PHASE 4.2
Belated Airport Rant - 3/17/04
The following is a rant spawned from a gripe-fest JD and I had a couple months ago during Christmas flying-season. It beat out other possible airport-related rant-topics such as:
- The 2 dollar tax plus 5 dollars per mile all outbound cabs charge from LAX. Not that many cab rides originate from the airport or anything.
- Showing up at the airport and finding out your airline no longer exists
(see My 21st Birthday”
- Waiting an hour to even get close to the airport due to the bombastic security checkpoints inspecting one out every ten cars, clogging traffic. Bombs blowing up planes is one thing, but are we really that concerned with bombs blowing up Delta’s curb-side check-in station?
But this rant won. Perhaps you’ll agree why.
I heard that they’re considering having an armed guard ride along on all international plane flights. Armed. As in “carrying a gun”. I believe it would be someone from the military, and that the proposal is far from being instituted, but the whole thing strikes me as a little odd. Without exaggerating or jumping to conclusions without knowing more about the matter, I would just like to say one thing: This is the dumbest idea that has ever been conceived of by man.
With all the trouble we put people though to keep guns off airplanes, now we’re just going to put one onboard? Forget shoe-bombs. Forget box-cutters or plastic-alloy guns. All a terrorist has to do is figure out how to get the gun away from the guy who already has it. Then he doesn’t just have a firearm; he has a cleaned, inspected, government-issued firearm. He doesn’t have to bring a weapon on board – all he has to bring is an idea.
I’m sure certain security procedures are taken, like the guard is disguised, or the gun has a keypad on which you have to enter a secret code before each shot, but in this rant we care not for such procedures! As far as I’m concerned they’re basically putting a gun in the middle of the floor and announcing “up for grabs!” And in the safety video they show you how to reload it.
But of course one could claim that it’s fruitless to rant on and on unless one can suggest some type of useful alternative. As much as I care not for such claims, I can, in fact, suggest three alternatives. I think you will find them far from fruitless.
SOLUTION #1 – Instead of a gun, arm the guard with a slightly more abstruse weapon, such as a sai or a garrote wire. It would be much more difficult for a potential hijacker to instill terror and force submission while clumsily swinging a pair of nun-chucks, especially if they kept hitting themselves in the back of the head. Anyone can take over a plane with a gun, but it’s another thing to discover which passenger is secretly armed with the mini-chainsaw, somehow wrestle said mini-chainsaw away from them, and then use that mini-chainsaw to effectively threaten the rest of the passengers. Also, they should keep varying the selection every flight, so terrorists will never know what weapon they need to train for. If a terrorist manages to master every single type of combat weapon known to man… well, then they’ve probably earned it.
SOLUTION #2 – Give everyone a gun. This may seem a little rash, but how much damage is a terrorist really going to do with a firearm when everybody has one? He’s just not going to win. Give everyone who boards the plane a loaded handgun, or let them bring their own, and level the playing field should a mid-air shootout occur. Is elderly Mrs. Potts going to help stop a terrorist take-over? She might if she’s strapped with Gats. Basically, a radical organization would really have to load up a plane with people to have any chance of winning the ensuring transatlantic gun-battle and then making it into the bullet-proof cockpit (where the co-pilot would be waiting with a sub-machine gun). And personally, I think any plane loaded with more than half terrorists is probably worth losing.
Additionally, with this you wouldn’t have to worry about airport security at all – everyone could just get right on the plane as long as they’re not carrying anything bigger than a sawed-off shotgun. Like they do in airports in Central America. So other than everyone eyeing each other suspiciously throughout the flight, I’m not seeing a downside to this plan. We all know you can’t shoot through those super-thick airplane windows anyway.
SOLUTION #3 – Replace “armed guard” with “insanely ripped black guy”. Or better yet “insanely ripped black guy with a triple black belt in Kung Fu”. Who’s going to mess with that guy? And that’s a weapon you can’t turn against the owner, unless you develop some kind of diabolical mind-control device, which at this point at least is beyond the capabilities of most terrorist organizations. Basically we’re saying “OK, you can hijack our plane, but only if you can find a way to overcome this jacked-up karate master”. Make sure your jacked-up karate master gets plenty of complimentary Red Bull during the flight and this plan is basically foolproof. Plus it ensures a new form of employment for insanely ripped black guys, outside of nightclub security and Under Armour commercials.
I firmly believe that these solutions are viable and desirable alternatives to the currently proposed plan. Clearly the war against terrorism is a matter to be taken with utmost seriousness, and these ideas should be taken seriously as well. It’s one way America can combat this rising threat against our land, our citizens, and our freedom. Or else we could just stop imposing our will on other countries.
Wholesale Bliss - 3/15/04
So I didn't get a chance to talk about me and Sam's Sam's Club trip last post, because I was too busy being driven to madness and thinking of ways to write the possessive "Sam's" twice in a row. But I shall do so now.
 Ah, Sam’s Club. For a mere 35 dollars a year one can indulge in the kind of bulk binge buying usually reserved for Sumo Wrestling Cafeteria Cooks and Y2K Hoarders. Yesterday Sam and I did it for free courtesy of a coupon that was a month expired and only good in California, South Carolina and one city in New York.
 They used to sell just food. Or mostly just food. But yesterday my eye was tempted by flat screen televisions, discount jeans and boogie boards.
We wheeled our oversized cart from isle to joyous isle, stocking up on everything non-perishable our house could ever need, even if we lived there for ten more years. Which we might, now that we have awesome new dish soap and a box of Cascade that looks like four phone books taped together.
 It became a contest to see who would come up with the most outrageous item. The house topped my 15-pack of Macaroni & Cheese with two 18-packs of paper towels that formed something like a hay bale in our shopping cart. Sam and I both topped that with a five-pound jar of Peter Pan Peanut Butter… each. I thought I had it made with 18 hotdogs shrink-wrapped together – nothing like 3 pounds of beaks and testicles for 4 dollars. But Sam eventually won out with his unprecedented purchase of 1500 plastic eating utensils – a 500 count box each of knives, forks and spoons. Those things will seriously biodegrade before he uses them all. We decided not to opt for the 2-pack of trampolines.
Yes, Sam’s Club is the greatest. Yes, we’ll be back, and I’m hoping soon. And yes, it’s only a matter of time before I join Costco. Because it's the same thing just closer.
Sam's Club, Then the Downward Plunge - 3/12/04
Here's how a day goes from being pretty awesome to royally sucking in about 3 hours.
Midnight-7am - Had a productive security night of writing, sleeping and watching "The Family Man" starring Nicholas Cage
7:30am-Noon - Sleeping. I'm always happiest when I'm sleeping.
Noon-2:29pm - I'm much less happy waking up, but I got it over with and got some more writing done.
2:30pm - Emailed treatment to manager, rewarded self with Corn Pops.
3-4pm - Shot baskets with Sam and tossed ideas around - more good writing time.
4:30-5:30 - Much anticipated trip to Sam's Club, where Sam and I embarked on a 180 dollar wholesale spending binge, the highlight of the day. Sam might argue highlight of life, or at least top 5. I will describe the glories of this in my next post - talking about it in this context wouldn't give it the necessary effect.
5:31pm - Eat newly-aquired Trail Mix in the Spacemobile as I depart for Spectrum for my Friday Aikido/steal-a-quick-lift-afterwards session. The day has reached a high point. Time for the plunge.
5:45 - Run out of gas on the 405.
6:00 - Purchase a one-gallon gas tank at a nearby Arco for ten dollars. Fill it and return to car. Return in car and fill that. Total cost = 50 dollars. Lots of gas spilled all over the place. 10 miles away the Aikido class has started.
6:45 - Finally arrive at Spectrum. Figuring I've already missed half the class I might as well burn a CD I promised for somebody who works there. My computer tweaks out - this takes half an hour. In frustration I scream a lot, scaring people.
7:15 - Finally leave the Spacemobile to deliver CD (person will end up not being there). On the way in, something liquid drips off a tree or the roof or the sky, hitting me in the eye. My eye starts burning like crazy.
7:16-7:30 - I forego the remaining 15 minutes of Aikido to rinse my eye out, with little result.
7:30-8:30 - A wasted hour yields more eye-cleaning and various advice from health club employees and the guy at Poison Control (whose number it took us 20 minutes to find, before I got disconnected 3 times trying to call them. Good thing I didn't have an emergency. Curse you, Mr. Yuck.). Finally I decide to go to Urgent Care because my eyeball has puffed up like marshmallow in the microwave. Urgent Care closes at 9.
8:40 - Pulling quickly out of the Spectrum lot I run a yellow light and hit a bump, spilling Trail-Mix M&M's all over the Spacemobile.
8:41 - I get pulled over for said maneuver. In screenwriting this is what they call the dark moment.
8:43 - The cop gives me the third degree about running the yellow, but visibly winces when he sees my crimson eye. I have a pretty convincing and genuine argument now that I only have 17 minutes to get to Urgent Care. He lets me go with no ticket. This is the first upward swing since Sam's Club. Maybe I should try carrying around a crimson eye with me everywhere in case I'm pulled over.
8:59 - I arrive at Urgent Care. It closed at 7.
9:15 - The eye is starting to feel better. On the phone advice of Gabe's mother, a nurse, I decide I'll probably be OK to wait and see if the crimson marshmallow eye is better by morning. I return home, rinse the eye again then rant to Sam, who listens patiently and then watches Arrested Development with me to cheer me up.
11pm - I go to work, where Sam and I meet at our coffee shop for a productive two-hour meeting. I can see just fine out of the CM eye, it just feels funny. But better. Somehow the day is actually going pretty good again.
We'll see what happens in the morning. I don't think I'm going blind, Sam's Club rules (more tomorrow), got lots of good writing done, and I found a new way to get out of tickets. If only I didn't feel so cycloptic, I'd say this a great day. A great day with three hours from hell.
Biking, Biking, Everywhere - 3/7/04
If I’m ever going to prove that I can live in Los Angeles and not own a car, the key is going to be biking. This I discovered during that wonderful three-week adventure when the Spacemobile was crippled (the most recent time) – I realized that as long as I stayed in the South Bay, most places were reachable by a 30-minute-or-less bicycle ride, including work, recreation and the Vons that’s a two-minute walk as long as I’m willing to break picket lines. This realization became increasingly important when I found out the train only goes to certain places (none of which are near my house, or near anywhere I teach or tutor), and that the buses don’t run predictably during certain crucial times, such as weekends.
Additionally, a whole new spectrum of destinations opens when you’re able to creatively biking with busing or biking with training. I know I just got through talking bad about them, but the mass transit systems do run sometimes, and they’re very good about letting you bring your bike along with you. Thus the time I biked to the train and then rode to Hollywood, which took a while but only cost a dollar, as opposed to the usual ten bucks of gas the Mobile guzzles through in that same trip.
 The biggest challenge remains how to get to my weekly class in the Palos Verdes Hills, which is only 7 miles away but entirely up hill on the way there. My theory is to try and take a combination of buses to get there, but bring my bike and coast all the way back, since it’s basically like a 50mph roller-coaster when you’re coming down hill. I guess the way up is more like a chairlift than a bus ride. Friend Mike and I recently proved both halves of this trek possible the other week when we rode up to the top of the hills for no apparent reason. I mean for the challenge. We did it for the challenge. And the pictures.
My Neck Hurts - 3/4/04
In most cities when the weather gets bad, the drivers get awful. Since there is no bad weather in LA, drivers get awful when the weather turns really nice.
Yesterday was evidence of this. It was a beautiful day (sorry to all you Minnesota peops who got 10 inches of snow ) - about 80 and cloudless, and since it's been raining a bit the air was washed temporarily free of smog. It was so clear in fact that standing strategically on top of the hill near my house, you could see Palos Verdes to the South, Malibu to the North, the Hollywood sign to the Northeast and snowy mountain peaks to the East. Or maybe that was Minnesota.
I also, however, saw no less than nine accidents on the way downtown to check out the La Brea tarpits with Sarah from Irvine (now known as Sarah from Costa Mesa since she moved). The 405 was a parking lot at noon... not that I ever expect much from the 405, but noon is about as far away from either rush hour as you can get. And people were cutting each other off, running red lights, and everyone was honking, all the time, for no reason. Now it's funny when I honk at people for no reason, but when everyone else does it it's just annoying.
The reason I mention the nine accidents is because one of them was ours. Being both from the snowy north, Sarah and I don't freak out when the weather changes, but apparently the pickup truck behind us did as he rear-ended Sarah's car, pushing us into an SUV ahead of us. Hey, at least an SUV was involved. Don't worry - it wasn't anything too devasting - just a bender - but it really drove home the lesson of the day.
The guy who hit us was extremely apologetic, and the woman who we got pushed into was very sweet, quiet and coincidentally Asian, and Sarah's about the nicest person there is so it was the most cordial accident investigation there's ever been. My neck was kind of hurting after nearly taking off the head-rest with it, so I was the only one not smiling as information was politely exchanged. The SUV barely had a scratch - I guess our car took most of the impact, but still only sustained a bent license plate in the front and a mid-sized dent and twisted bumper in the back, which hopefully the dude's insurance will cover. His car, however, was rocked. I'm not sure exactly how exactly - he was only going about 20 - but his front end looked absolutely totalled. On closer inspection though I realized that much of this damage wasn't new. Things were smashed that hadn't even come near our car, and the piece of rope that held on part of his bumber was the final clue.
I wonder if he does this a lot. I wonder why his insurance hasn't insisted he get his car fixed previously - maybe the were just waiting until he struck again. Maybe he has 405 narcolepsy or something - he wouldn't be alone. But mostly I wanted to ask him how long he's lived in LA.
Dualing Diatribes - 2/29/04
The Rantings of a Conservative Man I overheard at Aura Club:
“…And you, son. You look like a good, hot-blooded Republican. Who’re you voting for? Eh, doesn’t matter. It’s going to be hard for any divided Democrat candidate to win out over a wartime incumbent. You know what, though? I could vote for someone else. Bush has really said some things recently that have rubbed me the wrong way. Just give me a good, articulate candidate who says what he believes… (a woman walks by with her daughter who’s in basketball garb from a practice) …OK, I’m sorry I gotta say something. That’s one thing that just really chaps my hide. Women who try to get their daughters involved in sports. What the hell are they doing? I mean, goddamn, what’s next? Anyway, what was I saying…”
The Vituperations of a Revolutionary Woman (and I assume a Liberal) who accosted Sam and I at the Mariposa Coffee Shop as we were trying to write during my security shift:
”…and, aw, it’s gonna be so great when the revolution happens! Can you imagine? You know they could go to solar right now if they wanted – but it’s the Halliburtons and the others. God the revolution’s gonna be great. When they kick out George W and this very coffee shop turns into a pot-store? Man I tell ya, it’s the legalization that’s gonna do it. I know some people, don’t got much going now, but man are they gonna get off their asses and do something once pot is legal. This one friend, knows all this about botany and chemicals… can’t keep a job now, but once pot is legal he’s gonna make millions. You guys got a place I can crash? Otherwise I’m gonna have to sleep in my car again. It’s cool though.”
And the winner…
Yeah… extreme people from both sides of the spectrum are frightening. Very frightening.
I tried to get Sam to take the Revolutionary Chick home, but we was having none of it.
McTriathlon - 2/26/04
I don’t normally like to do autobiographical-type stuff on the old website, but I’ll make an exception for near-death experiences or other silly things that could possibly be of interest to people who aren’t me.
I’m training for the La Quinta Triathlon in April, an event I’m doing with friend Ilana who’s flying in from Minneapolis for the occasion. Why am I doing this? Call it a last-hurrah to the Phase 4 Exercise Gods before I call my life’s athletic goals completed and withdraw of into a life of languid crapulence.
For anyone who doesn’t know better, a triathlon involves a combined effort of swimming, running and biking – in this case swimming 3/4 of a mile, biking 25 miles and then running 6 miles. It’ll take about as long as a marathon, but the strain is spread out over three events, so I’m anticipating it not being quite as difficult overall. Nevertheless, there will need to be some training involved.
Two weeks ago I outlined a rigorous training schedule that would undoubtedly propel me toward success come April 18th. The problem – I seem to have lost my rigor. Last fall I was super gung-ho about training for the Providence Marathon, due to a combination of things:
1) Determination to undue my atrophied muscles after the Roadtrip
2) A fear that I might not otherwise make it and drop dead around mile 22
3) The fact that I really didn’t have anything better to do
But something has different now. I'm finding I'd rather not spend quite so much time training this time around, a phenomenon I blame on three factors:
1) I'm a little busier
2) Sadly I'm a bit on my high horse since doing that marathon
3) Exercise is hard
So I made a deal with myself. If I could run most/all of a triathlon NOW, to prove that I could do it, I’d relax my training regiment into a much more manageable schedule (read: lazy). So that’s what I set out to do today. I biked down the ocean and battled the waves for 1/2 a mile, drinking a lot of salt water in the process. Then I got back on the peddles and biked to Compton, aiming to do the whole 25 biking miles. It was actually more like 30 because I got lost. Then finally I got back to Redondo and jogged 4 miles. The whole thing took me about 4 hours.
So here’s the interesting part (I promised there would be one). By the time I got back from biking I was pretty beat and wanted to just stop, but 8 weeks of slacking was on the line. So I made another deal with myself. If I could make it the McDonald’s 2 miles from my house*, I could buy anything I wanted and eat it on the way back. So there I was, sweaty and pooped after 230 minutes of exercise, buying two double-cheeseburgers and two Apple pies. Lovin’ the dollar menu. I made it home with energy to spare – those 600 grams of saturated fat really give you a turbo-boost on the home stretch.
Sam and I are doing a character grid for the screenplay we're writing, on which one of the questions is "What is this person's biggest living contradiction?" I guess this is one of those.
* - There are actually no less than three McDonalds’ closer to my house than 2 miles, but I had to push myself. You know. Eye of the tiger.
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