Flying into the Wild Blue Yonder

So, I was coming home from an interminable conference on Saturday night.  I knew I was in trouble when my row was called right after first class and those needing extra help or assistance.  My row was the last row in the plane.  The seat doesn’t recline.  The bathroom was behind me and, behind that, the flight attendant service station.  It was 8pm and I was exhausted.  Someone used the bathroom while the plane was on the ground so I could get a preview of the wooooooshing waterpark experience that would almost consume me by the trip’s end.

I wanted to scream.  The flight attendants were gossiping in loud, high-pitched voices that made me understand air rage.  Luckily, the seats next to me were empty.  At least, I would not feel claustrophobic.  But, wait, a couple changed seats so they could sit together — next to me.  The man sat next to me and sat “wide” in that way that makes you wonder if there is something horribly wrong with his testicles.  Then he opene food that he bought in the food court in the airport, overwhelming me with the smell of deep-fried, faux Mexican food.   So, no sleep for me on this plane ride.

Luckily, Jet Blue provides free TV (it charges for the headphones ($2) and the blanket and pillow ($7)).  So many channels, so little to watch.  I was desperate so I watched a Nicholas Cage movie.  I am sure he is a fine actor, but all I can think about is his financial problems.  (Why do I know this about him?) The man made millions and didn’t understand that buying multiple, multi-million dollar homes could bankrupt a person, or at least cause a cash squeeze?  It is hard for me to watch someone who is either a raving idiot or a male version of a prima donna who can’t take responsibility for his decisions.  The saving grace in the movie was Téa Leoni, who was just enchanting.  She made me think of Ingrid Bergman.  The movie was so plodding that I had to turn off the sound.  Then I remembered (ok, I googled it) that Téa Leoni is married to David Duchovny.  All I know about David Duchovny other than he starred in the X-Files is that he was at some point being treated for a sex addiction.  Why do I know that?  The same way I know about Nicholas Cage and that Lindsay Lohan has a drug problem even though I could not pick her out of a crowd and have never seen her in a movie.  Popular culture seeps through even my best defenses.

My head aches from all of this useless information.  I hope someone devises a brain dialysis soon so we can flush out useless information and reinvigorate those sad brain cells that have to hold that useless information.  Poor, poor, brain cells.  Help is on the way.