Category: No Politics Friday

So, here's my Worst Flying Experience tale. It pales in comparison to your stories of defying death on Third World airlines or taking hard landings with white knuckles, but it has its own unique flavor of misery nonetheless.

I was in Hawaii for an academic conference. More accurately, I was ready to jump off a bridge after my first year in grad school and I used the conference as an excuse for a vacation in Hawaii. My inbound flight was uneventful, as was my stay.

As is common with Hawaii-US Mainland flights, my outbound flight departed around midnight. Departing at midnight local time puts one in the continental US around midday the next day. Of course, leaving at midnight means that everyone on the flight immediately goes to sleep. Among several hundred people on a full 777, there was not a soul awake 20 minutes after takeoff except for the flight attendants. And me. And the person sitting next to me.

I am going to try to be delicate here.

I had an aisle seat and the passenger to my right was a large (severely) developmentally disabled boy of about 15. His handler, for lack of a better term, sat to his right. With an attitude that unmistakably said "I have been dealing with this kid 24-7 for a week and I'm goddamn tired of it" and without so much as a word to the kid, the handler put on a sleep mask, inserted earplugs, took a quantity of prescription sleeping pills that I imagine would adequately tranquilize most zoo animals. She immediately fell asleep.

This confused the kid. He did everything he could to get Mom/Handler's attention but she was out cold, clearly with the intention of not having to deal with him. So he turned his attention to me. Intermittently for the next eight hours, I was slapped, poked, headbutted, and unintelligibly slurred at by a child with some obviously extreme developmental handicaps. I tried talking to him to no effect. So for the duration of the flight, every time I tried closing my eyes, reading, or listening to music I wouldn't make it a full minute before he started doing something that involved all or part of his body from striking mine. I am pretty sure he shit his pants around hour six.

The icing? Since everyone on the flight was asleep, the attendants did not bother changing the in-flight film. Thus Miracle, the jingoistic Kurt Russell film, played three times in its entirety. An attendant offered me headphones for the audio, which I politely declined. I was the only way I could think to make the experience worse.

We scholars (or in my case, "scholar" in skeptic quotes) of American politics miss out on a key rite de passage in graduate studies in the social sciences: doing fieldwork. We don't spend a year or two of our lives in places no sane person accustomed to the pampered American lifestyle would go. We do not interview Uzbek peasants in unelectrified villages in the Pamir Mountains. We do not live among the undiscovered tribes of Borneo. We do not subject ourselves to thrice-daily malaria prophylaxis or vaccinations for diseases eradicated in the West during the presidency of Grover Cleveland. Our data are readily accessible or, if not, can be collected in the comfort of various Capitals.

On the one hand, this is great. We finish grad school a little faster than our foreign-oriented colleagues and we don't have any hardships along the way. But on the other, we don't have bitchin' fieldwork stories like, "I lost a toe in Siberia to collect my data" or "Yeah, my hut was only accessible by burro.

" Granted, not everyone who does overseas fieldwork ends up roughing it to that extent, but you get the idea. It is worth many Experience Points and if it doesn't build character it will at the very least provide some colorful stories.

The most consistently amusing of the Field Work Tales, in my opinion, is the Third World Airline tale. I mean, we Westerners think our airlines are bad, and they are. They lose luggage, they are always late, and their staff range from indifferent to openly hostile. That said, our airlines are not bad like most of the world's airlines are bad. As much as Delta sucks, it's not Air Angola or Garuda Indonesia. It never ceases to amaze me that people actually get on domestic flights in undeveloped countries. They are almost entirely unregulated and they fly planes that have been used up and discarded onto the scrap heap by the major airlines.

The travel writer Robert Young Pelton offers some sage advice about flying in underdeveloped places: "Never board a plane if its logo has a goat in it." This strikes me as excellent advice, but we know that being picky is not always possible. In places with no road networks, you take the Flying Yak Airways flight to Point B if that's where you need to go.
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I never tire of horror stories of the in-flight variety, largely for three reasons. I have led a soft life, the airline industry is very interesting to me because it represents so much of what is wrong with our economy and society, and I am a 9 year-old who thinks airplanes are Neat. So go ahead and regale me with your airborne adventure tales. What was your worst flying experience? Scariest? Funniest? Sure, I'll take the "Delta lost my suitcase" variety, but I'm hoping that a few of you globetrotters or old-timers will have a good story or two of the Holy Shit variety.

Don't let me down.

Two of the stories most prominently making the rounds on the internet (or should I say "series of tubes" in honor of Ted Stevens) this week were a JetBlue flight attendant flipping out and quitting his job and a girl quitting her job via email pictures while revealing some embarrassing facts about the boss's web surfing habits. The latter turned out to be a very successful publicity stunt from a previously obscure website, but that doesn't change the underlying reason for the story's popularity (aside from the time-honored marketing technique of hot girls).

In a nation with 15% unemployment and 300 resumes for every job opening, the fact remains that we all spend a lot of time fantasizing about quitting our jobs. Some stories have gone so far as to call Mr.
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JetBlue a "folk hero" for quitting and telling everyone off. When we say "Good for him!" it means "I sure would like to do that, but I lack the balls and/or the money." But a good Quitting My Job story makes us feel like someday we might do the same. Ha ha, I'll show my incompetent boss! I'll tell those annoying coworkers a thing or two! The customers can kiss my fat ass!

And then, of course, we trudge into work the next day and put up with it in silence.

My point is not that we are all cowards or hypocrites, because certainly I understand the appeal of a little harmless daydreaming. We would all like to live in a world in which we could quit a job and reasonably hope to find another one before we die, and we'd also like to think that we are clever enough to quit with a flourish.
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So today's assignment is: best Quitting Stories, be they your own or one of which you have first hand knowledge.

Let me offer one, although it requires a quick back story.

When I was all of 23 I was managing a "financial services" company, i.e. a collection agency, and a team of debt collectors. Debt collectors are either unflappably stoic, tough SOBs, or aggressively insane. One gentleman on the team, who I will call TS here, was flat-out terrifying. Best debt collector I've ever seen.
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I shit you not: 6'7", about 400 pounds, and nuttier than a squirrel turd. He was black, and let me try to explain how much he scared the living shit out of white people at insurance companies who owed him money. Anyway, he comes into work one day wearing a large knife on his belt. Like, a fucking machete. Big. We proceed to have the following conversation after half the office runs for the fire exit, figuring that he has finally snapped and decided to murder us all:

Ed: "Uh, TS, what's that?"
TS: (He sounded like Michael Clarke Duncan) "What is what?"
Ed: "That giant goddamn knife on your belt. You can't bring that to work."
TS: "It goes with this outfit. I ain't gonna use it on nobody."
Ed: "TS, you can't bring a weapon to work."
TS: "This outfit ain't gonna look right without it. It ain't a weapon, it's an accessory."
Ed: "I'm sorry to hear that, but…dude, you just can't."
TS: (With great sadness) "Alright, Eddie."

I slowly walk away. As I turn my back I hear "HEY! Eddie!" in his bullhorn baritone voice. I turn to face him. "Eddie," he says gently, "it is important to accessorize."

So, that's who we're talking about here. Anyway, every time he got paid he would disappear for like 4 days on what I can only assume was a fried seafood and intoxicants bender, which absolutely nobody minded because he brought in more money than Brinks. As long as he brought us bags full of cash his dozens of "eccentricities" were tolerated. One day he walked into the office and said "I quit" because I had politely asked him to start showing up before 11 AM. I tried to reason with him, noting that he was unlikely to match his considerable salary elsewhere. He leaned over my desk, getting his face about 12" from mine, and said "Eddie, this may come as a surprise to you, but I have other sources of income."

It did not surprise me.

But I did wonder, given his airquotes around "other sources of income." Bodyguard to an organized crime figure? Loan shark? Drug kingpin? Murderer for hire? American Gladiator? Really, all of them were plausible.

Not the best quitting story, but it's my best. I bet one of you can top it.

Remember last week when I said I watched as much Project Runway as hockey? Yeah, it's time to throw down.

Like most viewers, I watch PR more out of habit and obligation than genuine interest at this point. It hasn't actually been all that interesting since Season 4. When Johnny Neck Tats won Season 3, it officially started the show on its gradual decline although it's still moderately entertaining. My complaints are two, and I imagine they are fairly common. First, the "judging" on the show is little more than a way for the producers to get rid of the cast members who aren't focus-grouping well enough. Actual talent seems to be about 4th on the list of priorities. I know, I know, it's TV. But the competition seems to be less about fashion and more about who can make the "edgiest" audition video, who has the most memorably idiotic haircut, and who has the potential to come up with the most irritating catchphrases. Second, the cast is essentially the same every year. Only the names change. There is a formula and the network(s) stick to it. It's like a Mad Lib. With hipsters.

It's so easy, any viewer can do it.

Who needs Lifetime (and its desperate, futile efforts to get PR viewers to watch anything else on Lifetime) when you can plug your own characters into the various roles, find someone who can do a good Tim Gunn impression (I can, by the way), and make your own season right at home. I'll prove it. To make your own season, you'll need:

1. THE REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEALLY GAY GUY
Yes, something like 90% of the male contestants are gay. But each season there must be at least one gay guy who embodies every stereotype – at quadruple strength – that comes to mind when I say "gay fashion designer." Most of the cast are just regular dudes, but the Alpha Gay Dude goes the extra mile. Viewers, no matter how tactful, look at this guy and wonder "Holy balls, where did they find someone that gay?" The answer is that he was manufactured in a laboratory, assembled from parts taken from guys who were not quite as gay.

I'm not sure if it's appropriate for us straights to use the term "flaming", but…what I'm saying is, flaming. Gay like a french horn solo in a Mardi Gras parade.

Seriously.

Examples: Austin Scarlett (Season 1), Jerell (Season 5), Kayne (Season 3)

2. THE COMEDIAN
This designer has average talent at best but gets strung along all season – usually one of the last people to get cut before Bryant Park – because he is funny. He makes good B-roll, great soundbites, and keeps the other cast members from murdering each other. The audience loves them, as their humor is not the polarizing type. Flat-out funny.

Where's Andre?

Examples: Santino (Season 2), Chris March (Season 4), Anthony (Season 7)

3. THE CLINICALLY INSANE ONE
Each cast needs one member who is absolutely fucking bonkers. Like "I drink your milkshake" crazy. The ideal candidate talks often about auras and fairies and assorted other pieces of New Age horseshit while engaging in bizarre behaviors that leave the other cast members genuinely fearful. Or it could just be weird, like incomprehensible Elisa who liked to spit on things.

My chi is covered in spit.

Examples: Elisa (Season 4), Stella (Season 5), Malvin (Season 6)

4. THE ONE STRAIGHT GUY
100% guaranteed to bring up the fact that he is straight early, often in the introductory episode, and very often thereafter. They often look like rejected extras from Jersey Shore.

DUDE, KNOW WHAT I LOVE? TITTIES!

Examples: Jeffrey (Season 3), Kevin (Season 4), Johnny Sakalis (Season 6)

5. HOT GIRL
The producers understand that many a boyfriend/husband/etc. are forced to watch this show against their will. So there is one extra-hot female contestant in an attempt to placate them. Their design talents are often considerable, enabling the producers to keep them around to the bitter end. They are always nice, too, so that male viewers can think they are the ideal girlfriend. The kind who would never make them watch PR.

"Althea, Nina wants you in a tighter shirt."

Examples: Alison (Season 3), Emily Brandle (Season 5), Althea (Season 6)

6. MIDDLE AGED WOMAN
Bravo knows its audience, but Lifetime reeeeeeally knows its audience. There has to be at least one contestant upon whom the middle-aged female viewers can project themselves.

These contestants range from highly talented (Laura, Season 3) to "Why is she there?" bad (Marla, Season 2; also, hot), although we all know the answer to that.

My kids don't call me either. Let's go out for appletinis.

Examples: Laura Bennett (Season 3), Marla (Season 2), Peach (Season 8)

7. THE ASSHOLE
Every season of every reality show ever made has the one asshole everyone wants to choke. The other contestants (and most viewers) spend a lot of time hoping he or she will trip and be impaled on a pair of scissors or Nina Garcia's jagged, angular face.

The assholes are often very good and may even end up winning, making them increasingly unbearable until a friend or family member has them euthanized.

God, you are so beneath me.

Examples: Irina (Season 6), Kenley (Season 5), Wendy Pepper (Season 1)

8. THE CARTOON CHARACTER
These are the pure self-promoters, trying as hard as possible to be "quirky" and constantly throwing out ridiculous catchphrases. Like a sitcom character, they fight for more camera time for reasons that have nothing to do with talent. Usually very young and immature. They often go by one name (a la Brazilian soccer players) or some ridiculous moniker befitting their gimmicky appearance.

I refer to myself in 3rd person. Seriously.

Examples: Christian (Season 4), "Suede" (Season 5), "Epperson" (Season 6)

Fill out the rest of the cast with people who are quiet, bland, unremarkable, and pretty good at making clothes. Et voila. You're now a producer.

I watch a lot of hockey and almost as much Project Runway. There is something to be said for style, for being on the cutting edge, and for pushing the boundaries. On the other hand, style has to be appropriate to its intended context, and in the testosterone-fueled world of contact sports that means design choices should adhere to some loose guidelines. Simple, classic, easily identifiable, appealing, and preferably a little bit tough. There is a reason there is no hockey team named the Silly Bunnies. It's all "Rangers" and "Flyers" for a reason. One should…you know…look like a group of professional athletes to be taken seriously. Even if, as is the case with the Rangers, you aren't.

Assuming that most of you don't care about hockey, let me assure you that you can still enjoy this post as long as you enjoy one of the five pillars of the Ginandtacos experience: posting pictures of things and proceeding to make fun of them a lot. So, in no particular order, here is Epic Fail: the Logo Edition.

1. 1996-1998 New York Islanders

Are you intimidated by the Gorton's fish sticks logo?

If so, you will shit your pants at the thought of playing the late '90s Islanders. You will find their logo positively terrifying. Ahoy, matey! Thar she blows. And by "she" I mean the New York Islanders.

2. New Haven Beast

The minor leagues are a great place to find both the best and worst of logo design. Can you guess which one this is?

This looks like they had a contest to let fans design the logo, but with some important caveats. The contest was open only to children aged 6 to 10 with profound emotional disabilities. And the prize money was only $4, so even most of the disturbed kids didn't bother entering a drawing.

3. Kelowna Rockets

Not pictured: A FUCKING ROCKET. This is like a t-shirt bearing the image of the British flag with "SPAIN" written underneath it.

4. Louisville River Frogs

There is so much wrong with this.

Start with the frog squatting as though it is trying to use a particularly filthy gas station toilet without making contact with the seat (I call this "Hover Mode^tm"). Then add Comic Tard font. Then have the anthropomorphic frog tonguing the puck, which, if not a 2-minute minor penalty, is at least frowned upon for sanitary reasons. This all overlooks the more obvious question of why anyone would name a hockey team the "River Frogs." Don't frogs live in ponds?

5. California Golden Seals

The NHL's first attempt at planting a flag in California was the California/Oakland Golden Seals (also the California Seals for a while) produced an artistic palette that practically shouted "It is 1973 and I do tambourines full of coke every night." The regrettable color scheme (check out the full uni – holy shit!), the Art Deco seal, and the inescapable fact that the seal is nature's comedian doom this logo from the outset. Fortunately the idea of having a shapeless blob for a logo died here…

6. Buffalo Sabres, current

Goddammit. Were you not listening, Buffalo? This is popularly known as the "Buffaslug", a horned invertebrate native to upstate New York. They went from one of the most bad-assed (if overly literal) logos in sports to this monstrosity, the love child of a flaccid hot dog and the American bison. For shame.

7. New York Raiders (WHA)

Ahem.

First of all, the team appears to have gotten a stock logo, perhaps from clip art, that has absolutely nothing to do with the team name. Second, the logo appears to have been copied from a competitive men's figure skating team. The Raiders were horrible, but at least they looked faaaaaaaaaaaaabulous.

8. Anaheim Mighty Ducks, "Wild Wing."

Can you believe professional athletes – adults, not children – walked out of a locker room with this on their chests? On purple and teal uniforms, no less? The indignity of playing for a team named after a Disney kids' movie wasn't soul-crushing enough, I suppose, so the owners (shockingly, Disney) piled it on. Unanswered, of course, is the question of how Wild Wing was able to breathe under the ice.

9. Boston Bruins alternate/historic logo

Hey look everyone! It's Gentle Ben!

Look at the look on that bear's face. He looks bemused. Puzzled. Perhaps interested in having a tasty treat from a picnic basket. Apparently back in the day when this logo was devised they figured any ol' bear would do. "The team is called the Bruins. Just draw a bear and let's go to a vaudeville show!" Most people would still be afraid if confronted by this bear, but it looks far more likely to lick you than to tear you limb from limb. These jerseys make me want to scratch Poopsie the Bear (or whatever the hell his name is) behind the ear and ask him if he is a good boy.

Today is the 65th anniversary of Trinity.

We all remember J. Robert Oppenheimer's reaction ("Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds" from the Bhagavad Gita) but I think the lesser known words of the lesser known Kenneth Bainbridge do the job a little bit better: "Now we are all sons of bitches."

Humans have a tendency to overuse superlatives when it comes to history. Browse the non-fiction section of your bookstore and you will find dozens, perhaps hundreds, of accounts of things that "changed the world" or were "turning points in history." This is almost always bunk, but the events of July 16, 1945 at White Sands are among the few that can accurately be described that way. I could talk for hours and maybe days about this subject but I will be as brief as I can: the moment "The Gadget" detonated, the world changed. What happened at 5:29 AM Mountain Time on that day became the dominant topic of conversation and thought for the next forty years and forever altered the way the nations of the world interact. It made World War III unthinkable and, as a result, introduced proxy wars and Marx Brothers-like misadventures of industrialized nations in isolated and unpronounceable places.

Not being a historian by trade, I can only think of a few analogous events. The invention of electricity. The printing press. The Protestant Reformation – Treaty of Westphalia combo. The conversion of Constantine I of Rome to Christianity. Marco Polo shaking hands with Kublai Kahn.

What else? I'm sure I've only scratched the surface of the list of events that legitimately altered the course of human history. There must be more, such as the historic and planet-changing election of Barack Obama.

Two things happened today.

First, after hardly sleeping last night I was having a hard time writing at the office today. I gave up at about 4 PM and came home earlier than usual. It was exactly 100 degrees here today, with a heat index of 103. It was, in scientific terms, balls hot.
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When I got home I found my male rats completely inert. Rats are crepuscular and tend to be prodigious nappers during high afternoon heat. So today was exceptional only inasmuch as they were completely unresponsive.

Like, I had to startle them awake to verify that they were not dead. Here is a reference photo of napping boys. Imagine how it would break your heart to disturb them.

The second incident occurred on an errand run to Target. The store, like many in this area, was in full-blown "Back to School" mode (in July?? Is this normal?). It was well organized, with a college section (dorm-in-a-box packages, Ramen, 55-gallon drums of Valtrex), generic K-12 school supplies, and a section for kindergarten/preschool needs. This final area had a large end display offering "Napping Mats." I assume the local school district(s) have these on the required supplies list.

These two disparate events got me thinking: Why are humans the only mammal, or close to it, that doesn't rest during the hottest part of the day? More importantly, how much better would life be if we didn't abandon the idea of afternoon naptime when kids leave kindergarten? Just imagine your crappy daily routine with the cubicle hours between 1:00 and 3:30 replaced by a nice, quiet nap? We could all roll out our Dora the Explorer nap mats and just…let nature take its course.

None of us sleep enough. Mammals are not active during the hottest part of the day. Naps are awesome. I just presented three unassailable facts in support national (global?) naptime. We nap until we're 6 and then we're expected to stop.

Why? We don't become a different species when we enter 1st Grade.
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The only thing that changes are the expectations and the schedule to which we are forced to conform.

Nuts to that. I'm tired.

Retro style generally has very little appeal to me. It's what becomes trendy whenever we are totally out of ideas as a society. Hey, let's start wearing 1980s Jazzercise outfits again! Why? Because it's time for a change and this is easier than thinking of something new! Let's watch Mad Men. Being a woman in the 1950s must have been so cool – look at those amazing dresses! What lovely kitchens!

On the other hand, I do have a strong affinity for history.
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One thing that never fails to fascinate me is the way that Americans of the past saw their future / our present.
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The 1950s were the height of the naive sense of wonder at the unlimited power of science and technology. Science would bring a future free of diseases and positively laden with bubble- or dome-shaped houses, space tourism, and flying cars to American kids of the Eisenhower era (Disney's Tomorrowland is a particularly famous example of this spirit).

Of course by 1960 the visions of the future had taken a slightly darker turn on account of the ICBM, thermonuclear bomb, and bombers with global range. The nuclear apocalypse became one of the most common themes in fiction, film, and art. Nonetheless, the positive depictions of the future didn't disappear.
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We were still going to beat the Commies, take vacations to dome cities on the moon, and have robot servants washing our astro-dishes. And of course there would still be flying cars.

Whenever I read about retro-futurism I am struck by the joylessness of our current futurism. I mean, does anyone actually think things are going to get better? Who looks forward to 2050 (or even 2030) as a time of technological wonders improving humanity's lot? We don't seem to think we have much to look forward to anymore – environmental catastrophes, mass extinctions, vanishing resources, political instability, economic collapse, critical overpopulation, and a soulless existence as cogs in a society that is little more than an enormous, filthy, and cold machine.

What optimism we have anymore is short-term; such-and-such will make things better now or in the next few years. No one even pretends anymore that things are looking up in the long term. We know that the melting icecaps, rising oceans, food shortages, wars over oil or fresh water, Great Depression III, and Grey Goo are right around the corner. It's optimistic just to think that the U.S. will still be a functioning society in 30 years let alone one kissed by the wonders of science or experiencing any kind of prosperity.

I have no doubt that my own pessimism colors the way I interpret the social consensus. Am I way off base here? Is there anyone out there writing Disney Tomorrowland versions of America 2050?
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Do any of you think that things are lookin' up? That 2030 will be a glorious time to be alive?

At least we finally have our goddamn flying cars – albeit $200,000 ones that can only operate from airports, which largely defeats the purpose, guys.

Can I at least get a jet pack? Man, this future sucks.

On account of an 11-hour drive late Thursday and a wedding to attend today I regret that you were not able to wake up to some NPF this morning.

To make up for this failure on my part, here is a photo of the world's tallest man (Bao Xishun of China) reaching into the stomach of a bottlenose dolphin to remove a potentially fatal piece of plastic it swallowed.

I would love to have been at the meeting where Chinese veterinarians and medical professionals were trying to figure out how to save the dolphin using the latest medical technology until someone stood up and said "All we need is a guy with 50-inch arms and an economy sized tub of Vaseline!
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"

Fortunately for the dolphin, China has both.

Octopus-armed NBA player Cliff Ray was called upon to perform the same life-saving service for a dolphin at a California zoo in the 1970s. Whether the Chinese were aware of this incident is unclear; this may be a case of simultaneous independent discoveries of something brilliant.
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