WHAT'S HAPPNIN' JACKSON?
I have a guilty pleasure. Whenever I’m on an airplane I take out my felt tip pen and absolutely decimate the in-flight magazine. Everything from blacking out the teeth of Colgate models to drawing nipples on Heads of State. It passes the time like no other.
I’m a bit of a pro when it comes to air travel. Over the years I’ve learned how to get into any VIP Lounge without having to pay. I have a data base of internet access codes for free internet in almost every major airport in the US and Europe (with the exception of Albuquerque and Denver, which are free). I know where to find ‘sleeping rooms’, off limits to most people. And of course the ability to drastically better my odds for a bump into business class. I could absolutely write a book. And it’s no great feat of genius trust me. Sometimes it’s just a matter of being a nice guy.
That said, there are few things that annoy me when traveling by air. I’ve grown accustomed to the snoring and screaming babies, the chick with the 10 minute bladder, the fat dude smothering my arm rest, etc. But the exception to this most affirmed and hallowed rule… is the kid who loves to munch ice.
It starts like this. The stewardess comes by with the cart. Asks the little squirts mother if the kid wants a soda. The mother replies, “No, but can we get a cup filled with ice? He likes to eat the ice.” and I immediately begin to imagine the child getting sucked through the jets intake manifold.
And so, he begins to munch. And crunch. And spit back little bits of ice mixed with spittle, bubbling up the cup. And I want to puke.
And it’s weird, because in spite of the fact that you can’t hear a goddamned thing on an airplane at 30,000, for some reason it pierces my brain like George Lucas himself had designed the cup. Give me the best noise reducers Bose has to offer, I’m still be able to hear every little crack and slurp from the little buggers pie hole. Give me anything else. Anything. Infants screaming for their lives. The smell of other people’s feet. Sleeping straight up. Whatever. But hand the little bastard a plastic cup filled with frozen ammo and I go off like a Muslim at a pizza hut.
But, it’s all for the sake of art… yes? You betcha.
For here we are again my friends. The festival train once again beckons. Whispering to those who would dare temp fate. To tempt adventure. To tempt bankruptcy. All aboard!
Next stop, Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
Home of Harrison Ford and the Grand Tetons, Jackson Hole is one of those wonderful little places shaped by nature, steeped in history, and filled with some of the warmest and friendliest people to drive a flat bed Ford. That, and they’ve got one hell of a film festival.
The Jackson Hole International Film Festival is one of the top 3 fests in the United States. Cevin Cathill is the gal who’s extended the invite for us and from that very first phone call, we have felt so incredibly welcome. They’ve had the professionalism to offer us TWO film passes (take note Vancouver) and to top it all off, a hotel! for the entire run of the event. That’s class.
So. I shall keep you all posted.
‘Till then, I guess I have no choice but to sit here, tag my in-flight mag and plug my ears. Then again, maybe I’ll put my hands together and pray that the little penguin across the aisle comes down with the biggest ice cream headache of his life.
Hey you, Congratulations on all your awards you so deserve them[You Rock!]…. Hope you are getting frequent airmails for all the travelling you are doing…as for the little ones with the ice cubes, just dont forget yourself and try and do what you told us in your “ICE CUBE GENIUS” post [he! he!]
You just crack me up Colin, firstly… the decimating the in-flight magazine. I thought I though I was the only one who was waiting for the grown ups to arrive!!
Secondly, the nice guy thing,… how many speeding fines have I got out of - pretty much every single one since I was 19 and was picked up by a tosser (wanker), because I was nice to the policeman. Almost every flight I have ever been on, I have ended up sitting in the cockpit, (and before I was married sitting on the co-pilots knee… oh goodness, those were the days, I was known by Qantas as the pilot groupie) even to the point of being allowed to stay there during landing, just because I was nice to the hosties. It’s a secret I’m glad not everyone knows!!!
But…………… Whats with the ice on the airplane crap…, my kids don’t drink soda, they have milk or water and that’s it…, that’s what the dentist told me to give them and thats what they get. They don’t get to suck ice as a substitute. What’s the deal with that….. Good grief!!!
However… I’m very sad to say, I’m the chick with the ten minute bladder, 3 kids will do that to you, but at least if you were sitting next to me and mine on a plane, you may have to pull your legs in every ten minutes so I can get past, but you wouldn’t have to put up with the chewing ice thing.
Delighted to catch up with the Centigrade goss, I’ve been so flat out last few weeks, I haven’t even had a chance to check in, so glad to read about more film festivals and hopefully, more accolades coming up.
Bex. You crack me up. (The ten minute bladder part. Especially.)
Talk soon. C.
Thanks C :-)
Sort of gives new meaning to the phrase ‘little ‘munch’kins’ doesn’t it.
I certainly hope I don’t have any ice munching little munchkins next to me on my 44 hour flights to LA next year (thats right 44 hours, it seems the cheaper the ticket, the longer you are in the air) And I also hope they give me an aisle seat. 44 hours, ten minute bladder… you do the math.
Am kinda noticing a bit of a theme coming through here Colin, ….. ice….. bathrooms!!