“What the heck is up with this seat!?!” It’s pretty clear that airplanes are not designed for people, let alone a 6 ft 2 inch Mexican Jedi. Oh sure, there’s First Class, Business Class, Coach Class and Broke Folks Class. Now because I qualify for the “broke folks” section of the plane, I find meselfs sitting in a space that’s literally 2 feet by 2 feet. Ouch. Oh lady, please don’t recline- I beg you.  And the fact that they dub it “class” is somehow a smack in the face to society and their level of edjoomukation – think about it:

First Class – yeah, back in school you were head of the class; Business Class – well, you simply handled your business in school to maintain average grades and get a blue ribbon at graduation; Coach Class – you convinced yourself that “D’s” were passing and you gladly took the hit; Broke Folks Class – do the initials G.E.D. mean anything? I’m telling you  – Airlines is the Devil.

Think, too, of some of the names of Airlines themselves and the messages their sending right under our noses  – AA (American Airlines) – would you feel comfortable drinking on that flight?; Delta – what did that stand for back in the day “Don’t Ever Leave The Airport”; Continental – free breakfast at hotels; United – if we can fly, we can do anything; AirIran – really? Uh, did anybody watch Lost? I’m telling you, folks, it’s all subliminal. Oh, and recall my rant about feeling the gouge at the airport – well, planes are no different. $7 bucks for 6 ounces of beer – uh, let me think about that – Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Well, do I have any bright ideas or just wasted complaints? Bowf.

First, lose the whole “class” gentrification nonsense (wow, big word, no idea what it means but it sure sounds good) – if you want to stretch out your legs and eat tasty goodies, then cough up the cash; if you’re broke, shoot, we won’t hold it against you, your seat will automatically be 4 by 4 feet – and the beer will be a buck a pop – happy hour, every hour on my airlines! As for the food – fast, homie – you’ll be better off for it, fo’ sho’. Plus, we’d just complain about it anyway.

Wow, I just happened to look up and notice the old man standing in line for the baffroom and he has a whole stack of newspapers in hand – WELCOME TO THE BROKE FOLKS CLASS – matches not included.

Missed Calling

March 17, 2011

“GOOD LAWD!” That’s all that came to mind as I gazed at my bill from the Mexican food side shop at LAX for an order of chicken nachos and two beers – the beers alone were $10 bucks a pop. I knew I should’ve eaten more at home before leaving. (Dang, that just reminded me of the chicken I left in the fridge that will now smell tangy when I get back.) (Uh, how long does pizza stay edible?)

Never, my friends, yes NEVER eat at the airport unless you’re ready to drop some vacation cash without even leaving the state you live in! So sad. And the crazy thing is the airport is full of places like that – you know, places that sell things you don’t need but figure somehow that you do need them because you’re going on vacation and it would be so awesome to have these needless things because you have so much room in that backpack that already weighs like a thousand pounds! (Sigh.)

Oh look, StarChucks! How about getting a feel-good coffee for $30 bucks! Wait, don’t pass up the book store, you know you’ve been dying to read a novel that’s oh, let say hundreds of pages long full of five dollar words you don’t even  understand, let alone know how to pronounce! AS IF! Yep, tack on another $20 bucks and you’ve yet to set foot on a plane.

Oh yes, someone IS complaining here. I shake my head in disappointment in self – why couldn’t I get my foot in the door, so to speak, and sell you things you don’t need while coasting around waiting to board your flight to freedom? Perhaps a shop that sells “must have” Dodger player bobble-heads, key chains that scream “I (heart) Venice Beach!”, or simply a store that sells Mexican candies and Luchadore Wrestling Masks? I would vow to keep my prices low – in fact, instead of the .99 cent store, I’d call it the $9.99 cent store- and you’d still come out a winner!

Yes, another missed calling.

In Search of the Handyman

November 7, 2009

As the screen door stood clinging to its doorframe with one hinge, my wife proceeded to look at me with her scowled face of disappointment and ask, “Are you going to fix that?!?” “Sure,” was my reply. And with that, my dear friends, came the sigh that would lead into the ongoing dispute of a stereotypical misconception – the ever-endeared “handyman”.

But what really is a handyman? I’m sure women around the globe, especially those who are married, would be quick to step up to the plate on this one and share their versions or definitions on this ‘you set yourself up on this one’ question. However, there will be no need for that. The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language – Fourth Edition defines handyman as “a man who does odd jobs or various small tasks.” True, I have done some “odd jobs” in my time and “various small tasks” such as “move that here, pick that up, etc.,” yet does that qualify me as a bonafide “handyman”? Well, let’s take a moment to develop this further, shall we? It’s obvious that this is something that doesn’t come naturally. In fact, many a job offer is extended in the working world to those who have been skilled in such a trade. Yeah, blah, blah, blah.

Unfortunately, many today fail to accept this point and thus apply this title to men in general. You’re right, enough with the pleasantries – women apply this title to men in general, period. Oh, but it doesn’t stop there, that would be too easy. Now comes the antagonizing. Perhaps we’re familiar with the following “attempted” ego-busters:

“Aren’t you ashamed that you’re not a handyman?”

“So-and-so’s boyfriend/husband fixes things, why can’t you?”

Oh, and my personal favorite – “Be a man!!” (Really, people?)

Now these are just a few of the “attempted” ego-busters that we men have to endure. I say, “attempted,” because, for most men, we will not get a complex or curl up in a corner and start crying over the soft attempt of emotional scarring. No, for the most part, we will state some simple truths, such as:

Shrugging our shoulders and saying “Oh well,” or “Whatevers”

“I have no qualms of accepting the fact that I am not, and most likely will not be, a ‘handyman’.”

Oh, and my favorite – “I have no problem paying somebody to come and fix it – I’m promoting job security!”

And just ponder over this point for a moment: if we, as “men”, were to say to our dear loved ones – “be a woman!” – well, does the saying “kiss of death” mean anything? Instant tears of rage would form in those once soft, supple eyes and throughout the following days we would hear ringing in our ears “you’re mean”, “rude”, “it’s not the same thing:”, or finally “you don’t love me.” Charlie Brown of Peanuts summed it up nicely with one word – “UGH!”

Obviously the debate can go on and on, and no doubt it will. So the next time you get nailed with this stereotypical misconception – “be a handyman”, simply state the truth – the Search continues. In fact, if society is in such a need for a handyman, then why do we have duct tape?

The Time Has Come!

November 7, 2009

And now it is here. Oh no! Look!! Now it’s GONE!