Conspiratorial Death Of The Eurasian Magpie That Brought Down My Cessna

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No. Seriously. I had this wild pre-dawn dream. I was in PHL with my wife. We were working together on an American TV show that had a deadline. I had to take a Cessna plane to MD in order to solve a problem in the TV show’s script. On the trip back to PHL the Cessna got caught in some kind of whirlwind and we had to make an emergency landing on a road on the outskirts of the city. Before I started running back to the office with the solution from MD, I told the pilot of the Cessna to figure out what was the cause of our having to make a premature landing. I was vehement about knowing why, with so much technology–and the ability to fly–I still had to run back to the office to make a deadline. I then I complained to the pilot about the “pool of sweat” I’d be in when I arrived and how it wouldn’t match my suit. Back in the office, after having trouble finding my way through a maze of stairways in the building, I solve the TV show’s problem but have lost track of my better-half. Then, suddenly, the pilot of the Cessna enters and shows me a picture he took with his phone. It’s a picture of a dead Eurasian Magpie in the middle of the road. The pilot proceeds to explain that the small bird was the cause of our Cessna landing early.

Rant on.

-t

career choice ice cream truck driver

Since I’m on a roll with translating today, here’s one more. Saw this truck this morning while walking Beckett, the Killer Pug, and couldn’t help but think of reality. So I snapped this pic. Indeed. Berufswunsch: Eiswagenfahrer. Translation: globalisation means that kids don’t need school but instead a driver’s license and maybe a few phonebooks to sit on. Then they can drive these trucks around and deliver ice cream at the cheapest wages ever. The ice cream company will be very profitable since the kid truck driver will have to be home so his mom can feed him and, of course, that’s where he’ll sleep, too. Indeed. If only the future could be now for corporations. Or is it already?

That Woman Syndrome

One last thought before heading back to the old country where rational thought (still) prevails in the confines of political discourse. I spent a lot of time joining my mother this visit to her various church gatherings. Whether it’s mass on Sunday morning or happy-hour at a local lodge, I’m there watching her, witnessing, taking in the carnage that is my beloved #americant–and its old people. The only problem I have with hanging out with mom and her “friends” are the staunch republicans that occupy not only her church but the entire community where she lives. Which is kind of odd because, well, at least at the church, the pastor is an obvious liberal type–liberal as in he’s a hippy. That combined with an open door policy towards minorities, gays and, goodness forbid, immigrants (there is a sign in front of the church that reads: “immigrants are welcome”), it’s a bit of a wonder that so many church goers are atypical republican followers. Or maybe not. Nonetheless.

I was sitting at a happy-hour gathering of Mom’s church goers the other day and an elderly couple started complaining about Nancy Pelosi. It was right out of the blue. They were chomping down on their tuna salad sandwiches and chips and sodas when suddenly the doors of TV propaganda hell opened up and Pelosi was the wrath occupying their mind’s eye. I assumed that since they had gotten rid of Hillary in the last election, Pelosi was next in line–which I guess, for them, made sense. But then I popped a question to the patriarch that lead the anti-Pelosi wrath.

“Why are you concerned about a Senator that represents California? Aren’t there more important things for a Marylander to be worried about?”

“She’s the worst. She’s gotta go. Trump’s gonna take care of her, too.”

Keep in mind, dear worst-reader, this conversation was right in the middle of Trump’s attempt at getting rid of Obamacare–which, btw, was on the brink of failure.

“Let me ask you a question, sir,” I said. “I’m fifty-three years old, can you name me a liberal policy in the last thirty years that has negatively effected your life?”

“Obamacare!” he said.

“But sir, Obamacare is Mitt Romney’s health care plan for the state of Massachusetts, when he was that states republican governor.”

“Oh, then I guess you know everything,” the old, wrinkled, spoiled rotten American said.

“So you can’t answer my question, then,” I asked.

Both he and his wife got up with their paper plates full of processed food and walked to the other side of the room. They sat with other old people and continued eating.

It was a disgusting moment as I watched all those old people, born around the end of WW2, filled with rage because, well, they weren’t able to take even more than they already owned to the grave with them. Shame. Shame. Shame.

Rant on.

-t

Twenty Bucks To Fly Across The Atlantic And Other Industry Antics Indicative Of How We Are So Thoroughly Screwed

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No reason to be shocked. This flight, technically, I guess, has a “price” of “20.00 €”. And why shouldn’t it? Talk about a bargain. But then again, I did fly once across the Atlantic about thirty years ago–and for the life of me I can’t remember the name of the airline–that costs somewhere around a hundred dollars. Back then that was THE BOMB. It was the coolest flight ever, too. Everybody bought their own brown paper bag full of lunch and other munchies because there was neither service or stewardesses available. There were only these nice ladies dressed in purple that would provide water because there was some kind of regulation requiring the airline to at least hydrate passengers. Since the the entire fuselage was filled with economy class seats there was nothing but the boring sound of an a nine hour flight and the crunching of plastic bags, chips & doritos, and a few cracks of beer cans during the entire crossing. I think, if you paid (lots) extra, you could get those weird  tube headphones and watch a movie from a drop-down cathode ray tube. And there is one other thing I can’t remember about the past (where my expatriation began). How much “Taxes and carrier imposed fees” did we have to pay for flights back then? Nomatter. I suppose if anything does matter anymore it’s where all the money goes that we have to pay to consume to survive. And by-the-bye, the “OPC” charge is for the use of a credit card. But I digress. Rant on. -t