Apparently, and I had no idea about this — you are not allowed to bring a portable hot-plate on a commercial airline.
Had I lived in the time of hunting/gathering where I was responsible for hunting, killing and providing food for me and my family — any steps necessary would be acceptable in doing so. But when I am faced with a four hour flight from Chicago to San Francisco on which there is no food whatsoever — I am told it is illegal to bring my food-preparation object of choice (i.e. my metaphorical deadly spear) — the portable hot plate.
I will find a loop hole for this rule. I promise you.
You’d think someone would come up with a more friendly-feeling vomit bag.
Let’s face it — you’ve all been there before. Sitting on a plane, dealing with turbulence, just having eaten some kind of square shaped meal covered in mandarin orange colored gravy, and you start to feel a rumbling in your stomach and the sweats begin. You suddenly realize that somethings comin’ up and you need to catch it quick so you “grab for the bag.”
It’s like hurling into a ream of paper.
WFME finds itself leaving Boston today and heading to the lush green pastures of Connecticut where we (me) hope to find the elusive Dairy Queen that is not combined with a El Pollo Loco.
We can only hope the reality meets expectations.
In other news, I’d like to personally announce (once and for all) that no matter what anyone says… No matter what the textbooks write… No matter what your English teacher might have taught you…
“Traveling” is not how you should spell “travelling.”
Two L’s. It should really be two L’s.
You may think I’m lying, but today’s post has been affected by early morning travel plans.
Initially, if you had told me a year ago that on today’s date, that all my plans for the most amazing Friday post in the world would be affected by early morning travel plans I would probably first ask you if such travel plans were worth all the chaos. Would I be traveling to an exotic locale like Tahiti or Hawaii? Would I be traveling in first class accomodations? Would I be served caviar and waited on hand and food? If you had told me ten months ago that on today’s date all such things would not be a reality, yet today’s post would be affected by early morning travel plans, well, I probably would have said something to you like, “God-dangit, Sister Mae Woodley! Technology has sullied the world from here until the second coming!”
It was morning-time.
He was driving down the 405 freeway in Los Angeles, driving a constant 65 miles per hour. He was in his Toytoa Camry — a silver color. He was staring straight ahead with both hands on the wheel. He was wearing a grey sweater-vest and had on a pair of sunglasses. His eyes, of course, were covered by the glasses and so whether or not this man had a soul was anyone’s guess.
He reached down to change the radio station — whatever it was he was listening to had grown tiresome. Perhaps it was a commercial break on the Howard Stern Show? Those commercial breaks are often so long that it’s worth changing the channel. Of course, on this day specifically, the guy driving next to me in the Toyota Camry was feeling the boredom. He had to give himself that pick-me-up that he desperately needed.