Planes, Trains, and Automobiles: May 2010 Archives

So anyone who reads this blog instead of making entries in that spreadsheet that your boss wanted - yeah, you, I know who you are, might have noticed that there have been a few problems lately. Apparently, Movable Type does not quite like interacting with an iPad. Jealously is my guess. In any case, it looks like I'm going to switch strictly to text only entries while I'm still on this trip and hope that someday the very nice Movable Type people who I'm sure are not a power-hungry cabal intent on ruling the world or anything like that will issue a fix soon.

Now back to your regularly scheduled Youtube session.

We arrived yesterday in Vienna, this being the Vienna, by the way, that is the former capital of the Hapsburg dynasty, centerpiece of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and where those General Food Viennese Coffee mixes come from (OK, kidding about that last bit -they actually come from a chemical factory in New Jersey, which is often referred to as the Austria of the New World, or so I understand).

As we were driving into the city from the train station, Mary subtlety nudged me in the ribs and once I had finished whooping and gasping, I noticed that she was indicating in her inimitable and somewhat painful style, that I ought to pay attention to what the cab driver was listening to on his radio. First, there was a rendition of that classic from 1976, 'Car Wash'. In English of course.

OK, a little strange. Maybe the station was having a Disco music marathon. All disco, all day! But that was belied by the second song immediately following, which I can safely say I've never heard anywhere on a radio before, and that was "Always Look on The Bright Side of Life' from the Monty Python epic and frankly, fairly blasphemous film, The LIfe of Brian.

Perhaps I should be clearer - at least in the US of A, as far as I know, no one had the intestinal fortitude to give 'Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" any radioplay since as students of film will remember, the actors sing this particular song whilst in the midst of being crucified. By Romans. In Jerusalem. In the time of Christ.

So, first thoughts about Vienna: Radio station playlists - eclectic to say the least. Stay tuned and we'll see if the bumper stickers promote class warfare or the flyers handed out at perfume booths encourage the reader to engage in the fine art of overthrowing the government. By the way, the coffee served in Viennese cafes is nothing like General Foods Vienna Coffee Mix. I'm feeling a bit deceived.

Terminals. Always sound somewhat ominous. "You'll be proceeding to Terminal Three where you'll slip the bonds of earth and ascend into the skies. Make your peace with God now and may heaven have mercy on your souls". Wouldn't that be an awesome boarding announcement? Really put the scare on for those with a fear, or even a mild distaste for flying. OK, maybe a little over the top. But that's what I do - go a little bit farther than is right or smart. So on this latest trip to Europe, we flew British Airways and thus arrived at Heathrow at the new Terminal Five, dedicated to just that airline. I was looking forward to it mainly because I wanted to see if they had addressed the primary issue with all the other Heathrow terminals we've ever visited and that is the trek from where you disembark from the plane to baggage pick-up (or retrievals as the Brits term it). I wouldn't actually go so far to say that the normal walk from the gate to baggage claim would be on par with the trek that Lewis and Clark undertook, but they might have sympathized.

So we'll soon be off to Europe to celebrate our tenth anniversary. This is essentially Mary's idea. My idea for a tenth anniversary celebration consisted of His and Hers motorcycles, a road trip across America, Land of the Brave, Home of the Big Gulp, and a visit to the emergency room/trauma center/morgue. Obviously, her idea won.

Apparently, the island of Iceland is exploding as I write this, spewing massive clouds of volcanic ash high into the atmosphere. Interestingly enough, the Icelandians seem to be relatively unaffected by this. I suspect a plot. In any case, and this is kind of annoying, the volcano isn't done and insists on continuing to erupt even though this might inconvenience me and mine. Sometimes I feel Nature has it in for me.

So while perusing the news lately (which sounds much more classy than just reading the news), it might be understandable how one could come to the conclusion that times are bad, nations are in peril, and nature is running rampant. Everywhere you turn it looks like things are going from bad to worse.

Taking Europe, for instance, just in the last few months there's been a massive eruption of a volcano (with a largely unpronounceable name that I suspect the Icelanders made up on the spot to drive everyone crazy) on little ol' Iceland that spewed dangerous clouds of volcanic ash that forced all the airlines to suspend operations. And it continues to burble out ash periodically causing the aviation officials to tear their hair out as they try and route planes around it.

I’m typing this in on my amazing new iPad whilst in our horseless carriage proceeding at the quite astonishing speed of 70 miles per hour. Now it’s 75 mph! Of course, unlike many of my fellow Americans I’m not actually doing the driving while I type this, but that’s because I’m a puling coward. Any real red blooded American can text while driving, while eating a Quarter Pounder with cheese and drinking a 128 ounce MegaGulp Dr. Pepper. I have a hard enough time driving in and of itself and find that even taking a sip of coffee is hazardous to me and all other people on the road. Of course, judging by the condition of the front of my shirt drinking coffee is an activity I experience difficulties with at the best of times.

Of course even though I’m not driving Mary (who is guiding the automotive conveyance over the concrete byways of central Colorado with commendable aplomb) is convinced I’m still taking my life in my hands. It’s Mary’s firm belief that in a sudden stop the iPad, which is at the moment perched on the dashboard, will become a missile that will decapitate yours truly and cover Mary in a fountain of gore. I’ve wanted to use that phrase,’ a fountain of gore’ for ages, but since I’m not in the business of writing sword and sandal epics nor vampire novels it’s been difficult, though as you can see, not impossible.

Returning to Mary, she feels that most activities I engage in while driving (such as changing the volume on the radio, pointing at an amusing billboard, or shaking my fist in impotent rage at the latest example of a Coloradan driver stopping at the top of the on-ramp) will inevitably result in a fiery crash, a 1200 foot plunge off a cliff, or the impalement of various body parts on the steering column, windshield wipers, or a highway sign. The fact that I’ve been driving for some 37 years without the loss of a single appendage is entirely beside the point. She chalks that up to an incredible run of luck that will inevitably come to an end as all good runs do, a concept that apparently was lost on our major financial institutions.

There was a point here. Oh, yeah. The iPad works fine as a word processor. I can see that I’m probably going to dispense with carrying a laptop in the future since the iPad is capable of doing most of the tasks I require. And from all indications it’ll be saving some 6-8 pounds in packing weight. The iPad’s capacity as an instrument of flying decapitation is still unproven however. Requests for Mary to slam on the brakes in the middle of the highway while we’re going full speed have been met with stony silence. So for now, I think we can find rumors of iPads causing havoc to unprotected necks in automobiles as unconfirmed.

Ahh, Ryanair. Who'd ever guess I'd have another chance to write about this airline? Well me, and the three or four people who might, occasionally, glance at this blog. Hi, Mary!

Revisiting my extensive list of articles related to Ryanair, I found one from some time ago castigating them for the temerity of first charging people for printing out their own tickets at home, and then eliminating check-in desks at airports. I assumed there was some sort of evil plan afoot and now it's become all too clear.

Along with the recent discovery of Chap magazine and the mounting suspicion that I had been stolen from the manorial estate in East Sussex while still a babe and deposited with uncouth colonials in that most ghastly of all provincial provinces - California, I also stumbled upon the Tweed Run.

First, before I launch into yet another paean to long-gone days and those brave and usually misguided souls who refuse to let them go, why is it I have to go to England to find all this stuff? Where are the American equivalents? I mean, I'm usually all for any excuse to go to London, or England, or Great Britain, or former British colonies, or pretty much any place that has an English style pub, but it would be nice if I could find something like that without suffering the indignity that is air travel today. Not that I have anything against disrobing in public and cavity searches. No indeed.