An Average Day....Up in the Air

2008 has been, amongst other things, a year for airline travel. From January when I skidaddled up to New York to see my nana who was very sick (but yet still asking me to sneak Irish Whiskey into her drip) to this newest flight experience to my homeland of Seattle I have hit New York twice, Missouri, Florida, Pennsylvania and Seattle thrice. Feelings of guilt aside for the "ginormous" eco-footprint that I have left, I have spent a lot of great time with family and friends and have learned a few things about airline travel.

1. Flight attendants are no longer chipper and friendly.  

This last trip out to Seattle, my flight to Atlanta was 40 minutes late, giving me approximately 15 minutes to run from one terminal to the other at a dead sprint before my next flight took off.  On my first flight was a couple with small baby who too, was trying to run through the airport without spilling said child onto the floor.  A feeling of Louisville to Seattle camaraderie came over me I suppose and I told them I would run ahead and let the airline know they were coming and to hold the plane.  So, as I am running past airport lollygaggers who are waiting at their gates and are pointing at me rather uncouthly (okay, so I was sprinting through the terminal with two jackets and a scarf on---I am sure I looked like the abominable snow-traveler) a woman who is selling airline credit cards literally tries to stop me to sell me a credit card.  I tear past her and run to my gate and between heaving breaths say to the flight attendant, "There (heave) is (heave) a (heave) couple (heave) with (heave) a baby (heave) who are running (heave) to get here (heave), can you please hold the plane?"  One attendant is looking at me while eyeing the defribrilation device, while the other attendant, the one I directed the question to said coldly, "Ticket, mam." I again, heaving,  said, "did you hear what I said? There is a couple..." to which she snippily interrupted and said, "Get on the plane mam."  And then, for the first time she actually looked at me and said fiercely again "Get on the plane mam"  Feeling slightly reprimanded I collected my bags which I had dropped on the floor and in brazen passive-aggressive defiance walked as slow as possible down to the plane.  NOW WHAT??  Whatever happened to coffee with a smile? or come fly the FRIENDLY skies?  I have had more run-ins with bitter flight attendants than I would like.  Whatever happened to that common courtesy that is so rare these days?  I was talking to the woman next to me who had requested a wheelchair for her journey and she said she had to wait 45 minutes without a seat to sit in at her previous flight's gate and was met by a very nasty attendant who asked her if she really needed the wheelchair. Gracious. 

2. Older people in a dark bathroom equals lots of mysterious wet spots.  I really won't get into this one much.  But let's just say that the lights in my past flight's bathroom were very, very dim (I had trouble finding the flush button) and I was on a flight with many, many senior citizens.  

Well, that is kind of all for now.  I am tired and am going to bed. Maybe I will think of more things I learned at a later time.  

 

Making up for bad karma……

Somewhere along the lines, maybe in a past life three generations ago, I must have murdered a duck, threw pebbles at passing nuns from a second story window or maybe I was the villainous creator of the song "98 bottles of beer on the wall." Either way, I am convinced that I must have done something to truly move serendipity (Not myself, or rather my blog name, but some true force of sporadic random events) to catapult mischievous action in my direction.  I say this because, due to some chance, the random hand of serendipity takes a turn with me.  Never anything serious, which I thank my lucky stars for that, these random events create just a bit more excitement than what I usually like to have in my average day....

And that day was today.....

I awoke this morning to a funny smell that was wafting through my apartment.  No, not the earthy fall breeze of a November morning, or the homey smell of automatic coffee.  This was a smell that was a bit more foul.  It appears that during the night, due to some unexpressed emotional tension on the part of my 8 month old puppy---I did neglect playing time last night in lieu of a 20-page paper---my dear puppy Pandora pooped on a pair of pants that were lying on the floor.  Her anger seethed in mounds of fragrant dung that cut the air like a waterbuffallo taking a swan dive into a placid lake.  Obviously upset, I communicated my anger much like a cave-man, in grunts of dissatisfaction, jerky "clean-up" movements, piercing looks at my dog and interjections of guilt-provoking statements like "WHO POO-POOED IN THE HOUSE????????"  After the mess was cleaned up, I raged into the bathroom to wash my hands.  Reaching for the soap-pump I had forgotten that if I didn't put my hand around the soap-pump it often shot forth soap in a myriad of directions.  This time it was only in one direction and that direction was straight for my eye.  Severely regretting my decision at that moment to buy Dr. Brommers minty-fresh soap, my eye seemed to form a life of its own, crying out for relief.  Shoveling water in my eye I now resembled a slightly soapy, red-faced dripping Amazon woman.  I peered into the mirror wondering if it was just going to be one of those days.....and it was.....

During supervision, I made the decision to turn off my phone so as to absorb every piece of advice on how to be a budding young therapist.  To my dismay, when I left supervision I saw my neighbor called seven times throughout the hour of supervision.  Thinking my apartment was in flames, my neighbor in some sort of peril or my dog dead I dialed her number twice only to get her answering machine.  Finally I got a text from her saying that she couldn't talk now, that she was in a meeting but that everything was okay. What was okay? My mind was spinning with the possibilities of what could have happened to warrant seven phone calls and was the emergency really over? (Really, I hadn't even had coffee that morning).  I finally got the text that she had left her iron on and was hoping I could run over and check it.  As I was about 30 minutes away, I decided to take my chances and hope that a curling iron wouldn't cause The Great Louisville Fire of 2008.  How strange would that be....a cow in Chicago....and a curling iron in Louisville? 

After a day of classes and papers and almost missing deadlines, I decided to finish the evening with a heartwarming night with the teens I lead in group. They can be quite a source of inspiration and inspiration was what I needed on a day like this.  Everything was perfect, the room was full, the chatter reeled about the room in a constant hum and the smell of turkey was fantastic.  After the majority of the kids had gone to load their plates, I went up to the front to receive a plate of southern Thanksgiving goodness.  I was surprised to find that I did not recognize any of the foods besides the turkey.  Always interested in new foods I tried a sampling of collard greens, stewed tomatoes, creamed corn and green beans.  I was ecstatic.  i love new foods and sampling foods from the regions I visit and live in is a favorite activity.  Feeling as though with the consumption of this new concoction I could be officially southern, I began the meal with zeal.  Some of the facilitators watched me cautiously as one might watch a large cooler in the middle of a six-lane freeway---unsure whether this food might be hit or miss.  Under great pressure to please I placed the collards in my mouth to find a taste like none-other I had experienced before.  Although green and resembling a vegetable in a former state, it tasted much like bacon.  My taste buds were confused.  Why would vegetables taste like bacon? I managed to nod a fake smile towards my on-lookers and tried the green beans.  Wouldn't you know? THEY TASTED EXACTLY THE SAME AS THE GREEN BEANS! Confused as to whether or not a slice of ham had materialized on my plate I decided to casually move on to the stewed tomatoes with the excuse that I wanted to try all that was on my plate.  No go there either.  I was expecting something akin to a marinara and with the first spoonful of tomatoes my face puckered uncontrollably.  I was horribly embarrassed and was met with shaking heads, smiles and people telling me about "real southern food" and something about Yankees.  My dream of being southern smashed, I have come to the conclusion that I am not southern, and probably never will be.  If southern is flavored with bacon, I am out of luck. 

Dramatically retelling my story in text form on my phone to my girlfriends (who live here and understand these foods) about my failure to be eclectic in the culinary sense, I started walking towards the door.  As I was distracted by my texting, I did not see that one of the teenagers had spilled about half a pound of an apricot casserole/bread pudding like item on the floor.  Promptly, I stepped in it, slipping about trying to catch my balance (these dishes do, I found out, have quite a bit of butter in them). I regained my balance only to hear one of the teenagers say, "Aw nah, Miss Erin, why did you go and step in that for?" seeming to imply that I guess that I had done such a thing on purpose....perhaps for recreation?  My shoe was covered on all sides with apricots and bread and lard and the only thing to do was to take off my shoe and go to the sink for a proper cleaning.  As I returned back to continue out the door I operated under the assumption that the girls had cleaned up the bread-apricot-casserole-pudding.  They had not. And, I promptly stepped into the casserole again, this time slipping about like I was on the Dancing with the Stars Ice-Capade edition, flailing my arms Matrix-style and nearly landing rear first into the pile of slippery dessert.  Convinced that somebody, somewhere in the universe, perhaps serendipity was laughing, I called up a good friend, told her about the day, and heeded her advice to go straight home, avoid any more potential obstacles and go to bed.  Writing about it however, had to come first, as I believe the world needs to know the tricky little ways of this slap-stick comedy show that serendipity is sending my way.....in the form of my life.   

Kart Kountry: Or Cultural Diversity for the West-Coast PC Liberal

At one point, I might have considered myself somewhat well versed in cultural diversity. I had classmates and friends from the farthest reaches of the globe---Cambodia, Vietnam, Hong Kong, Iraq---we ate baklava and sushi, mocked traditional gender-based clothing and one day counted 57 different languages in my history class. I drank bubble tea for godsake! However, nothing could have quite prepared me for a quick jaunt into the little town of Shepherdsville, 30 miles away from Louisville. No powershake of liberal tolerance, or mind-altering open-mindedness would prepare me for the saturation of good-old-boy howdiness that I was thrust into.

My dear friend Verlinda, (we will alter her name to protect her innocence) and her boyfriend Zhaonathan invited me to go with them and two of their friends to a place called Gattiland, then to Kart Kountry (yes, it is spelled exactly as it is said). Verlinda is also, I should say, a bleeding heart vegetarian liberal who saves spiders and insects by taking them outside in a cup (unless they are ants invading her kitchen) and wishing them well on their journey. She is not exactly Shephardsville material. However, she had not prepared me adequately for the journey ahead. The given details were these:

1. Gattiland: contained a pizza buffet
2. Kart Kountry: was a fun place that had miniature golf and go-carts.
Seemingly normal evening? Right?

Well, upon arrival to “Mr. Gattis” as it is called (I am not sure yet what makes it a “land”---I am guessing the 9 pizza buffet?) we noticed a sign leaning up against the outside of the building that had “Pizza Buffet Special! $7.99! Isaiah 33.2” Ironically, this verse contains “we have waited for thee”---not exactly the type of advertisement you want to have on the outside of your restaurant if you are promoting prompt service. It was at this point that my friend smiled mischievously and said, “I forgot to tell you that this is the Christian Mr. Gattis.” Now, I am sorry, but my only reference to the Gattis is a notorious crime family in New York that shot people. It is hard for me to imagine a holy roller-say it-and slay it in the spirit sort of Gatti family, but I was about to be amazed. (I am really not sure which Gatti family would consider the other the “you just don’t talk about that side” family? Perplexing.)

Upon entry to the Christian Mr. Gatti’s I was greeted with a 4-foot wood and gold cross in the entry that would have rivaled any bare-bones Lutheran deal that donned the walls of the churches I attended. The walls were covered with pictures of inspirational sayings, pictures, bible verses and the occasional Boyd’s bear. Although I avoided skipping the pizza to head straight for the “Suggestion/Inspiration” box to put in my two cents in about their decorating (what is that verse about if your right hand is going to sin….??) I did pause by the painting of a farmhouse being overwhelmed by the gigantic hand of “God” that was beating a railroad stake into the clouds over the farmhouse with what looked like a sledgehammer. Ah, the ANGRY god.

However, I do have to say, Gattis did branch out in their decorating style a bit. To add a sense of randomness there was a red stuffed toucan by the front door, which whistled the flirtatious “Whew-whew” when someone passed. Way to promote sexual harassment amongst the kiddies. There was also a big-screen TV that played Tom and Jerry engaging in bizarre acts of violence, which I am sure, made the ground meat on the pizza taste so much better.

My favorite part of Christian Gatti’s however was the large podium across from the wood and gold cross that held a weighty Bible that had been highlighted. Upon the podium, above the Bible, was a placard that said, “THE General Manager.” So many places I could go with this, however I will only indulge in one sacrilege. My question was, as I looked at the General Manager, is what if I had a complaint? Do I write it in?

The next stop was Kart Kountry. Yes, it was spelled with two K’s. I did find out today that this particular county has the largest concentration of Ku Klux Klan members, but I am sure it is unrelated. We walked into the arcade, which had a glow-in-the-dark floor, a prize station that had a gigantic stuffed Little Mermaid “Flounder” doll whose face looked like it had been horribly disfigured and a “Bling Machine” where one could win a plethora of plastic “Bling.” Shoes and Shirt were required. We opted for the mini-golf tour where two members of our group got a hole in one. A statistical average, Verlinda looked up, of one in a billion!

The final piece of our cultural tour was go-carting. I did not know this, but we were at THE LARGEST go-cart trek in the United States! 1.5 miles of dirty, gritty, raw racetrack. Grrrrrrr. Being the responsible yuppie that I am, I kindly asked where the helmets and goggles were….they kindly laughed at me. Inappropriately wearing a skirt, I wiggled into the cart, put my seatbelt on and attempted to learn the mechanics of the machine. I soon learned that the green pedal meant go and that it was wise to just never let up on that until you finished. If you were rounding a turn, don’t break, just turn harder. Half-way through my first lap however, amidst the outright terror of flipping and falling out of my go-cart, a sense of exhilaration came over me. Yes, the mud was flying in my eyes, and teeth and hair until I felt like some sort of advertisement for Shout!, but I also felt this rush of freedom and wha-hoo!edness that no bubble tea could ever give me. It was the freedom to fly around corners at who-knows-what-speed with no helmet, the freedom to breathe in a mixture of diesel and dirt without worrying about the effects of global warming or soil erosion and the freedom to just get back to the basics---go fast, try to bump into people and push them off the road and then go fast again. That’s it. Pure and simple. Mission accomplished. Thank you Verlinda and Zhaonathan!

The things we watch……

There has been so much press in the media about the effect of violent television on our impressionable youth. I say however, what has been generously overlooked is the detrimental effect of ‘80s sugar-puff children’s cartoons. That is right, that sickly sweet Strawberry Shortcake, those dancing My Little Ponies, rainbow-y Rainbow Brite and the highest criminals of them all…..those co-dependent Carebears. Don’t get me wrong, I loved these cheerful critters as a child. I had t-shirts, coloring books, reading materials, collectible cards, dolls, and little plastic idols all devoted to this tribe of do-gooders. They are perhaps even the reason why I am in Social Work. After all, who was the one to tend the garden made of colorful cakes and friends that were made of confectionary sugar and pie but Strawberry Shortcake? Who spread rainbows and love throughout the world but the carebears through their powerful “carebear stare.” I wonder sometimes whether some of the people that they went to save…I mean, help (sorry, a little slip) actually wanted their assistance? It seemed like it didn’t matter to those fuzzy little bears of warmth whether you wanted their help---as soon as they assessed that you were in dire need of some carebear goodness, they arrived immediately in their cloud cars to gave it to you anyway.

Which takes me to Rainbow Brite….who made it her responsibility to spread color in the world? Did she ever wake up one day and say, “Damn, Pearl Jam really does have it right. Let me get some black nailpolish on and be done with this color shit.” The main message in all those sacchrine cartoons seems to be that it is our responsibility as well-adjusted, middle-class yuppie youth to make it our goal in life to fix the problems of our world. Not famine or hunger, or even violence, but the lack of the proper moods in people. I wonder whether any of the Carebears ever had a meltdown where they exclaimed, "GOSH DARN IT PEOPLE CAN’T YOU JUST SMILE!!!!" For instance, have you ever seen a My Little Pony with anything less than a spectacular grin on her face? In fact, many an episode has been centered around the whole tribe of ponies gathering together to change the mood of that one lonesome pony that got up on the wrong side of the bed. Quick! Everybody stop! Lickity-Split has a case of the Mondays! We must notify Princess Rainbow pony and her ponyland advisors before this problem gets out of hand! And people wonder why we seem to get accused of being out of touch with the world's problems?

The other thing that strikes me as a bit odd in these colorful cartoons is the lack of the male presence in their society. Has anyone else found it odd that there never seemed to be any male bears? or ponies? One of the original Strawberry Shortcake characters, Plum Puddin' was actually originally male, however, sometime in the 80s changed genders. I bet, if we were to look at the demographics of Ponyland, Care-a-lot (the Carebear metropolis for those of you who haven’t kept up with your Carebear trivia) and Strawberry Shortcake’s hometown we might find that perhaps the ratio of female to male bears/cakes/ponies equals…..don’t be shocked…. the ratio of female to male social workers! Coincidence? I think not.

Overall Message
Go forth little girls and spread some sugar/rainbows/high fructose corn syrup etc.….and if you do get rebellious, the proper place for a tattoo is a discreet heart or colorful mark on your pony/bear ass.