Dispatches from Miles Above Earth (Originally written en route to Philadelphia from Dallas on August 27th)


3:05pm. I am sitting on the plane, on the runway, stomach growling. I haven't eaten since 8am. Having left work at noon for the airport, I had just planned on grabbing lunch in the terminal before boarding the plane. But judging from the underwhelming food selection in the US Airways terminal of DFW Airport, extensive research told US Air execs that herbivores don't fly. My food choices consisted of McDonalds, the generically named Texas BBQ, and my personal favorite, Hot Dogs Across America, which implies an odd connection between spare animal parts and world peace. That's something I'd really like to know more about. So unfortunately, US Air never got the memo that not everyone in Texas is on a steady diet of lips and assholes. Ok then, chocolate chip cookie for lunch, it is.

5:18pm. I don't mind his constant screaming. I don't even mind picking up the toy airplane that the terror seated in front of me dropped once or twice (or 9 times in three hours, I would come to find out).* But I do take offense to the overwhelming stench of a newly soiled diaper I am being subjected to. Apparently in Peru, or whatever country is home to the family in front of me, it is customary to change a child's dirty diaper not in the bathroom but on the airplane seat. This has been filed away in my internal "Why Not To Have Children" folder. Fresh cookies, a field of flowers...it's no use. The smell of shit is in the air and there is nothing I can do about it.

5:22pm. It's a fascinating excercise, seeing how long you can go without breathing. 30,000 feet above ground, enclosed in an airplane filled with the scent of a violently soiled diaper, the answer is - not long enough.

6:30pm. Get me off this fucking plane.

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* Written for effect and should not be taken seriously. I do mind both constant screaming and picking up a child's toys every 20 minutes. Very much. Very very much.

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The Sox were off last night, so I got to watch Real Time with Bill Maher, which I haven't seen in ages. It was genius as always, including this gem on the new scent Hummer is producing:

Hummer is now also a men's fragrance. They say the scent is a masculine combination of leather, sandalwood and a bald man's tiny cock.

Brilliant.

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4 and a half games. I love the way that rolls off the tongue. Here we come, you ugly pinstriped bastards.** Get ready.

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**Mike Mussina is exempt. He is a superhot pinstriped bastard. Sue me, my hormones are colorblind.