What do you get when you take two adults, one puppy, and roughly 350 pounds of Christmas presents, pack them all up into a compact car, and set them loose on a wild, cross-country road trip spanning 12 states and who knows how many different weather conditions in a 10-day marathon Christmas vacation extravaganza?!

I don’t have any idea, either, but we’re sure gonna find out!

I suppose you could say that the adventure I just described spawns from one of the key perks/problems with living on the other side of the country away from the rest of your family – in those few instances when you actually do want to see them, you know – birthdays, holidays, interventions – you have to travel literally all the way across heaven and earth to actually get there!  Of course, to make matters even worse, it doesn’t help that my wife and I actually both live a gajillion miles away from our most immediate of relatives who guilt us for not seeing them on a regular basis, and so thus in all fairness one whirlwind trip to spend the holidays amongst family became two cyclones before we even stepped foot outside the door…

I also mentioned that we’ll be traveling with our lovable, omnivorous puppy who might very well eat us out of car and home in the event that we spend too long waiting to fill up gas!  I’ve heard before that traveling with a puppy is kind of like traveling with a baby, mind you with the one exception that at least a baby would have the courtesy of pooping in an actual diaper. We just recently got her used to “going outside” for the third time in the last six months, so already I’m looking forward to sending all of that progress back to square one by confusing the living daylights out of her with new doors to stand by and new places that we’d prefer her not to mark.

And lest we not forget the actual drive time itself – a teeth-clenching 3,000-mile jaunt through frozen parts unknown, with one family living kind of in the north by way of West Virginia and the other living undisputedly in the arctic tundras of the north way up in Michigan!  I can’t stress enough how much I haven’t missed in the slightest traversing the icy, snow-covered roads of my hometown since that day some eight years ago when I traded in my winter boots for a pair of flip-flops and a beach towel to move down to sunny Florida where, if it ever snows down here, we’ve got a lot bigger global issues than just trying to clear out the driveway in the morning!

But pack us all in our hybrid, fuel-efficient jalopy and away we’ll go, balancing presents on our laps and begging our puppy Cleo to “just hold it until the next rest area” as we trek our way across America in search of tidings and joy with those we hold most dear … mainly because they were the first to tolerate our bad jokes growing up, anyways.  It’s a journey one would only in their right mind make for family, and even then there had better be some decent holiday goodies waiting for us at the other end of this long and dusty trail!

A pilgrimage of epic proportions, only to be repeated every couple of years, and even then only if we still happen to be on speaking terms with the lot of them (or each other even!) by the time we manage to find our way back home again…

Remember, folks – Santa may visit all of those people’s houses in a single night, but at least he does it while they’re all asleep, and he certainly doesn’t bring any pets along with him for the ride!

I don’t pretend to enjoy flying any more than I pretend to enjoy a good root canal or a lazy afternoon with nothing to watch but FOX News.  I think it’s pretty safe to say that we’re well past the days of flying the friendly skies when the stewardesses still winked at you and it didn’t cost $37 for a bag of pretzels the size of an iPod.  Instead, air travel has become a tiresome ordeal of puddle jumping in one sardine can after another until you finally arrive at your destination 14 hours later, unable to remember where it was that you were actually flying to in the first place thanks to the lady in front of you who didn’t understand the courteous concept of “Just because you can recline your seat back doesn’t mean that you should…”

Still oddly enough, it never ceases to amaze me when the plane finally touches back down onto the tarmac and screeches to a halt from a few hundred miles per hour before opening the door and delivering me to a land somewhere on the other end of the country that would’ve taken me three times as long to drive to myself in the traditional sense.  The idea that they’re somehow able to slingshot this magical tin can to an altitude of roughly five miles above the surface of the Earth alone just seems a bit, how should I put it … incredible … to my feeble self who had a hard enough time mastering the heights of the jungle gym back in the 4^th grade!

Well, both incredible and terrifying, I suppose, if you want to nitpick…

Now I haven’t always had a fear of flying, per se, but let me tell you, these last couple of trips have really been pushing their luck with regards to my nerves at 30,000 feet, that’s for sure!  I mean, I know it’s technically not fair to hold the captain accountable for the weather, but if there’s one thing scarier than hearing, “I’m sorry, Sir – the gentleman behind you just got our last bottle of rum,” it’s the phrase that I heard over the loudspeaker from the captain a couple of weeks ago while my wife and I were flying out to Seattle.

Case in point:
“Ladies and gentlemen, please remain in your seats and fasten your safety belts – the next 20 minutes are going to be a little rough because we’re going to be flying through some UNSTABLE AIR…”

Layman’s Translation:
“Folks, this flight is about to get scary as all hell!!!”

And I don’t know about you, but as much as I may rant and rave about all of the other subhuman flying conditions that our modern airlines offer to us for flying with them, I for one would gladly pay full sticker price for that crusty, ham sandwich and eat it sitting on the lap of the passenger next to me, if only to avoid having to endure the plane being shook up like a barrel of monkeys!  There’s just something about this flying bus being tossed around the atmosphere like a hacky-sack that makes me start to wonder, “Hey, maybe this is God’s way of telling us, ‘Get the hell out of the sky!’”

Thankfully, though, as you may have guessed, I did make it down from that horrible, horrible flight in the preferred, gradually descending manner, and I’m man enough to admit that the ground was thoroughly kissed just as soon as they opened that cabin door – big surprise, I wasn’t the only one! After that, I vowed never to fly again, forgetting of course that I was now 3,000 miles away from home with no car, Segway, or horse and buggy to provide substitute transportation when it came time for the vacation to come to an end, and thus I was forced to reluctantly endure The Rollercoaster of the Skies once again about three days later, however at least that time I had the good sense to try and sleep through the turbulent chaos.

Until they come up with some sort of flying tranquilizer – one that doesn’t cost $7 a bottle, anyways – I suppose dreaming about falling out of the sky is still a smidge better than fully conscious, anxiety about falling out of the sky! That $37 bag of pretzels always seems to be a lot bigger in my dreams, too, and as for the stewardesses, well, let’s just say that the benefits of having a vivid imagination can often times be perky and plentiful…

Holy smokes – talk about a bad week to set foot on an airplane!

Folks, I don’t know if you’ve been keeping score there at home, but I have and according to my charts, we’re running out of airlines that are still worth flying faster than the crab legs on All You Can Eat Night at the buffet down the street from my house!  Believe me, that’s one place you don’t want to go on a Tuesday night, much like the following airlines are folks who you don’t want to fly with at this point pretty much on any night…

Their respective crimes?  Well, here’s the tally thus far, as I see it:

• Southwest harasses fat people.
• US Airways splits apart families with small children.
• United breaks guitars.
• AirTran once made me sit in front of an extraordinarily obnoxious lady and her yappy, little fart of a dog, neither of whom would shut the hell up for the entire duration of the flight.

It’s certainly no secret that flying the “friendly skies” has been reduced to a truly miserable experience, arguably akin to having one’s own kidneys removed and then subsequently being required to sell them yourself on the black market to cover the surgery bills.  The service is absolutely deplorable, as if herding customers like cattle and treating them slightly worse can somehow be regarded as “service,” anyways.  They seem to have no qualms about cramming as many people as physically possible into their flying tin cans, rushing us at increasingly tiny windows in the name of efficiency and security, only to finally reach the runway where we sit for hours and are expected to remain fully calm and complacent about the experience.  And of course, that’s the ultimate kicker because you don’t dare raise your voice or show any inkling of ire to anyone even in the vicinity of an airport unless you have a desire to spend the night in handcuffs…

…and no, not even in the good way, either!

If the events of this week and even those cringing memories past have taught us anything, it should be that, well, you don’t treat people like that. If someone is willing to pay you money for a service that you’re in the business to provide, it’s kind of common sense that you should go ahead and do that, preferably without being a gigantic dick in the process.  Clearly this is a concept that has been lost on a good number of our airlines today, but fear not, for I’m here today to tell you that I’ve come up with a solution, and not for nothing, but I think it’s a pretty good one, too!

So here’s what we’re going to do:

We’re going to start our own airline.

We’re going to get Wil Wheaton to endorse it, specifically so that we can call it Don’t Be a Dick Airlines.

On Don’t Be a Dick Airlines, we’re going to live by the three C’s of flying – courtesy, common sense, and candy … that’s right, free candy for everyone who behaves themselves and acts like calm, collected, and perfectly rational human beings while they’re flying with us.  See, being civil can have its rewards!

As you would expect, it’s going to take an elite team of highly trained employees to run this world-class, no-nonsense airline:

• We’re going to need people to fly the plane.
• We’re going to need people to help people get on the plane.
• We’re going to need people to assign seats so that parties are kept together and no one makes anyone else feel uncomfortable while flying with us.
• We’re going to need people to double-check shit to make sure that your luggage doesn’t end up in Albuquerque when clearly your destination isn’t Albuquerque.
• We’re going to need people to push those little drink carts up and down the aisles serving refreshments. We’re going to try to teach them how to not slam the carts into your knees and elbows when you’re least expecting it, but hey, nobody’s perfect.
• We’re going to need people to smile at you, thank you for flying, and actually mean it. Seriously, when was the last time that happened?!

I know, I know – it sounds like a tall, seemingly impossible order … one that no person in his right mind would possibly undertake, and that’s exactly why it’s going to work.  For far too long, the airline industry has been filled with businesses that are run by policies, not by people, and sometimes what it really takes is just completely abandoning all of that stiff-suited, lawyer-speak laden, cover-your-ass corporate bullshit to refocus on your original goal – in this case, that being to fly people from point A to point B with a spring in your step, a song in your heart, and a smile on your friendly face.

Don’t Be a Dick Airlines … it kind of has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

Isn’t it amazing what you can get done when you’re floating out in the middle of nowhere?

Let me tell you, I used to think that taking a trip down to the local Taco Bell, with its extra-value-packed menus and more importantly, its distinct lack of Internet access, was just the thing to help hoist myself out of the proverbial pit of procrastination and back onto that path towards the written word once again, but if I’ve learned one thing over the last week, it’s that sometimes full blown isolation from all things animal, vegetable, and mineral is a sacrifice worth taking into consideration when it seems that the creative juices have all but runneth dry…

Well, isolation within reason, anyways!

You see, I don’t know about other writers, but for me scribbling these words down on paper in an order that’s even moderately amusing to your average, non-intoxicated reader can sometimes be a tricky thing.  I mean, sure, it’s one thing to sit down and say that you’re going to write The Great American Humor Column, but the execution of that epic bout of showmanship is another feat altogether!  If you’re anything like me, by the time you finally do get all good and situated in your favorite chair, with a cold and refreshing beverage resting in the coaster and plenty of delicious snacks ready to help sustain your imagination through the journey, the weekend’s over, you’ve managed to watch every old episode of The Simpsons on the DVR, and you’re no closer to penning that snippet of comedy gold than you are learning how to tap dance or finally cleaning out that disgusting “potato salad” from the back of the refrigerator.

Of course, nobody ever said that writing was easy, however for those who find themselves in a similar situation, I think it’s plain to see that all of the distractions are to blame.  Granted, it’s understandable up to a point because Homer Simpson is the epitome of the lovable oaf who you just can’t stay mad at, even after he’s just chased Bart through the living room on the lawn mower, but nonetheless at the end of the day spending its entirety laughing at the genius that is Matt Groening doesn’t do much to help put chicken gravy on my biscuits so a plan to circumvent this perpetual procrastination is certainly in order!

Fortunately, I had a bit of free time to think on the topic this week and, if I don’t say so myself, I think I came up with an utterly brilliant way to prevent this type of sordid scenario from ever damming my own creative current again – from this day forth, all of my humor columns are going to be written on cruise ships.

If you think about it, it’s really the perfect environment for inspiring the imagination – the overpriced Internet access makes it fiscally impossible to waste time on Facebook, the gentle crashing of the waves drones out the mindless banter of your fellow cruise-goers, and they’ve even got pizza on-demand, 24-hours a day! Sure, you might suggest that the pool or the casino would more than make up for any distractions to be found at home, but really, how long are you going to spend wedged in the pool or flushing nickels down the toilet anyways?!  30 minutes and $8.65 later, you’ll be back at that keyboard as fresh as a daisy!

And to prove my shockingly incredible brainstorming right here and now, it might behoove you to know that this very column was written on a cruise ship. That’s right, folks – the proof is in the pudding, and I think you’d all agree with me that said pudding tastes even better when served directly to your stateroom on a silver platter with just a few small sprigs of mint on the side as garnish, chilled ever so slightly as to lock in the flavor.  Frankly, with the relaxing sounds of the ocean and a slice of freshly baked pepperoni pizza to gingerly coax me from one witticism to the next, it was almost too easy to pound out this week’s celebration of wit and wonder before frolicking up to the main deck for a strawberry margarita at sunset.

But send word out to all of my fellow humorists, friends and neighbors, for there’s still plenty of room on this ship for the worst of us and if enduring the lush, tropical ambiance of the Caribbean, with its breathtaking views and umbrella-laden drinks, is what it’s going to take to keep writers like us on track, then it’s a sacrifice that I, for one, am ready to make.  Just give it a shot for yourself and I think you’ll find the strides in your own productivity to be nothing short of legendary!

In return, I only ask one thing – just remember who came up with this idea if you find yourself ahead of me in the pizza line…

It’s on, my friends! The big vacation is now a mere six months away and counting, and the clock ticks closer every day to that time when I’ll be hopping on a gigantic boat with my wife down to the Caribbean to celebrate our first wedding anniversary, her survival of college graduation, and who knows what else we’ll have encountered and overcome between now and then. It’s to be a week of umbrella-topped drinks and beautiful weather, exotic scenery and blissful relaxation – a full seven days filled with not a care in the world. At least, that’s what it’s supposed to be…

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly looking forward to the relaxation part, and really, who doesn’t enjoy a good piña colada?! Already I’ve had many a friend, colleague, and family member tell me that once they’d gone on their very first cruise, they simply couldn’t imagine vacationing any other way, and that sounds great and all, but I must admit that at the same time I do have just a few concerns…

• What if I find myself enjoying that amazing water slide that I’ve seen in the pictures and end up soaring well past the pool and right off the edge of the boat?
• What if a pod of tourist-hating killer whales attacks the boat while we’re out at sea?
• Or worse yet, what if they confuse our boat for a gigantic, sexy killer whale – on account of the big, iconic fin that all of Carnival’s ships have – and they attempt to mate with us in some sort of twisted, Night at the Roxbury at Sea-kind of fashion?
• What if I just so happen to be in the restroom or something when they make their final boarding call at some remote island and I get left behind, forced to learn the language of the natives and live among them, awkwardly dancing for them nightly as their jester in an attempt to not become a part of the evening’s main course?
• What if the boat gets lost at sea, only to be later washed ashore on some deserted island in a Gilligan-like fashion, except that there’s a whole heck of a lot more people this time than just seven and most of them end up being jerks? Also, none of them appear to have the same chemistry that carried Gilligan, the Professor, Ginger, Mary Ann, Mr. and Mrs. Howell, and the Skipper through 98 episodes and 4 made-for-TV movies, either…

Remember, I’ve never been on a cruise before, so these are the kinds of things that have been going through my head ever since we decided on spending a week on a boat out in the middle of the ocean instead of opting to vacation someplace safely on land where killer whales and restless natives don’t really have to be factored into the equation! So while everyone else is pondering which excursions they want to sign-up for and what sights they’d like to see, instead I’m contemplating how best not to resemble a plump and delicious seal should I find myself overboard in shark-infested waters! Can you see why I’m having just a teensy bit of trouble fully relaxing about this newfound vacation concept now?!

I guess I should at least be grateful that we’re still six months out from our departure, which leaves me a decent amount of time to begin studying the various Caribbean native languages and start brushing up on my coconut building skills over the summer. Granted, there may not be much that I can do to prepare for any potential wildlife encounters, whether as the aforementioned lunch or even as a very unwilling victim to a pack of “overly-amorous” orcas, but really, I suppose there are some things that no amounts of preparation or body armor can ready a man for and besides, who really wants to walk around wearing a suit of armor and reeking of anti-whale pheromones on their vacation, anyways?

Come one, come all! Gather up your children and your grandparents, and even your pets! Well, actually, don’t bring your pets, but do circle up and come together with me here today as I tell you a story of unprecedented rudeness amongst the otherwise friendly skies…

This is the tale of The Most Horrible Plane Ride in the World!

*queue thunder and lightning, pause for dramatic effect…*

It all started on a long travel day coming back from blustery Northern Michigan to the warm and comforting climates of Florida. The trip encompassed four hours of flying on two different flights, all preceded by another four hours of driving just to get ourselves down to the airport, so needless to say by the time we were nearing close to home, our energy, as well as overall tolerance for the typical, everyday ignorance of the traveling American, was pretty well spent.

It was at this time, apparently, that fate had decided would be just a dandy time to test our nerves while simultaneously traveling at 700mph roughly 32,000 feet up in the air…

The challenge, in this case, was presented in the form of a yappy, blonde stewardess and her yappy, stupid little dog who just so happened to be hitching a ride somewhere on our final leg home. Up until this point, I’d never had the unique pleasure of flying with anything more annoying than a screaming baby, so even before we took off, I knew that this was going to be a real treat. For you see, while you may think that the regular, old people seats are ridiculously cramped unless you happen to be a contortionist or just unusually limber for reasons which we’d rather you didn’t elaborate on, dogs have it even worse when they travel because according to FAA regulations, they’re required to remain in basically a lunch box for the duration of the flight. Sadly, however, not so much one of those rough and tough, hard-shelled lunch boxes fit for a construction worker or a teenager who’s trying to prove that he’s outgrown his Care Bears lunchbox, but more so like one made of fabric and mesh … that allows sound to travel through it very, very well.

Specifically speaking, there were a few of select moments in particular when I knew for a fact that this was about to be an arduous flight:

a) When yappy, blonde stewardess first sat down and proceeded to apologize to everyone within earshot roughly three dozen times for how loud her dog would be for the duration of the flight.

b) When yappy, blonde stewardess emphatically recommended to everyone in her row that they partake in the complimentary headphones because her dog would be mind-numbingly loud for the duration of the flight.

c) When yappy, blonde stewardess attempted to persuade the working flight attendants to just let her hold him on her lap instead of being left in said FAA-regulated container because otherwise he would bark incessantly to the point where everyone around would want to lock them both in the tiny, air-bathroom for the duration of the flight.

Let me tell you, those folks who claim that dogs tend to resemble their owners are spot on because throughout the 52-minute duration of said flight, neither that yappy, little rat dog nor its boisterous, sorority sister owner stopped barking or talking respectively for the entire flight. Which was even more so weird because while the yappy pair sat behind me and refused to honor but a moment of silence, a second dog owner sat right next to me the entire flight and managed to keep her dog so quiet that questions were raised on what kinds of doggy tranquilizers she had given it before the trip. It seems that not unlike traveling with babies or young children, it’s merely a flip of a coin whether they’re going to behave like perfect angels or denizens from the 7^th level of hell. But heaven forbid I get two of the first one on my late-night trip home instead of one of each…

Now that the whole ordeal is over and behind us, I won’t necessarily say that people shouldn’t be able to fly with their pets altogether … I have no desire to start getting hate mail from those crazies who think their dogs and cats are their babies… But all in the same, something has to be done to keep the loud and obnoxious travelers, young, old, and furry, from disturbing mild-mannered folks like myself who just want to get back home to where it’s more than 12 degrees during the day without a migraine and/or psychotic episode. Maybe the answer is partitioning off part of the plane as the obnoxious zone where all of the dogs and babies and guys who wanna chat about how much they love their sales careers incessantly can sit and be as loud and annoying as they want, separated from us normal passengers by a thick sheet of plexiglass to afford us some peace and quiet. Or possibly we just offer mandatory free drinks for these lucky patrons, laced with a powerful sedative that will render their barks, screams, and storytelling abilities mute until we reach our destination. Some sort of muzzles would likely do the trick, too – there are plenty of options here … all we need to do is pick one!

It’s time for us mellow folk to take back the friendly skies again, and if between the airlines with their exorbitant fees and the TSA with their ridiculous rules they can’t necessarily be friendly, then let’s at least compromise and get them quiet once again. Let me enjoy my four pretzels and seven dollar rum and coke in peace – save the barking for when you get to the hotel…

Why didn’t anybody tell me before?! Flying first class is awesome!

Last weekend my fiancée and I flew up to New York for the weekend, and I promised myself that I wasn’t going to bore you guys with yet another column ranting about flying … but that was before we got a call from the airline Sunday morning offering to upgrade us to first class if we were willing to take a slightly earlier flight. Hmmm, let’s see – eight hours of travel time being squished into breadbox-sized seats in coach with a two-hour layover in the airport-hell that is Atlanta, or a three hour direct flight home, living the swanky and spacious life up in first class, on a flight that was really only leaving two hours earlier than our original departure choice to boot! Tough call, indeed…

Of course, my only problem now is that now that I’ve tasted the sweet life and flown like businessmen and lower-caliber movie stars and other Very Important People Who Simply Can’t Afford Their Own Planes (or VIPWSCATOPs, for short), I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to fly back there with the common folk ever again!

I don’t really even know where to begin – the extra leg room, the free food, the copious amounts of gloating that took place as we watched all of the lesser passengers pass by us en route to their inferior seats. To start at the beginning, they boarded us on the plane before anyone else, which admittedly I was a little skeptical about because I prefer to board as late as humanly possible simply to reduce the amount of time that I have to sit wedged in that tiny, hope-your-neighbor-wore-deodorant-today seat of theirs, but shortly after walking a tedious ten feet to our oversized, leather, comfy-as-hell seats, we learned the real reason why first class boards before anyone else – so they can get the alcohol flowing long before we even taxi to the runway! By the time the rest of the passengers began boarding, we were each happily sippin’ on rum and Cherry Cokes, and that was only the beginning…

As it turns out, money can buy happiness, as we proceeded to be pampered with a variety of snacks that put those lame crackers and pretzels to shame, reading material, even more liquor, as we learned that only the less fortunate need stretch that single drink handed out mid-flight for the entire duration, not to mention enough leg / elbow / insert-third-appendage-that-always-seems-to-get-cramped-on-airplanes here to make flying the skies actually friendly once again! No more splitting half an armrest with some hairy dude on his way to Nantucket, and the kid behind me would’ve had to have been Gumby to be able to even come close to kicking the back of my seat! It was almost as if, at least for those three hours and nine minutes, life was perfect.

So perfect, in fact, that there’s really no going back at this point. I’ve seen the other side of that blue curtain now and I’ll be damned if I’m going to bump elbows with Attila the Hun or sit behind Baby Cries A Lot again in this lifetime! My butt grew accustomed to those plush, leather gifts from heaven between New York and Tampa – to revert back to those scratchy, coarse abominations beyond the curtain would practically be treason against my own rear! Besides, pay for alcohol during the flight?! What do I look like – somebody who just flew coach? This trip was a wake-up call for me so that I could learn that man doesn’t exist on this green Earth to ride six to a row on each other’s laps, scarfing down eleven pretzels and a swallow’s worth of sugar water for sustenance during a cross-country adventure…

…or at least I don’t exist for the purpose of riding coach, that is. Ya’ll can do what you need to do … I guess maybe some folks need to sit on each other’s laps and feel the pain of an infant’s ear-shattering scream as they puddle jump from one city to another. That’s fine – that just leaves more plush, leather goodness for me!

I wish I was riding first class right now…

Many a humor column has already been written about all of the joys that come from flying “the friendly skies,” and seeing as how the flight that I’m on right now as I write this just happens to coincide with my next deadline, that’s even more airline comedy goodness that you all get to look forward to – luck you! So fasten your seatbelts, return your seatbacks to their upright and locked positions, and for God sakes, give the person sitting next to you a little breathing room! The skies were never intended to be that friendly…

I think even above the cramped seats, the rollercoaster-envious turbulence, and the mockingly minuscule snack portions, what I really love about traveling via airplane is the people. I mean seriously, nowhere else will you possibly find a higher concentration of self-absorbed idiots who couldn’t care less about the very people around them – not even in New York City! It takes a special kind of person to make it through a visit to the airport without letting these masterminds of courtesy get to you, and if you hadn’t guessed it already, I’m certainly not one of those people! Call it “fly-paper for freaks” syndrome, but when there’s a lady who doesn’t understand what the metal detector detects – I’m behind her in line; when there’s a kid who feels the need to recline his seat back and forth ad nauseam from takeoff to landing – I’m right behind him, too! Come to think of it, most of my airport qualms seem to come from getting stuck behind stupid people at one point or another, but unless someone’s able to both hook me up with a Magic FAA Fast Pass so that I can bypass the security checkpoints altogether, and then subsequently let me fly the plane myself so there’s no possible way of having a seat in front of me reclined until the claustrophobia that I never had begins to surface, there really isn’t much else that can be done.

Then again, maybe with a little common sense there is…

Here’s an idea – we create another class of airport patrons that’s defined not by the price of the tickets that we purchase, but instead by a composite score that would be derived from the amount of common sense in a person’s head and also their history of using that common sense during previous trips to the airport. Once you’ve proven yourself worthy of flying Peaceful Class, get ready for a whole new experience at the airport! Your trip starts with a complimentary shuttle service that picks you up from your home or hotel and takes you to the airport, utilizing the most efficient back roads so as to avoid those folks who can’t remember if they want the exit for Airline A or Airline B, or even if they’re supposed to be going to the airport in the first place! Upon arrival, you are escorted to the “Peaceful Class Line” at your airline’s check-in desk, which actually doesn’t have a line at all because only people like you who actually know how to pack their bags less than 50 pounds each and check-in without asking a minimum of ten million questions are allowed. From there you proceed to “Peaceful Class Security,” which is actually just a guy who waves as people walk by because we all know that airline security is pretty much pointless anyways. On the airplane itself, “Peaceful Class” fliers are actually seated at the far back of the plane, but that’s ok because not only do we board via a private walkway direct to the rear of the plane, but our section is also completely isolated with sound-proof glass from the rest of the passengers. The seats are placed father apart, thus allowing you to stretch without requiring consent from those around you, and if that alone wasn’t enough, the beverages are all served in spill-proof cups because “Peaceful Class” can isolate you from most air travel annoyances, but turbulence just isn’t one of them!

But other than the occasional bump or shuffle, really the only similarity that you will share with the other non-Peaceful Class passengers is that you’ll all end up at the same destination when the plane reaches the ground!

Of course, once on the ground you’ll immediately be reunited with your baggage, once again bypassing the posse who isn’t quite sure which large, black suitcase on wheels is theirs, and thus ends another pleasant traveling experience flying the friendly skies “Peaceful Class!” Just please keep in mind, however, that any adverse behavior throughout your travels could affect future qualifications to fly “Peaceful Class” – we can’t go ruining the trip for all of the other smart people just because you have a temporary lapse of reason that makes you lose grasp of the concept that seat 14B should fall between 14A and 14C!

But on that note of truly wishful thinking, my own personal flying tin can has successfully returned to Earth and if you don’t mind, I’ve got some quality time with my own personal space to make up! I’d like to thank all of you for laughing with me here today, so from all of me to all of you – next time I’m taking the bus…

Now I don’t want to alarm anyone, but I think you should all know that I almost died over the weekend.

Don’t worry – I did manage to make it through, but they’re telling me to stay away from spinning around in circles and flying through the air upside-down for a while. Allow me to explain…

This weekend my girlfriend and I spent an afternoon at Busch Gardens, our local theme park known for beer, a handful of absolutely terrifying roller-coasters for those who prefer their internal organs turned inside out, and of course, more beer. There are also a few animals scattered throughout the park here and there, but let’s be honest – people go to the zoo down the street if they’re hoping to see baby giraffes or hippopotamuses. At Busch Gardens, it’s all about the thrill!

Which is an important point to consider in our story because as a general rule, I myself am not all about the “thrill” in any way, shape or form. I toss cartons of milk out a day or two before getting to the expiration date, I always wait more than an hour after eating before I jump into the pool for a swim, and I can’t even bring myself to watch the hit primetime game show Deal or No Deal. Ok, so that last one isn’t as much because of the thrills and suspense as it is because I just can’t stand Howie Mandel’s character on that show – “He. Just. Talks. With. Way. Too. Much. Emphasis. In. His. Voice.”

…and that explanation doesn’t have nearly as much impact in a written medium, but I know that I’m not the only one out there who’s bothered by this!

But anyways, so it pretty much goes without saying that if given the options of either spending the afternoon taking a brisk, refreshing walk through that aforementioned zoo or hurtling through the air at a hundred miles an hour, upside-down and inside-down, defying all the conventional laws of physics and even some new ones that probably won’t be discovered for another twenty or thirty years, needless to say if I had my way I’d be going with the giraffes and zebras. So why, you then ask, did I find myself on that fateful afternoon amidst a plethora of spine-tingling, rickety death-traps with names likes The Punisher and I Hope You’ve Notified Your Next of Kin… (note: actual coaster names have been changed to help my story sound scarier than it normally would be to someone who isn’t a wuss)?

Of course, it was one of those girlfriend-induced adventures because it’s really no secret that with the right member of the fairer sex around, we’ll commit to pretty much anything, be it taking her to Yanni on Ice or shopping for a new blouse because there’s still three vacant inches of space left in the closet or even plummeting to your untimely death voluntarily because, well, she likes that sort of stuff! And the truly twisted side of it is that somehow I’d probably even end up going back again if she so desired because that’s just what a messed up gender we are, guys. Tell me, is it better or worse the second time when you know exactly when to let out your blood-curdling screams for each dip and turn?!

Oddly enough, it wasn’t Sheikra in the end that was the worst of the bunch – Sheikra being the park’s newest torture device that proclaims dropping its victims 200 feet straight down at 70 mph without even offering them a free change of pants upon their return to Earth. There was the Congo River Rapids that although appearing to be nothing more than a children’s ride down the river, ended up soaking me to the bone worse than had we actually just gone swimming down at the pool instead! But the real culprit of the day, and consequently our last “ride” of the afternoon, was Gwazi, which I believe is African for “roller coasters should never be made out of wood unless you’re insane.” Gwazi is actually two roller coasters in one, meaning that at times riders are actually offered the unique view of watching other riders throwing up on a nearby track at the same time! Mind you, I can’t vouch for this myself because I was too busy closing my eyes as tightly as I possibly could and making up new Gods to pray for my safety to throughout the duration of the ride…

All in all it was an “interesting” day because really, how many people can boast that they saw their life flash before their eyes seven times in the course of merely a few hours? Afterwards some suggested that a few beers would’ve made the trip more bearable, although I don’t think the people sitting around me would agree, seeing that as much as it hated me throughout, my stomach did thank me on the way out for not trying to fill it in between rides! Now that would’ve been something to see…

But I’m back at home now, safely and firmly planted on my couch where I belong. I’ve got three hundred channels of digital cable and Internet access if I’m feeling up for some thrills, and some meatloaf from last week still in the fridge if I’m looking to recreate that other feeling, so I’m good for now. As for my girlfriend, she’s happy that I gave chasing death a chance and rode some of her favorite rides with her that afternoon. And she also knows that it probably won’t be happening again anytime soon, so if you could refrain from hinting her in on that power of hers that is making me do whatever she wants … at least for a little while, my stomach would certainly appreciate it!

Chasing Death – now that would be a good name for a roller coaster!

Well, for those of you who recall last week’s little “pre-adventure” of ours, you know that by about this time, I should be somewhere en route between the tropical paradise that is my home in Central Florida and the frigid wasteland wonderland of my former home up in Northern Michigan. My bags have finally been packed, and chances are I forgot my thermal underwear, but other than the idea of potentially freezing the twins off, we should be good to go…

In fact, I’ll let you in on a little secret to put some minds at ease – I’ve actually already arrived here…relatively safely in Michigan, and all is right with the world. Well, actually there was that near-death polar bear encounter two nights ago, but fortunately I was able to ward him off at the very last second! Between you and me, I personally think that it was just too cold up here for him, but nonetheless, this certainly isn’t a column about bears in their natural environment…

…and besides, we all know this to be the Studebaker, anyways…

(Honey, I threw that reference in there just for you!)

But wildlife and climate control and the Muppets aside, the real purpose of today’s column is simply to share with you some of the wonders of the open road that I experienced earlier this week during my two-day, 20-hour, 1382-mile cross-country road trip through middle America! As you would imagine, such an enduring adventure would most certainly entail many wild antics along the way, but I just don’t have time to chronicle the entire journey for you word-for-word, song-for-song. Thus instead, consider this to be more along the lines of “The Best of Scott’s Road Trip” - we’ll cover a few of the more memorable moments from each state and afterwards, you can go talk about the zaniness with your friends over the coffee or latte of your choice! So set your atlas aside and leave the driving to me…good god, was that a long road trip!

Leaving Florida – “The Sunshine State”
Mind you, the first few hundred miles of the trip were really just a warm-up…and who expects to see anything of interest while departing from their own state, anyways? Well, other than a quaint rest area sign warning patrons of deadly, venomous snakes in the area, Florida was but a stepping stone for me in this exhaustingly long journey…

Sorry, I don’t remember exactly which rest area that was, but I’m sure it won’t take long to figure it out if the situation presents itself!

Welcome to Georgia – “Please check your opinions at the door…”
Now the thing I like about Georgia the most, I think, is that despite the duration of driving from one end to the other (at least six hours – the longest state during my travels), your scenery never really changes…ever. In fact, nothing changes – whether it be the cities, the restaurants, or even the people…they leave nothing to chance in Georgia, however sometimes it’s just a little bit eerie!

I will admit, however, that Georgia does seem to have some of the friendliest people that I encountered along the way, never failing to greet me pleasantly and wish me a safe journey upon my departure. Of course, any sign of controversy and you’d better be prepared to duck and cover, but for just passing through, it’s quite nice.

Now Entering Tennessee – “That smell is really coming from Alabama…honest!”
You may recall that we experienced a particular problem when I originally passed through when I moved to Florida a couple of years ago, and well, I’m here to report today that they really haven’t done much to fix the situation.

The situation, bluntly, is that Tennessee seems to smell very bad and despite knowing that I might very well receive three pieces of hate mail for saying this, I feel that it is my civic duty to bring this piece of information to the masses. In fact, if there just so happens to be enough time in your vacation planner, I might even be so bold as to recommend driving around the state entirely. You’ll thank me later…

Also, I’ve stayed in a number of hotels in Tennessee over the years and none of them seem to ever have alarm clocks, nor are they willing to produce one for me when I ask at the front desk. Something about them constantly getting stolen or something, but nonetheless another item to consider when traveling from here to there.

Kentucky – “We’re easily more redneck than Tennessee…”
The welcome sign on I-75 going into Kentucky features a cowboy on a horse, merrily greeting visitors with all of the cultural flair that one might expect from the wild, wild west.

I’m sure you expected to read some horrendously offending remarks about Kentucky here, but for the most part, my exposure was limited to the twenty minutes I spent in Arby’s eating lunch. Sorry!

Ohio or Bust – “You’d be better off walking!”
Now this is where things got interesting because for the record, people from Ohio don’t know how to drive. The entire state takes a little over three hours to drive through during optimal conditions, but let’s just say, I didn’t get optimal conditions for my trip…

Five accidents before I even made it through Cincinnati, another three on my way up to Dayton, and I could’ve sworn that I saw the National Guard in my rear-view mirror as I crossed the boarder into Michigan. For God’s sake, people, just stay off the roads – you’re going to hurt somebody…else.

And Finally, Michigan – “Ticketing more tourists for stupid driving infractions than ever!”
Maybe I’m spoiled living down in Metropolitan Tampa because our cops don’t just pull people over for the hell of it, but I swear, within the first hour of my trip through Michigan, I saw more people getting pulled over for speeding and whatnot than the entire time that I’ve lived down in Florida!

Michigan loves its speed traps, and that really urks me because it blatantly screams out, “We don’t have anything better to do than to wait around for you to break the law.” Meanwhile, drug dealers and murderers and all sorts of crazies wander the streets, but hey, at least they’re doing something to address those madmen going 75 mph on the freeway!

Luckily, it was only a matter of hours from that point before I’d cross the line into no man’s land – literally – and it’d only be me and the open road. To quote Kevin Smith, “It was like the opening to Mallrats…” Yep, I was home.

So there you have it, how I got from there to here in six easy states. Stay tuned next week for a very special look at everything I’ve missed from the great state of Michigan over the past few years…with a minimal quantity of snow-related jokes…

…probably…