The Security Line

I've been in Portland, OR for the last week and flew back to San Diego yesterday afternoon. I got sick on the landing at my layover in Reno, but that's not news. I get sick a lot on planes. Especially in Reno. The mountains there make for pretty turbulent landings. Anyway, as always, airports are a great place to see humanity at it's dumbest. Here are just two examples taken from my 10 minute wait in the security line:

A woman in her mid to late 30s with a huge brown leather purse stood about 3 people ahead of me in line. There was a TSA sanding at the security check point rattling off the new rules about carrying no liquids, gels, aerosols, or pastes over 3.4 ounces. When the woman with the brown purse got to the front of the line she put her bag on the conveyor belt and it went through the scanner. I was standing far enough back in the line that I could get a good look at the monitor and get a peep at her belongings. Aside from some usual-looking items, there were three of what appeared to be quart-sized containers holding some type of liquid. The TSA asked the woman if she had any liquids, pastes, gels, or aerosols in her purse. She said she didn't. He told her he had to search her bag and he took it off the belt and started to go through it. I watched him pull out three Tupperware containers full of red stuff. When the TSA asked the woman what was in them, she replied, "spaghetti sauce." ?!?! Wha-wha-what?! On what planet is spaghetti sauce not a liquid? There's no question this woman was dumb, but what was she being dumb about? Was she dumb enough to think spaghetti sauce wasn't a liquid, or was she dumb enough to actually think she could sneak 3 quarts of spaghetti sauce past the TSAs?

Right behind the spaghetti sauce woman there was a man and an 8 or 9 year old boy. It was obvious this was the boy's first plane trip and the man was trying to explain to him each and every thing that was going on and what he could expect once he got on the plane. He was telling the boy about the safety demonstration that the flight attendant would do. He talked about the multiple exits, how the attendant would show them how to use the seat belts and the oxygen masks. The boy asked what the oxygen masks were for. The man explained that they were for if the plane lost cabin pressure. The boy then asked what happens if the plane lost cabin pressure. The man proceeded to say, and I quote, "Well, if the cabin gets depressurized, everybody dies." What?! I don't know much about raising kids, but I'm pretty sure telling them about the mortal perils of flight isn't the way to ease their minds before boarding a plane. The man went on to tell the kid about a flight where the cabin depressurized, and everyone suffocated, but the plan just kept on flying until it ran out of gas and crashed. He followed that up by emphasizing that no one on the plane died in the crash since they all died long before that when the plane depressurized. Poor kid. He wasn't on my flight, but I imagine he was terrified.

Wino Butt!

So what the story behind this you ask? Well, today is Sunday. In two day's I'll be flying to Portland, OR to play a disc golf tournament. I'll be camping at a state park for about a week. Normally, I'd bring my backpacking tent for camping, but since I'll be there for a whole week, and I'll be set up at a big campgound, I figured I'd bring my bigger tent. I haven't used, or even looked at this tent since a trip I took to Hawaii 2 years ago. I thought it would be a good idea to take it out, set it up, and make sure I have all the parts etc. before heading or Oregon.

My friend Jerry and I headed to a park at the end of the street to set it up. It's a beautiful warm, sunny day, so we decided we'd fill a few flasks with some nice cold white wine to enjoy during the setup. Since the flasks are stainless steel, they were immediately chilled. We pocketed the cold flasks and walked the 4 blocks to the park. We remarked a few times on the trip as to how cold the flasks were in our back pockets.

Anyway, we got to the park, set up the tent, and then got inside to enjoy our wine. There was this persistant little drip of wine from the bottom of my flask. I thought, at first, that it was just spilling over from the spout since we filled the flasks to the brim. But the dripping wouldn't stop. "I think mine has a leak," I said. In Jerry's head he was thinking, "There's no way. If there were a leak, it would have been leaking this whole time." No sooner did he start thinking that did I crawl to the front of the tent, get out, bend over, and ask reluctantly, "Jerry, is my ass wet?"

Yup. Wet. Hilarious! The whole time during the walk I thought my butt was just cold from the cold wine. In reality, white wine was actually soaking my entire back pocket and my butt.

Limpopo!

I don’t have internet access at my apartment so whenever I want or need access, I use the WiFi at a friend’s place. But sometimes the house internet goes on the fritz. When this happens, I just connect to one of the unsecured networks in the area. My favorite one is called, “Limpopo.” It’s my favorite not only because it’s reliable, but because it is just so fun to say. Say it with me. “Lim-Poh-Poh!” Ain’t it great?!

We’ve been using that network on and off for months now but haven’t had any idea what it means, if anything. Until tonight, that is, when curiosity got the best of us. Tonight we used the mighty power of the InterWeb to do some sleuthing. Turns out, it’s not nonsense, or even a Spanish word like we originally suspected. “Limpopo” is the northernmost province in South Africa. A province named after a river by the same name.

But that’s not all! “Limpopo” is also the name of a Russian “Folk-N-Roll” band from the mid-80s. It’s actually on record that one curious Limpopo fan asked the band members what “Limpopo” meant. Apparently each one of them told the guy that it meant, “elephant butt.” And it gets even better…

I’m betting every single American over the age of 5 has actually heard this band before. By some stroke of luck, a big-time ad executive heard Limpopo play and liked their quirky style so much that he encouraged them to audition for a TV commercial spot. They got the gig. So does this sound familiar?

“Give me a break, give me a break. Break me off a piece of that KitKat bar!”

So there you have it. Limpopo. Unsecured wireless network. North African province. River. And the band responsible for the KitKat song.

Three Person Job

It was midnight at the drug store, the only retail store open in the neighborhood at that hour. I was out of toilette paper, so I stopped by on my way home to pick some up. While in line, I started people watching. Generally speaking, it's one of my favorite ways to pass the time when delayed in public for any reason. The best people watching is usually at places like the DMV, or the emergency department's waiting room. But tonight, the drug store proved pretty amusing.

I was standing in line behing a group of three frat-looking tough guys. The type of guys I'd normally expect to be buying cheap beer, cigarettes, or condoms. Sometimes all three at once. But not today. Not even a bag of Doritos. Nope. There was just one item on their list tonight:

A plunger!

I couldn't help but laugh. No one goes to the store at midnight to buy a solitary plunger unless it is urgntly needed. And that was funny enough, but then I began to wonder why it took 3 guys to buy a plunger. It's not like a keg run where you might need some extra muscle. It's just a simple plunger! I imagine it's because none of them wanted to be pegged as that guy who plugged up the crapper at midnight so badly that the situation required a plunger. If all three of them showed up together to buy the plunger, no definitive blame could be ascribed. Social safety in numbers I suppose.

Making Things Difficult

This past Sunday, my friend Jerry and I made Swiss cheese fondue for a few friends. It was a good evening. We ate chocolate covered strawberries, drank some home-vintage wine, and, of course, ate a LOT of cheese. It all worked out well and good, but we clearly could have planned better.

One hour before people were scheduled to arrive, we were still poking around in tide pools at the beach and had yet to even buy the necessities, namely cheese. It's tough to make fondue without cheese! We made a mad dash to the store, got the cheese, bread, garlic, strawberries, and chocolate and rushed back to clean the apartment a little.

With just a few minutes before guests were supposed to arrive, we couldn't find the fondue pot! It's probably even harder to make fondue without the pot than without the cheese. Thankfully, after some worrisome scrambling, the pot showed itself. Next task: shred a few pounds of cheese. Sure, that sounds easy enough, unless your only cheese grader is of the 3 inch by 4 inch variety. Sheesh! But like I said, it all worked out in the end. The fondue was tasty, and a good time was had by all. I can say with some certainty now, however, that my next kitchen purchase is going to be a bigger cheese shredder.

Road Trip

After a 10 day jaunt through the Western states of California, Nevada, and Oregon, I've landed back in San Diego. I'm going to leave out the details and just say I had a great trip. I relaxed in a sauna with a good friend in Reno, watched some good music played in Eugene, painted pottery in Coos Bay, strolled among sand dunes in Bandon, and hiked to 6 different waterfalls. Oh yea, and I got to throw up in the Portland airport. I think I'm going to start of list of airports I get airsick at. I'm up at least 12 by now. Anyway, I took a few pictures along the way. Here's a little starter set.

Old cemetary in Coquille, OR. Pinhole camera.

Dunes in Bandon, OR. Pinhole camera.

Double exposure. Holga.

Same Coquille, OR cemetary. Holga again.