattan size isn't the best indication of value as much as location. What the apartment lacks in size it more than makes up for in location.

It was a beautiful morning so we decided to walk to the Museum. It's only a few blocks from their apartment to the American Museum of Natural History (which feels a lot longer with a throbbing blister) and we broke it up a bit by stopping for a light brunch at a very European looking cafe. We were served our fruit and pastries by a tall black waiter with an accent that I couldn't quite place and then headed back out into the streets.

On a side note, I understand why the I love New York tee-shirts are so popular even if they are horrendously tacky. New York is a universal city. It's easy to be comfortable no matter what your tastes. There's a bit of everything you like and then more things to like on top of all that which you have yet to discover. Every time I visit the city it's a new place. Something new to see, to hear, or smell that I didn't know about before. It can always be the city you want it to be.

We walked around the Museum, starting at the wrong entrance and finally figuring out how to use the map around the time we were ready to leave. We had a good time, saw some interesting and enlightening displays and then a lot, like several hundred too many, stuffed animals.

When we left the museum, we went to dinner at a nice asian restaurant, picked up some Starbucks and went back to their apartment to watch a few Olympic events.

Basically, it was a lovely day out. Really nice, good company, good conversation, and good food. The blister on my foot didn't ruin the day. I was worried it might.

Jacklyn's laptop was sitting on the coffee table in front of me. I picked it up to check my flight status for that nights flight home. When I checked in for the flight that morning, there were still 46 seats open. 46 seats open is like a dream for a Non-Revenue Space Available (NRSA) Passenger like myself. It means that unless the flight cancels I'm going to get on it. Naturally, the flight was canceled. There was a four hour back up of planes going into Dulles because of the weather and my flight out was just too empty to justify the flight.

Well good thing I checked, I thought, I still have enough time to make it to the airport for the earlier flight. Getting on the plane is contingent upon the plane having seats open. On the employee website, when we list for flights, the number of seats on in each cabin are shown, with the number booked next to that, and the number of NRSA's next to that. There is also a color coding system to indicate the chances of getting on each flight. Green means there's a good chance, yellow means its risky, and red means it just ain't gonna happen, give up, try another flight, why are you even thinking about this, you're kinda stupid aren't you.

The two flights that I could still make were both on red. I think the first was a "give up," red and the second was a, "you're kind of stupid, aren't you" red.

Ok, I thought, I'll look to another airline. We have fairly extensive jumpseat benefits on other carriers so I looked at their schedules.

There is a concept called code sharing, in the industry, which means that the same flight can be listed by partner airlines under a different name and number. Two of the flights that I thought I could make turned out to be on the same plane that was cancelled. And the rest were equally as sold out and overbooked as my airlines.

"You can crash here if you want," Brett told me. "But I know you said you have to pick up Kathleen tomorrow."

"Yeah, I just don't know how I'm going to get home."

"You could take Amtrak," he said.

My only other experience with Amtrak was a train from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia four years ago that was three hours late in Pittsburgh and then stopped for an hour on the track because some freight car broke in front of us. That wasn't the most enticing offer.

But then again, I had made a promise to pick up Kathleen at the airport and I had assured her that I would definitely be able to make it home in time to do it.

"Don't be silly," I told her. "I always make my flights. Besides, even if I miss it, I can take another airline home."

"Alright," I told Brett, "How do I catch the train."

I bought my ticket online ($172 for a business class seat on the express train from Penn Station NY to Union Station DC) and we ran out the door at about 5, to catch the 6 o'clock train. After a bit of debate between Brett and Jacklyn about the benefits of the metro vs. Driving and vice versa, we jumped in the car and set off.

"I don't know if the express runs on a Sunday so this is faster," Brett said. "I mean, as long as there's nothing going on at the Garden."

Have you ever heard of the Jonas Brothers? I hadn't. Apparently they're a Disney thing and that makes them huge. They were what was going on at the Garden. When there's an event at the Garden it takes about 20 minutes to drive four blocks.

Alright, I had plenty of time. It was a little bit of stress but I got to Penn Station in time (after wandering through the Long Island train station for five minutes even though I know DC is definitely not on Long Island). After asking a cop, who didn't even look at me as I was asking, I found the Amtrak station and the train that would take me to DC.

After I boarded the train and took my seat that really wasn't comfortable enough to have cost me $172, I ended up helping the lady sitting across from me put her luggage in the overhead bin.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to make you do that."

"It's alright," I told her with a dismissive wave. "I'm a flight attendant. I do it all the time."

At this point I learned just how many people like to eavesdrop on conversations. Four other passengers in my cabin, in the seats directly adjacent to mine were also on the train because of cancelled flights. Not just on my flight, but on most of the other major and discount carriers.

This lead to a chorus of questions about where there checked bags will end up (I don't know) why was their flight cancelled (I don't know) and how do they go about getting their money back (Good luck with that, I don't know).

I usually like having conversations with strangers, it makes the time go faster. It's not fun, however, when all the strangers have subconsciously blamed you for their inconveniences. I wish I would have taken my iPod. IPods are a really good signal that you would like to be left alone.

2 hours and 46 minutes later we pulled into Union Station DC. I walked down to the metro, bought myself a ticket for 10 bucks, and waited 18 minutes for the redline to go three stops to Metro Center, and waited 14 minutes to connect to the Orange line (I found out as the blue line was pulling out that I could also have used that) three stops to Rosslyn where I caught the Washington Flyer bus to Dulles. I climbed out of the employee bus and into my car (I was really excited that morning about the awesome parking spot I had found) with great relief at exactly 11 pm.

The moral of this story: Don't promise your girlfriend you'll pick her up. Just offer to pay for her parking.

Writing: A New Toy

2008-08-05T19:18:00.002-04:00

I'm trying something different with my novel and I'm not sure if it's going to work or not. I bought "novel writing software" put out by Mariner, a software development company that writes programs for Mac. It's called StoryMill. I was skeptical when I heard about it a few days ago and I guess I'm still skeptical to see how well it works.

The idea behind StoryMill is that novels are too complex to be easily constructed on the basic word processor (although obviously they can, have, and will continue to be built that way by many people, perhaps including me). The StoryMill program is designed to give access to all of the individual pieces that make up a novel so it can be more easily organized and constructed. It helps keep track of characters, locations, and timelines. It breaks the story into manageable chapters and chapters into scenes.

It has an option to put a start date and time on the scene and tag which characters are in that scene and where it takes place. If you want you can then view the story in a timeline, and break that timeline into the different storylines.

One of the shortcomings of the program is that it doesn't have an easy way to import an existing novel into it, so I spent a few hours copy and pasting my already done work and then tearing that apart into all the scenes and adding times and tagging all the characters into their scenes.

One of the features of this program that I really like is the full screen mode. It opens the chapter you're working on into a full screen of white letters on a blue background, eliminating all the shiny and distracting icons on the desktop and especially nice for me, eliminating that safari icon on the tool bar that seems to call my name all day.

So now that I've got the whole thing in there, I'm going to try to write. Check in again and see how well it goes.

Flying: The World Getting Bigger

2008-07-30T12:23:00.003-04:00

As Flight attendants we spend the majority of our workday on airplanes. We feel like bartenders sometimes, listening to peoples problems while we serve them cocktails in the back galley. With all the cutbacks in flights and service, and the new price hikes on food and drinks, their problems inevitably seem to deal with the declining level of service in American's Airline Industry.

The flights are getting expensive, there are less of them, and you get less while you're on the plane. Yes, it's all true.

To a certain extent it's fair to blame it on the Companies. Most of the major carriers in the United States were short sighted when it came to fuel costs. They didn't see the days of $140 barrels of oil coming, but can you honestly say you did? Only Southwest had the guts to hedge an enormous amount of their fuel back at $60 a barrel (oh for the wisdom of hindsight).

The days of cheap tickets are gone. The airlines have had to raise ticket prices and fill all their flights to capacity just to stay in business and the consumers are livid about it. Why hasn't anyone invented an hybrid plane yet?

It's just not fair that passengers only get what they pay for. Remember when you could by a middle seat and be pretty confident that at least one of the seats next to you would be empty? Twice the space for half the price of a first class ticket. It can't happen anymore. These are publicly traded companies and even with full planes they're losing money.

Frequent fliers are complaining that they're getting nickel and dimed to death every trip. They paid a bundle of money for the ticket and then they have to pay to take their bags along? Don't make the mistake of thinking that airlines are adding fees for the extras to pad their wallets, they're doing it to keep the price of the tickets down. The logic is that if they keep the seats as cheap as possible, and tack on fees for the food and luggage, they'll get more people on the plane and it's working. Should they simply raise the price of the ticket to cover the fuel and food and provide top quality service? That's what people want isn't it? No, it isn't. Most people are booking their flights online through sites like Orbitz and Travelocity. These websites list ticket prices side by side and the consumer, nine times out of ten, will select the flight with the cheapest price. The websites don't compare the levels of service, or the additional fees, they just list the cheapest possible ways to get your butt in the seat. Consumers have to pay for the extra's but apparently they don't want to know what they're paying for.

It's perfectly natural for people to complain when a situation, such as airline travel, changes for the worse. But the hostility is misplaced. Grumble about the excessive oil speculation that is driving fuel prices up. Grumble about the people who were so concerned with esthetics that they wouldn't allow oil rigs or windmills to be built off the coasts of their million dollar beach homes. Please, don't grumble about airline prices reflecting their expenses.

My concern isn't because I'm tired of hearing passengers complain, it's because they're starting to complain to the government. Fliers are quickly ensuring their own misery. Our government has been greedily eyeing the airlines for a decade and nationalization of the industry is just a few senate bills away.

If you're unsatisfied with the level of service now, wait until the airline no longer has to be profitable. Don't like CEO's? Replace them with bureaucrats and see if you get any service at all. If you think the boarding lines are long now while the private companies are in charge, wait to see what happens when the people that run the DMV are in control.

The industry is scrambling to balance the demands of the passengers with the skyrocketing costs of maintaining their business. Once prices have leveled (we can only pray that eventually they will) flights will be as predictable as they ever were, which still means that flights will cancel and delay, but in smaller numbers. Please give them a chance before we hand the industry over to the government where it will become predictably horrible.

Flying: Exploring a New City

2008-07-28T12:31:00.003-04:00

"There are only two things I hate in this world. People who are intolerant of other peoples cultures... and the Dutch."

~Michael Caine as Nigel Powers in Goldmember

Yesterday I returned from my first trip to Amsterdam. After only 26 hours in town, I can say it's already one of my top four favorite European cities (in the company of Berlin, Prague, and Munich, not necessarily in that order). There are several methods of exploring a city and a culture and depending on my mood or my traveling partners, I've tried most of them.

Of course, the best way to discover a city and to really come to an understanding of the people and culture is to live there for a some extended period of time. I haven't had the luxury, and anyway, I'm still trying to discover the pluralistic culture of the United States and I've been here for exactly 23 years tomorrow.

My explorations are simply the wandering inquisitions of a traveler. I hesitate to say tourist (though that's clearly what I am) because I have a strong distaste for being seen as a tourist. I don't like to see the overweight Americans in their hawaiian shirts and flip flops walking around with goofy hats and large cameras. It's embarrassing to be seen as an American, and not because of our current political mishaps. It's embarrassing because I've seen so many obnoxious tourists who show up to take pictures and then want everything else to be like home. They want foreign pictures and their own culture. They will assume that everyone speaks english and get irritated if someone doesn't understand them. The typical American tourist wants to see the sights but is unwilling to learn about or explore the culture that produced them. They radiate ignorance. I suppose that I'm being judgmental but its human nature to generalize. I don't know if my generalizations are more or less fair than those cultures whom we impose ourselves on, but either way, I'd like to be exempted from them (this is probably also human nature).

To avoid the discomfort and so I can comfortably sit back and judge other people (I don't mean that to sound arrogant, I'm just pointing out that I can see the hypocritical edge of what I'm saying), I usually go out alone the first time I'm in a city. Our flight into Amsterdam was delayed by a few hours by a small mechanical problem with the auto-throttle. We made up some time in the air but still arrived about three and a half hours late. I took a two hour nap to save up some energy for a day of meandering and headed out into the city.

I made an assumption about the city which I quickly discovered to be wrong. Europeans, in my experience, dress significantly better than Americans. If you're wandering around Paris in the summer for example, and you see someone dressed in shorts and sneakers, or sandals, the smart money would say that they're an American tourist (although Australians and Americans dress about the same).

When I got dressed to walk around town, with my previously stated attitude about being seen as a tourist, I tried my best to dress like a European. Black Lacoste Shoes, fitted jeans, and a polo shirt. I picked up a map at the Hotel's front desk and set off towards one of the Shopping districts. One of the more charming aspects of Amsterdam is it's abundance of pedestrian only side streets filled with small restaurants and shops. At first I was surprised (and not the nice kind of "oh, you remembered that my birthday is tomorrow" surprised) to see that the shops and cafe's were full of people wearing t-shirts, shorts, and flip-flops. It looked like the city was 70% tourist. Then I noticed the languages. There was a contrast in what I thought I should be hearing and what I was. I heard an occasional American accent above the flip-flops but mostly, those shoes were carrying Dutch speakers.

The expensive shoes with nice shirts were carrying different languages, English english, German, and French, the real tourists of the city. My outfit was a disaster. I was more likely to be mistaken for French than American. I should have worm my shorts after all.

Holland's relaxed culture, in comparison to the rest of Europe that I've visited, blew me away. How was I supposed to prepare for that? It was a good start to the day. A reminder that I should be less assuming about the places I visit, which is an American practice that I rail against. The Dutch proved themselves to be the least judgmental and most kind people that I've encountered as a whole. The fact that they're all enormously tall and beautiful (almost as beautiful as my girlfriend) didn't hurt either. Amsterdam was a city far out of my previous experience, from the hookers (I just looked) to the marijuana (I didn't inhale).

After a few hours of wandering along the tree lined canals, and sitting in a square for a while I returned to the hotel, changed into shorts and flip-flops and met up with the rest of the crew for some drinks and Dinner.

Writing: The Days I Dream About

2008-07-25T10:38:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was one of those encouraging days as a writer that happen only occasionally. I couldn't stop writing. Usually, I can't stop thinking or I can't stop daydreaming or I can't stop wasting time doing the assortment of other things I do. But yesterday, I sat down at my computer at 9 in the morning, opened up the word file that contains my novel draft and just started typing. It was flowing and the best feeling of all was that it didn't feel like it was flowing out of me. It felt like the story caught a hold of my idea and started running away with it and it didn't stop until someone was dead.

The problem I have now is the days that aren't like yesterday, which is most of them. If the story felt so very natural then, what about the days when it doesn't feel that natural? Are those pages I'm going to have to go back and edit or were they completely wasted days of writing. The second draft, which is the one I'm working on now after my disaster of a first draft was filed away, is up to 94 pages now. Most days I get about 3 pages of decent prose written but I can remember three days, including yesterday, when it flowed so naturally that I got about 15 pages of decent writing done.

I can't claim to be an experienced novelist but that doesn't stop me from forming theories about writing novels which I can espouse here. As I've said before, writing is work. The stories which seem so important and exciting when they're floating around our heads require hard work and discipline to make exciting and important on paper. But I've found that reading a novel is a lot like writing one. It has to grab your attention and flow quickly in the beginning or it's not worth continuing. Then there are parts that are work. The characters have to be developed and nuanced. It takes effort and can be slow in both the reading and writing. Then comes the payoff. The sections or chapters of the book, interlaced between the work, that are fun and quick, both in the reading and writing. It's why writers write and readers read.

So thats the encouragement for both you and me, mysterious readers. I've put in weeks of work and yesterday was payday. It feels good to know that the work I've put in has a payoff and it makes it easier to go into the next section or weeks of work with the memory of success still in mind.

For now, with the encouragement fresh in mind, it's back to the fiction factory and on to the next blank page with the words that have yet to be written.

Flying: On the Verge of Unemployment

2008-07-23T11:05:00.004-04:00

It's been about 24 hours since the airlines posted their second quarter earnings report and as expected, they all lost billions. My airline lost just under 3 billion dollars and concurently anounced that they'll be cutting thousands of jobs. Over a thousand salaried positions and 5,500 front line employees by the end of 2009, which means Pilots, Customer Service, Mechanics, and of course Flight Attendants. They've already announced the furlough of 950 Pilots, which is part of that 5,500 so that leaves 4,550 jobs to be cut from the other three categories.

Lets do the math The company employs about 16000 Flight Attendants (of which I'm about 400 from the bottom), 6600 Pilots, 7000 Customer Service Representatives (CSRs), and 5500 Mechanics. To achieve the goal of cutting 4550 jobs they need to cut about 16% of each of the remaining three. That means 1,120 CSRs, 880 Mechanics, and 2,550 job cuts from the ranks of the FA's.

Flight attendants tend to have a higher rate of attrition than most other groups of employees, probably because along with the CSRs we tend to be treated the worst, so we can assume that in 16 months leading up to the end of the 2009, anywhere from 1,100 to 1,700 flight attendants will quit, retire, or be let go due to breeches of company or FAA policy. That means that the company will have to let go of between 860 and 1,460 flight attendants.

But ah, the beauty of a Unionized Job, and believe me, I don't say that often. According to our contract, as with most flight attendant contracts, the company can't just say, "Well nice having worked with you, you're fired." We have furloughs. The company can place us on involuntary furlough status starting from the bottom of the seniority list, about 400 people below me and working their way up. An involuntary furlough means that we aren't working, we aren't getting paid, and we don't have any benefits, but the company has to hire us back before the can hire any new people, obviously hiring back in seniority order from the most senior to the least. However, there is also such a thing as a voluntary furlough. Voluntary furloughs are awarded to FAs who request them, from the most senior to the least. If you take voluntary furlough you continue to accrue seniority (which is good because our pay scale gets higher the longer you work for the company) and keep your medical benefits and free flying benefits. Because I make about $20/hr less than some of the more senior FAs, the company usually likes to offer voluntary furloughs before involuntary.

My job comes down to how many voluntary furloughs they offer and how many people take them. I really don't want to leave the airlines. Not yet. I may occasionally complain about passengers, or management, but after all of that, after I'm off the plane and wandering around the different cities of the United States, Europe, Asia, South America, or occasionally the Middle East, how can I really dislike my job? I find myself looking up at the Eiffel Tower, or raising a glass at the oldest Beer hall in the world, or pouring a glass of Argentina's best wine a mile from where the grapes were grown and fermented and it's hard to believe that they pay me to be there. Well, they used to pay me to be there. The best I can do is wait and see how much longer it can last.

Writing: Beating Writer's Block

2008-07-22T16:41:00.006-04:00

I'm back at home today, not scheduled to fly any trips and so, as usual, I intended to work on my story. I got about a page written then stopped. I'm sure it's top quality stuff, I don't know, I haven't read it, but it isn't enough. I'm having writer's block but I don't believe in writer's block, especially not in the middle of a story. This might not be true for all writers. For some of the great geniuses of writing, creativity may come and go with their personal muses. But for most writers, and by most I mean some fraction upwards of 99/100, creativity comes from hard work.

The notion of writers block implies that there is that universal creative muse or muses that comes and goes, jumping from writer to writer, who ever the gods are smiling on that day. Ok, so maybe it doesn't imply anything about a mythical creature, but it does imply that a person can be creative and innovative one day, and then a bad, inspiration-free writer the next day. My senior year in college, Michael Chabon came in as a favor to our professor Chuck Kinder, who was also his former Senior Seminar teacher and did a Q&A for some of the seniors and the MFA students before a reading he was doing that night. He had a slew of good anecdotes and stories from when he was starting as a writer. One thing that I remember him saying he learned from a roommate while working on his MFA at the University of California at Irvine, "In order to be a good writer you have to sit on your ass."

Creativity and good writing doesn't come from inspiration, it comes from making mistakes and then fixing them. That means that my writer's block isn't a lack of inspiration, it comes from a lack of discipline. I'm lazy and I can't let there be too many days where I just don't feel like putting the work in. I suppose it happens to most writers.

Somedays, like today, it's hard for me to see the big picture. A writer, at least a beginning writer in my position is an artist because he puts seemingly endless effort and energy into something that he hopes someday, someone will value. There is no promise of a pay out. There is only the hope of a paycheck someday, even a strong belief that the work will stand on it's own. But it's easy to lose sight of that goal, or dream, or belief in the work when there is no paycheck or praise but there is a TV with 500 high definition channels and a book that I'm half way through or a nice cozy bed where I never seem to spend enough time. I hope I don't end up like John Kennedy Toole, who's "Confederacy of Dunce's" was published and won the pulitzer after he killed himself in despair. Alright, so I'm not even close to despair. Just frustrated.

This post isn't really intended for you, oh mysterious reader, this is for me. This is a warm up and a reminder that what I'm doing has value somewhere, sometime, and it's worth my time even if I can't see why.

Thanks for reading. I wish I had more to tell you, but I have a novel to write.

Writing: Working around Genre

2008-07-19T08:11:00.005-04:00

There is something that has been bothering me about my writing. It's not a new question or one that is in any way unique to me but here it is. Is what I'm writing Literary Fiction or is it Genre Fiction? You can't answer that because you, unless you are one of my very few and confidential readers, don't know the story. But even as a stranger to me, I'd like you to think about what makes something literary and what casts a novel into one of the genres (I'd like you to think about it because then I won't be alone in my thoughts here).

My guess is that because I have a degree in fiction writing, and in a sense I aspire to write true Literary fiction, I worry unduly about being cast as a Genre Fiction writer. I shouldn't think about it. My only thought should be about writing something that is good enough to be published and sold but I can' help myself. It's my professor's fault, I think. They push so hard for their students to write Literary Fiction, by which they mean fiction with lasting value, that create a sort of paranoia about publishing something that is not worthy of the prestigious teaching by which we were instructed. But what is it that I feel I'm supposed to be writing?

It's easy to prove that the genres overlap each other. Go into half of the bookstores in America (and I suspect around the world though I can't always read the language) and you'll see a section of books under the category "Science Fiction and Fantasy" (since both are technically categories of Fiction it would more accurately be called Fiction: Science and Fantasy). I'll grant that sometimes the distinction is obvious. For example a book about Robot's becoming more powerful than Humans is obviously in the science fiction category while a book about a teenager who finds out on his eleventh Birthday that he's a Wizard is clearly more in the fantasy section.

Where the lines becomes blurred is when it comes to little green men. There are little green men in both the fictional world of fantasy and the fictional world of science. In fantasy they're called goblins and in Science Fiction they're called martians, or Venutians or Plutonians or something along that line of thinking. They both exist in a fictional world that the human race has yet to discover. They can both be living among us without our knowledge and they can both be good or evil, depending on the authors needs. In fact the only difference I see between them is whether they are killed by swords or by plasma ray guns (and even those can switch back and forth between genres).

Genre's are really commercial tools used to rope people into buying more books by this or that publishing house. I don't really like them but I understand their use and even necessity. But since it's used as a marketing tool, then do we have to consider Literary Fiction a genre as well? I think so. But the problem is, there is no definite distinction between what falls into literary fiction and what falls into one of the other genres. Generally, I suppose, Literary Fiction is fiction that deals with characterization more than plot. Fiction intended to give us a deeper understanding of the human condition.

My general question is this: does "The Lord of the Rings," which vividly depicts Bilbo Baggins age old struggle with power and metaphoric sin, do less to describe the Human Condition than "To Kill A Mocking Bird," which depicts a society struggling with it's age old condition of the Power of the Majority? I don't think so, but "To Kill A Mocking Bird," won the Pulitzer.

That is the crux of what defines a literary book as opposed to a genre book in the long run. First, it's Post-Modern. Second, it made the short list for some Literary Award. I think that as a writer I can't write to win awards, I can only write the story I have to tell without worrying too much about genre. My only hope, and it is perhaps a vain and unimportant hope, is that if the writing is good that it can make your short list, oh mysterious reader. You are the true audience. You and I are the only ones that matter.

Flying: The Dreaded 747

2008-07-17T22:27:00.001-04:00

I'm headed to Frankfurt tomorrow and I won't be back until Sunday night. I'll try to update this as soon as I can but on Sunday I'll have just flown for 8 hours and not in one of those comfy first class suits with the 15" On Demand TV's. I'll be sitting on a cold hard jump seat when I'm sitting at all and the rest of the time I'll be catering to 310 large Germans and even larger Americans who have been crammed into the Economy section of the plane and served food that isn't easy on the digestive system. Glamorous, isn't it?

I don't normally complain but tomorrow I'm flying on my least favorite plane, the Boeing 747. That's the older plane with two levels and the economy section that stretches from LA to DC. I'd like to take a minute to beg for mercy or at least a little understanding from those of you, mysterious strangers, who will be riding in the back of our 747 at some point.

There are typically six flight attendants in the back who are responsible for the service and safety of 310 passengers who think that we're waiters and should provide service accordingly. We aren't waiters. I can assure you that if the FAA didn't require flight attendants for emergencies, the economy cabin would have three vending machines. But we're nice people. At least, some of us are nice people, maybe even most of us, so imagine the predicament we find ourselves in. We want to provide you with the best service we can. But restaurant quality, even bad restaurant quality isn't possible.

The situation: Lets say that on a busy night in a restaurant one waiter is given five tables that seat four people each (I know, I've worked in a restaurant). That means that at any given time, he has no more than 20 people to attend to. In addition to that he has a fully functional kitchen, a soda fountain, and one set of staff in the kitchen dedicated to cooking and another dedicated to cleaning.

Now in the back of the 747 there are just the six of us. In a restaurant that would be enough to cover 120 people. We have 190 more than that. In addition we are given about 200 chicken or beef meals and 110 pasta meals which supposedly is the breakdown of what people ask for. It isn't, trust me. If that isn't enough to ensure a disappointing service, our kitchen is the size of most people's bedroom closet and consists of 5 carts of food that plug in to cook themselves and 5 carts of drinks with cupboards full of extra coffee and water. We can only fit one cart down the aisle at a time and no, I'm sorry, we just don't have room for your trash on the meal cart, you'll have to sit with it until we come back with the trash cart which is really just the meal cart after we've given out the meals. Oh, and if we run out of food, we have an apology card that we'd like to give you for some extra frequent flier miles. But at least we can take your trash right away.

"Is beef alright? No? Would you like a piece of bread instead?"

I feel bad for the passengers. At least I feel bad for them until they start yelling at me.

Okay, so it's not all that bad. A dinner service, a few water services, a breakfast service and by 8 am I'm in Frankfurt, Germany in my downtown hotel room taking a quick nap before I go out. I'm not sure what I'm going to do yet, but I'm sure it's going to involve Gummy Bears and Beer (not at the same time).

The Birth of a new Weblog

2008-07-17T14:53:00.001-04:00

I've been thinking of starting a blog for a while now. I'm not sure if I'm ever going to share it or not but the blog is the modern day equivalent of keeping a journal and I've been told that writers should keep a journal. I don't actually know any writers that keep journals. They tend to be private things and writers are in the business of putting their writing 'out there.' A blog seems to be the most natural combination of the two.

So here I am, in case I ever share this site. I'm about to turn 23 and currently working as a Flight attendant for one of the Legacy Carriers. Airlines tend to be picky about what is said about them so I'll leave their name out just incase they ever go looking for an excuse to fire me. I graduated in April of 2007 from the University of Pittsburgh with a B.A. in Fiction Writing.

My life right now is hectic. I'm working on the second draft of my first novel, tentatively titled, "Play to the River." Darting across the world and finding time to write is challenging. I just returned from Paris two days ago where I wrote until my laptop battery died (note to self: buy a power converter).

It was raining. I tend to get a lot of writing done when I'm in a hotel room and there's no where to go. This isn't usually the case in Europe. I prefer walking around town and drinking in the sights, the culture, and the wine (or beer if I'm in Germany).

Then I come home and I have to balance writing with a relationship (my beautiful girlfriend is pictured with me in my profile) and the knowledge that I have to go back to work the next day or after some number of days if I'm lucky.

Now, there's something I have to tell you in case you haven't noticed: I'm really, really good at grammar and spelling. Really? No. Not really. The sad truth is that I just don't care all that much. When I'm writing I tend to ignore them both and focus on the content. I usually plan on correcting them later. My copy is pretty well cleaned up after the second or third read through. Ok, fine, it's readable by the fourth or fifth. Who's counting anyway?

I'm going to try to be better. It makes life easier to get it done right on the first post but it just isn't always possible. Mistakes will be made. If you, oh mysterious stranger reading my blog, notice something grammatically incorrect or an error of punctuation and would like to comment on that, I accept your admonishments. I'll go back and fix it.

I realize that up until now in my first post you may not know what the whole page is about. That I hope to amend. Tentatively, this is how my blog is going to work. Some of my entries (I can't bring myself to call them blogs, it sounds too unpleasant. Before the internet, if someone asked me what a blog was I would have probably guessed that it's the stain that dog vomit leaves on the carpet) will be about my life as a flight attendant, some will be about my life as a writer. It will depend on what mask I'm wearing at that particular moment. If your only interested in one or the other then I'll make it easy for you to skip around in the posts. They'll be titled "Writing:" or "Flying:" and I hope you can enjoy one or the other if not both.

So here it is my mysterious new friends, The Writing In The Sky.