Been out of touch and off line for a long time now.  First I went for a nice vacation.  Nice in all ways, except for being completely out of range of all types of electronic communication.  What do we call that?  Is there a name for that?  Going Pioneer?   No, I don’t like that, sounds sorta like going commando, and at my advanced years, I sure as hell don’t do that!  Right, sorry, TMI, TMI, I know.

Then I made a hasty trip back across the country with my two kids, aged 4 and 11, without Mom along.  Solo Parenting.  For those of you who have not had the indescribable pleasure of bringing forth new life upon this planet, you probably can’t relate.  I’m not being snotty or elitist about this, in fact, I secretly envy you on many occasions, but just take it from me, its like being at work, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week; and like that Geico commercial, your co-workers are Chimpanzees.   Of course, those of you who were so rash as to spew forth offspring willy-nilly; you have already filled in the blanks with your own particular hideous visions which are probably more vivid than anything I can describe, so I will spare you the details.

Ok, well, sorry, I lied.  I have to include some details, cause I have to vent to somebody.  On the way out, we took the redeye.  “The kids will sleep like logs, it will be great!” was the the thinking that was done on the couch with a Margarita in hand in the easy, pastoral, pre-apocalypse age we lived in then.  Well, little did we know that due to the lateness of our reservations, we were to be relegated to the actual, physical, really and truly, last row of seats in the plane.  We were basically in the galley at the back of the plane.   What is so bad about that, you may say in your innocent-reader voice.  Well, apparently our contingent of stewards and stewardess (who, I must say are sometimes rather difficult to differentiate between — can I say that?  Sorry, sorry) were pretty frustrated at having had to miss the Friday night festivities that only a city like San Francisco can offer.  So they decided to recreate the scene in the back of the plane.  I don’t know what they were drinking back there, but I don’t think it was on page 82 of the Skymiles magazine.   Not only that, but at some point in that endless evening, a distinct, sweetish, odor wafted over us, like that wavy white line that came out of Pepe Le Pu’s butt in the cartoons, and I am sure that one of the bathroom smoke detectors was violated that night.  And they didn’t offer to pass Anything around!

The way back was even more fun, as Delta led us on for hours, delaying our flight “Oh, yes it will definitely take off!”  and then finally, Cancellation.  I rented the last car out of Tallahassee and drove overnight to Atlanta to shovel two poor, sad, sacks of whimpering kids onto an early morning flight.

Jesus god, do any of you remember when it used to be fun to fly?  We used to dress up and get excited?  Nowadays it’s what’s most comfortable?  Pajamas?  Hell yes.  Underwear?  Fuck no, too chafey.  It looks like an explosion at a rummage sale in the coach cabin.  Of course, in first class they’re all wearing suits and tophats and diamond necklaces and snorting coke out of women’s cleavages; but that’s another story.

So the upshot is that I was out of touch for a long time.  And I know you are thinking that this is some kind of feel-good, touchy-feely story about how I came to learn more about myself and get in better touch with my kids (I mean, Please! Could I just get out of touch with them for like 10 minutes or something?) and changed my life forever, and such.  But it’s not!  Sorry!

It sucks to be out of touch nowadays.  My connection to the outside world is the internet.  My blog, my twitter, all the sites I have to read, (Facebook still sucks, sorry), all those things are what relieve the pressure of the daily slog.  Get rid of those, and all you have left is the narrow, confined, tunnel of daily life around you and that’s a bad rabbit hole to go down.

I am glad to be back, glad to see my blog, and I love my kids more than ever (right now).






1 comment
  1. Flights not to fancy!
    I suppose these days those once-glamorous attendants are called ‘Air hosting persons’ or ‘hostrons’ or something equally ghastly.

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