You get what you paid for, folks.
Which, may I remind you, is the fantastic price of free.
Anyway, I'm not sure the "Where has your journal gone?" comments I've heard lately are "Where has your journal gone, cause I'm glad it's gone and I want it to stay gone," or "Where has your journal gone, cause I NEED IT TO SURVIVE." Me being she of little ego choose to believe the latter; in any case, I'm traveling today (actually updating at the airport! How novel) which counts as subject matter for my traveling journal.
Since the days of Everyone Will Be Searched. Twice. airport security has relaxed a bit. However, this isn't an invitation for the average traveler to be dumb. Case in point: the gentleman in front of me at the security check today. Now, even before the days of toe nail clippers being tantamount to treason, you still couldn't joke about things in an airport. No, of course I don't mean you couldn't joke at all, but both of us know what I'm talking about. It always made me want to make some comment about how I went to sleep with my bag not packed and when I woke up, I saw that the Luggage Fairy had visited me during the night! I never did because I know that would be stupid and that's a really dumb joke. Point being, you knew not to make comments that could be construed in a potentially hazardous light (of course, I'd like to point out that a terrorist? Probably not going to make a comment about the explosives in his bag. I'd also like to point out that as I type this, there is an Orthodox Jew saying his prayers in full... regalia(? I'm not sure what I should call that) while Christmas songs are playing. I'd like to think it's his form of protest against the obvious bias of the season, though I doubt he's paying attention to the horrible Christmas music (what the heck is this??) back to terrorism). So, when the guy in front of me tells the Security man that he doesn't need to take off his shoes because they're "airport safe," I'm sitting here wondering what planet of dumb he's coming from. Yeah, I know I'm being harsh, but really! If the Security guard tells you to do something and you say nuh-uhm, don't be surprised when you're going through the body search routine. Sure you know that your shoes are airport safe, but the rest of us? Don't know that! There is no magic aura that we can pick up on, instantly knowing that hey, you're better than the rest of us because your shoes are *gasp! awe!* airport safe. All I know is that your shoes are ugly and that you best be taking them off, cause personally? I'm fine with the whole taking off your shoes routine, and I'm pretty darn sure that my shoes probably wouldn't set off the alarm either. However, if everyone taking off their shoes prevents my last moments on this planet being me wondering about the smell of burning rubber and funky foot oder, then I will gladly take off my shoes, and even better, I won't complain! So, Mr. I Don't Wanna Take Off My Shoes, next time you travel please take off your shoes before the Security man has to grab the bare bulb to shine in your eyes while asking you what you were doing last Tuesday at 5pm, because while I don't mind taking off my shoes, I do mind when morons like you hold up the line while my precious laptop is out of my sight because someone sold you the lie of "airport safe" shoes. So help me God, if my laptop is gone because you and Security man are debating about whether or not you need to take off your shoes, the airport won't need to worry about terrorism, they'll need to worry about murder.
Hmm, I didn't really mean to go on so long about this, since it actually didn't bother me that much, but why stop a good rant before it wants to end?
I was thinking about this earlier, and I'm not sure if going to Texas is going Home or going on vacation. Obviously I am on vacation from school, but what I was really wondering is what do I consider Home. To be honest, though I've spent more time in Boston, I still think of Home as Texas. However, it's not Texas that's Home, it's my parents house. I love Texas, I really do, but it's not the state or Houston or Colleyville that define Home to me, but my parents and bowling with my Dad and listening to my Mom complain about my hair for the umpteenth time while I roll my eyes for the umpteenth time (They still haven't gotten stuck, but I am assured every time I roll them that they will eventually.) This could change, but for the time being my Home is where my parents are, everywhere else is just a place where I rest my boots.
Not that I have any.
Anyway, it's almost plane boarding time, so I should post this before I have to turn off my computer. I'm sure I have other things I can babble on inanely about, but time simply does not allow.
/Come on, it's lovely weather, For a [plane] ride together with you
Anyway, I'm not sure the "Where has your journal gone?" comments I've heard lately are "Where has your journal gone, cause I'm glad it's gone and I want it to stay gone," or "Where has your journal gone, cause I NEED IT TO SURVIVE." Me being she of little ego choose to believe the latter; in any case, I'm traveling today (actually updating at the airport! How novel) which counts as subject matter for my traveling journal.
Since the days of Everyone Will Be Searched. Twice. airport security has relaxed a bit. However, this isn't an invitation for the average traveler to be dumb. Case in point: the gentleman in front of me at the security check today. Now, even before the days of toe nail clippers being tantamount to treason, you still couldn't joke about things in an airport. No, of course I don't mean you couldn't joke at all, but both of us know what I'm talking about. It always made me want to make some comment about how I went to sleep with my bag not packed and when I woke up, I saw that the Luggage Fairy had visited me during the night! I never did because I know that would be stupid and that's a really dumb joke. Point being, you knew not to make comments that could be construed in a potentially hazardous light (of course, I'd like to point out that a terrorist? Probably not going to make a comment about the explosives in his bag. I'd also like to point out that as I type this, there is an Orthodox Jew saying his prayers in full... regalia(? I'm not sure what I should call that) while Christmas songs are playing. I'd like to think it's his form of protest against the obvious bias of the season, though I doubt he's paying attention to the horrible Christmas music (what the heck is this??) back to terrorism). So, when the guy in front of me tells the Security man that he doesn't need to take off his shoes because they're "airport safe," I'm sitting here wondering what planet of dumb he's coming from. Yeah, I know I'm being harsh, but really! If the Security guard tells you to do something and you say nuh-uhm, don't be surprised when you're going through the body search routine. Sure you know that your shoes are airport safe, but the rest of us? Don't know that! There is no magic aura that we can pick up on, instantly knowing that hey, you're better than the rest of us because your shoes are *gasp! awe!* airport safe. All I know is that your shoes are ugly and that you best be taking them off, cause personally? I'm fine with the whole taking off your shoes routine, and I'm pretty darn sure that my shoes probably wouldn't set off the alarm either. However, if everyone taking off their shoes prevents my last moments on this planet being me wondering about the smell of burning rubber and funky foot oder, then I will gladly take off my shoes, and even better, I won't complain! So, Mr. I Don't Wanna Take Off My Shoes, next time you travel please take off your shoes before the Security man has to grab the bare bulb to shine in your eyes while asking you what you were doing last Tuesday at 5pm, because while I don't mind taking off my shoes, I do mind when morons like you hold up the line while my precious laptop is out of my sight because someone sold you the lie of "airport safe" shoes. So help me God, if my laptop is gone because you and Security man are debating about whether or not you need to take off your shoes, the airport won't need to worry about terrorism, they'll need to worry about murder.
Hmm, I didn't really mean to go on so long about this, since it actually didn't bother me that much, but why stop a good rant before it wants to end?
I was thinking about this earlier, and I'm not sure if going to Texas is going Home or going on vacation. Obviously I am on vacation from school, but what I was really wondering is what do I consider Home. To be honest, though I've spent more time in Boston, I still think of Home as Texas. However, it's not Texas that's Home, it's my parents house. I love Texas, I really do, but it's not the state or Houston or Colleyville that define Home to me, but my parents and bowling with my Dad and listening to my Mom complain about my hair for the umpteenth time while I roll my eyes for the umpteenth time (They still haven't gotten stuck, but I am assured every time I roll them that they will eventually.) This could change, but for the time being my Home is where my parents are, everywhere else is just a place where I rest my boots.
Not that I have any.
Anyway, it's almost plane boarding time, so I should post this before I have to turn off my computer. I'm sure I have other things I can babble on inanely about, but time simply does not allow.
/Come on, it's lovely weather, For a [plane] ride together with you