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- Thread starter Golferdow01
- Start date
sparcboxbuck
What happened to my ¤cash?
If you know that you have a bladder like a 2-year old don’t pick a window seat.
When on the ground, there is also zero reason to climb over your seat mates to get to the restroom. We’re all happy to get up and let you pass.
When on the ground, there is also zero reason to climb over your seat mates to get to the restroom. We’re all happy to get up and let you pass.
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sparcboxbuck
What happened to my ¤cash?
Oh, and when the cute girls in the skirts give you a tag for your bag... don’t try to take it on the plane.
And yes, DTW is eastern time zone.
Geeez.
And yes, DTW is eastern time zone.
Geeez.
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Hmmm, well, they did tag my bag once last time, but my bag fits under the seat in front of me, so I took it on.
Because it fits under the seat, which it did.
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They tagged my bag once, too. I hunched over when it happened but I was alright. My bag always goes on the plane and sometimes fits under the seat but what’s a man supposed to do? Cut it off?
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sparcboxbuck
What happened to my ¤cash?
That would not have applied to the roller bag of which I type. And it was a small regional jet... ERJ145... so you had your personal item and thats about it.
I swear last night must have been a full moon. Three sets of people got off the plane and started yelling about having to wait for their bags when we landed. Clearly they haven’t been made aware of the shit load of trouble you can find yourself in by yelling at the crew. Had it not been midnight and an empty airport I’m sure that security would have been called. I guess the crew wanted to get home as it was their last plane of the night.
I did consider filming it. Frankly, I was too tired to do anything but laugh to myself.
Oh, and yeah... Pure *ichigan.
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As it turned out, the one time they tagged me (which I kind of "accidentally" crumpled up and pretended I didn't know what it was), of course the bag fit that time, too. Thing was, it was on a connecting flight. When I landed and walked past the long line of people waiting, I got into the terminal and saw I had a whole four minutes until my next flight boarded. If I'd been at the end of the pick-up line, I'm not sure I'd have made my flight.
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This probably won't resonate with many of you, but here goes: People who confuse gimmicks with artistry.
I took a painting class at tOSU a few years ago. There was a young Asian kid in the class who had a hand Da Vinci would have envied. Chatted with him the last day of class while he worked on a drawing that was exquisite. He shared his rather sad and pained confusion at the visit by a guest artist our teacher had gushed over. The guest was all the rage in NYC as the newest up and coming thing. His piece de resistance? A canvas he'd showed his fist through, and then framed it. Clearly, a genius beyond the comprehension of mere mortals such as moi.
Times like that, I start to have flashbacks to a book from my childhood, The Emperor's New Clothes.
Which brings us to my actual new peeve. Went to the theatah last night--veddy veddy avant garde don't ya' know? Highly evolved individuals performing ground-breaking new works that explore rarefied realms of awareness on topics of social justice and transcendent human values. All the local reviews said so. Award-winning material in London, yada yada.
Problem was, I made the mistake of sitting in the front row. The last several minutes of the performance, there was a lot of commotion as all the ensemble roamed around the stage doing one frenetic act or another. Oh, did I mention I'd worn my new winter coat? The one I bought myself as a Christmas gift, and really, really liked a lot, and was only wearing for the third time? Well, it was draped across my lap. So, here's the fun part, the really, really innovative, original, deeply symbolic, and ever so representative of the advanced stage of consciousness possessed by the author, director, and all the cast: One of the young women stopped a yard directly in front of me, dug her paw into the half watermelon she was carrying, and threw a handful of the dripping wet fruit into the audience, but mostly on me and my new coat. One chunk hit my neck and slid down inside my shirt, soaking it through (an hour later when I got home, it was still wet). Another piece on my arm, but mostly, it was watermelon shrapnel splattered over my coat. Spent the waning minutes of the show picking pieces of melon off my coat Would rather have left right away, but in the small theater I was virtually sitting on the stage area that was full of actors.
If someone did the same thing to me while I was walking down the street, I'd say I'd been assaulted. But, I was supposed to understand that in that situation, it was art. Art. You know. Like shoving your fist through a canvas and framing it.
Anyway, I'm fascinated by the disconnect in people who imagine themselves performing works that amplify human values, yet perceive the humans in their audience as plaster manikins who are not entitled to the courtesy of a choice in what is done to their bodies or their belongings. I was never afforded the opportunity to say No.
(And yes, I had a chat with someone connected with the theater about it. It was supposedly being addressed today, for whatever that's worth.
Awkward situation, as there's once-removed family connections there. So, I'm limited in where I can bitch about it. Won't be writing any letters to the editor, much as I'd like to.)
#rant ends
I took a painting class at tOSU a few years ago. There was a young Asian kid in the class who had a hand Da Vinci would have envied. Chatted with him the last day of class while he worked on a drawing that was exquisite. He shared his rather sad and pained confusion at the visit by a guest artist our teacher had gushed over. The guest was all the rage in NYC as the newest up and coming thing. His piece de resistance? A canvas he'd showed his fist through, and then framed it. Clearly, a genius beyond the comprehension of mere mortals such as moi.
Times like that, I start to have flashbacks to a book from my childhood, The Emperor's New Clothes.
Which brings us to my actual new peeve. Went to the theatah last night--veddy veddy avant garde don't ya' know? Highly evolved individuals performing ground-breaking new works that explore rarefied realms of awareness on topics of social justice and transcendent human values. All the local reviews said so. Award-winning material in London, yada yada.
Problem was, I made the mistake of sitting in the front row. The last several minutes of the performance, there was a lot of commotion as all the ensemble roamed around the stage doing one frenetic act or another. Oh, did I mention I'd worn my new winter coat? The one I bought myself as a Christmas gift, and really, really liked a lot, and was only wearing for the third time? Well, it was draped across my lap. So, here's the fun part, the really, really innovative, original, deeply symbolic, and ever so representative of the advanced stage of consciousness possessed by the author, director, and all the cast: One of the young women stopped a yard directly in front of me, dug her paw into the half watermelon she was carrying, and threw a handful of the dripping wet fruit into the audience, but mostly on me and my new coat. One chunk hit my neck and slid down inside my shirt, soaking it through (an hour later when I got home, it was still wet). Another piece on my arm, but mostly, it was watermelon shrapnel splattered over my coat. Spent the waning minutes of the show picking pieces of melon off my coat Would rather have left right away, but in the small theater I was virtually sitting on the stage area that was full of actors.
If someone did the same thing to me while I was walking down the street, I'd say I'd been assaulted. But, I was supposed to understand that in that situation, it was art. Art. You know. Like shoving your fist through a canvas and framing it.
Anyway, I'm fascinated by the disconnect in people who imagine themselves performing works that amplify human values, yet perceive the humans in their audience as plaster manikins who are not entitled to the courtesy of a choice in what is done to their bodies or their belongings. I was never afforded the opportunity to say No.
(And yes, I had a chat with someone connected with the theater about it. It was supposedly being addressed today, for whatever that's worth.
Awkward situation, as there's once-removed family connections there. So, I'm limited in where I can bitch about it. Won't be writing any letters to the editor, much as I'd like to.)
#rant ends
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Fungo Squiggly
Mortal enemy of all things Bucky
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Holy shit.....was that in columbus? May I ask what theatre it was? I have some connection to the Columbus community and am very curious now...
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People who don't understand staying in a hotel is not the same as living at home. Don't let the door to your room slam on the way in late at night or on the way out early in the morning. Use your inside voice when talking on your phone or roaming the halls, because I don't care to hear about your problems/conquests/whatever. In general use some common sense and have some common courtesy for others staying there as well.
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My favorite recently was a guy in a gym that was using the time on his cycle to lay out his negotiating strategy for a huge deal with an associate, while his voice carried to more than fifty people in the gym.
Dude. Earphones. Not always your friends.
Dude. Earphones. Not always your friends.
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Just a heads up, folks: You don't EVER want to purchase anything online from JET.com. Made my first and last purchase over the weekend, and fortunately for me the credit card I used started off with a zero balance. Why is that fortunate? Because, as Jet's customer service just informed me, it is their standard practice to double-dip your card. That's right--they send out duplicate authorizations. They send an authorization hold thru for the full amount of the purchase when you make it, and then, as items ship out, they bill your account a second time. So, instead of $176 being charged to my account, I have over $350. Supposedly, the first authorization will drop off in a few days. Whatever. Again, not a huge issue in the present situation for me, but what if someone used a bank debit card, and had limited funds? Or, you had other plans for the funds available on your charge? These idiots would be causing an overdraft. The same items were listed with Walmart, Amazon, etc., for a slightly higher price, but I'm tempted to send the whole damn order back to Jet and get it from a company that behaves reputably. Years of ordering online, and I've NEVER seen any company do this.
As I write this, I'm thinking I definitely want to get the items (dishes) somewhere else, 'cause I planned to love them, and I don't like things associated with bullshit in my life. Just have to check their return policy that it doesn't cost me anything. I really don't like to support crappy enterprises.
As I write this, I'm thinking I definitely want to get the items (dishes) somewhere else, 'cause I planned to love them, and I don't like things associated with bullshit in my life. Just have to check their return policy that it doesn't cost me anything. I really don't like to support crappy enterprises.
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Zurp
I have misplaced my pants.
I don't understand "art". I just don't. While we were still dating, my wife and I went to the Cleveland Art Museum. I didn't get it. There were a couple of paintings that were nice. But not nice enough to stare at. Others, I might stare at for a while TRYING to understand. Some had a description of what's going on. I still didn't get it. And I'm not saying that artists don't have skill, because they do. Or, most of them do. I guess I could put my fist through a canvas as well as anyone could. But my drawing skills might be the visual equivalent to what it would sound like after you find out you just stepped in a dog turd.
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