30,000 Feet in the Air, and No Gun

So, I'm sure some of you have noticed that I haven't posted for a while. Come on, don't lie. There are at least five people who read this site on a semi regular basis. And for you five people, thank you. No excuse forgives my absence. My pathetic excuse is this: Iwas in the great town of Chicago partying with my friends. You don't like it? Well it's Tethered Swimming for you then, isn't it?
While I was flying there, I sat in front of a screaming toddler. Four hours, and this kid did not shut up. And was he screaming out of pain? Out of fear? No. He was screaming out of pure boredom. Here's a note to parents. If you are taking your precocious little two year old on a four hour plane ride, bring something to entertain the little angel. If dragging along a coloring book and crayons, or a walkman with Baby Mozart in it is really too much trouble for you, then leave your damn kid at home. Find a freakin babysitter for three days. Or better yet, if you can't control your kid, then you have no business flying either. Take a train, or if you can stand the kid kicking the back of your seat for four hours, then drive. Personally, I can't wait for the day when airlines come out with "Family Friendly" planes. Ones that have only a few seats for the parents, and a ton toys and other shit for the kids, and plenty of room for them to play with them. Of course, it'll be my luck, being the cheapskate that I am, that I don't pay attention and get booked on one of these planes. Boy, I can't wait until we can carry weapons on the plane again.
On the way back from Chicago, I had a layover in Minneapolis. What a great town. Everyone is so Midwestern there. And while waiting in the terminal, we had a lovely severe thunderstorm. Oh, how I miss those. With all the airlines taking off early to avoid the high winds and hail, we were left sitting, in the plane, on the tarmac. And I was left sitting next to some religious freaks. At first guess, I thought they were Mormons. They we dressed alike, (in matching orange, of all colors). You know, I never really had a second guess as to what branch of Christianity they were from (they all blend into one crazy lump to me). What I do know is they were sleeping peacefully while we were on the tarmac, and as soon as we started to move, they sat straight up, crossed themselves, and began to say a little prayer. That wasn't the odd part. When the plane started to shake form the aforementioned high winds, the woman leaned over to the man and said "I think we're going to die". Now, I haven't flown that much, but the amount of shaking wasn't enough to make me put down my in flight magazine (which I'll get to in a minute) let alone believe for one second that I was going to die. But, I kinda got to thinking. If they thought that they were going to die, why did they bother saying a prayer. Was it so they can have proof of their god's mercy, by showing that he made the plane take off and land safely, thus sparing their (and the other two hundred twenty four people on the plane) lives? Are they so desperate for justification of their beliefs? And, let's be honest, do you really believe that any god would make it a priority to save to sniveling servants such as they, when there are more useful people to be saved? I think they should really be praying to the god of Digital Technology, for blessing us with such high tech equipment; the god of Hank, for running his pilot training courses (sometimes via correspondence), and graduating so many great pilots; and most importantly, they collective gods on Mount Air Traffic Control, for insuring that no two planes will ever collide.
Now, as I mentioned earlier, I read the in flight magazine. Yup, I read it cover to cover. Ok, I forgot a book, and refuse to pay airport prices for one. Now this is truly hard hitting journalism. This magazine has everything you could ever need, from an in depth article on Jeff Daniels (I know, I thought he died of a heroine overdose too), to the best places for ethnic food in cities you'll never visit. Aside from the picture of a Japanese hipster on page ninety seven, the most exciting thing is the ad for the ROM. What is the ROM, you ask? I have no idea. What I do know is, it looks like a medieval torture device, it promises that you only have to exercise four minutes a day, it's manufactured in California, and has been since 1990, it performs surgery, it makes diabetics whole again, it costs almost $15,000 to purchase, and, as near as I can tell, will also perform Pap Smears upon request. The ad even has the ten stages prospective buyers go through, which is remarkably like the stages of grief, and becoming a christian: shock, anger, denial, bargaining, acceptance, ridicule, persistence, depression, persistence again, and finally, joy, at having started your own cult. With all these benefits, who wouldn't want to blow a small fortune on it?
Ah, it's that time again. The time where my ranting comes to an end. I have so many more things to tell you about, (at least one whole post devoted to that damn SkyMall catalogue (who the hell needs that crap? I mean, honestly, who is really gonna spend $30 on shoes for their dog?)). But don't you worry your little head off. I will post again very very soon. Look forward to my upcoming articles on airline reform, and about my invention to silence screaming babies and paranoid christians. It'll be more entertaining than any in flight magazine.