I suppose this is as good a time as any to complain about the changes in air security. The papers here will show something every other week or so about someone on a do-not-fly list being found after take off and the plane being re-routed or sent back; or that there's still problems with the screening procedures at the x-ray machines; or that the new procedures irritate, humiliate, demean and delay the passengers; or whatever else is interesting enough to fill column space on a slow news day.
Really, what has the point of all this been? While people like Cat Stevens and Ted Kennedy have been tagged as flight risks, has anything really happened to make air travel safer? Well, I haven't heard of anything exploding recently, which is generally a good thing. But I haven't been mauled by an illegally imported tiger, poisoned by smuggled foodstuffs or sucker-punched by a leprechaun with a fake passport either, so it'd be just a bit specious to attribute all of this extra safety to government intervention.
To be honest, we have such luminaries as the Department of Excuses to Thrust Big Holes In Your Civil Liberties claiming that the challenge is ongoing and they are still trying their best:
I think we [still] have to recognize the scope of what homeland security means as it relates to securing our homeland.
Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security, Admiral James Loy
So at least they've acknowledged that the goal they've set is big, nay, Orwellian in scope.
And by "Orwellian" I am referring to the his immense size: over 375 pounds at the time of his death.
Wait, no. That was Orson Welles.
The point was, before I got distracted thinking about how cool the voice of Unicron was in "Transformers: The Movie", that trying to protect everything about America from everyone everywhere is impossible. And while I'm sure there are ways to reduce the number of bombs that get onto airplanes, treating everyone who wants to enter the country like a criminal suspect isn't likely to be really helpful. But it does serve to make my travel experience a lot more tiresome and frustrating.
As a positive, however, it does let some 21 year old rent-a-cop feel like a big man when he can order me to wait for a pat down because they don't like the look of the toys I�ve got in my carry-on bag. So I guess that's good for someone's self-esteem.
And in all honesty, those toys were kind of offensive. Otherwise they just wouldn't have made good souvenirs. But I'll get to that next time when we resume our story.
20 January 2005
18 January 2005
I resolve to update this more than once per cicada life-cycle...
As per usual, it's been a while since I've written. 'Cause, you know that you readers are still important to me, but I feel I ought to explain that paying my bills and trying (occasionally unsuccessfully) to enjoy and enlighten myself are substantially more important than making the effort to chronicle my thoughts for your entertainment.
Perhaps it would be more humble to say "for your amusement."
Then again, perhaps it would be more accurate to say "for your bemusement." But this is not the place for wonder whether or not you understand my emotional state. I'm going to an est meeting for that later.
Here, assuming you weren't receiving copies of the surveillance reports for the last six weeks, is part one of the summary of my winter holiday.
Tokyo to New Mexico � Planes, Trains and Automatons at customs
December 13-22: Working.
Imagine your job, but with 40 kids in the room, 50% of whom want you to stare at them while they simultaneously try to explain something of dire importance to a game-boy addicted 9-year old in increasingly louder voices so they can be heard over the other game-boy addicted 9-year olds, and 25% of whom want to touch, pet or climb you, and 25% of whom want to throw pencils, eat paper and say "poo-poo-caca-turds-dookey." But there's no coffee machine, so it's not really like your job after all.
December 23: Lost in the desert, or on the way to the desert, anyway.
We had tickets to fly out of Narita Airport on an ANA flight. After missing the first bus and train we were supposed to take, we finally got underway to the airport and to one of Narita's two terminals. Which was where we discovered that the tickets, which were marked "ANA" with an ANA flight number, were actually for a flight that was being operated by Continental Airlines.
Continental Airlines flies out of the other terminal at Narita.
After much rushing and some barely restrained tempers, we made it to the correct terminal, airline, gate, plane, row and seats. The very small seats in the very narrow rows.
Four hours later, with the seat in front of me resting on my legs which I can�t fully bend or extend, I recall that stress positions were one of the techniques recommended and used to loosen the tongues of people held in Guantanmo and Abu Gharib. Then I remember that I chose to be on this flight, and that it cheapens the plights of others to equate that with being uncomfortable for a couple of hours on a flight that I had the luxury to take. A couple of hours of liberal-guilt-ridden dozing alternating with leg cramps and fear of deep-vein thrombosis followed.
On arrival in Los Angeles, with two and a half hours to make our transfer we discover the following:
1. It now takes immigration officers up to 45 minutes to photograph, fingerprint and process foreign visitors.
2. US security protocols now mandate that any passengers transferring from foreign to domestic flights should collect their checked baggage and go through the security checks again.
3. During the holidays, LAX is capable of sustaining a line at the security gates that takes over three hours from the end of the line to finally being allowed to the gates.
After much kindness from strangers and some line-cutting ahead of less-kind strangers we did just barely make it to the gate before the flight left.
The flight was subsequently delayed.
December 24 � Half-mad shopping. Wrapping presents until 3 am. (This compounded my jet lag, which I never completely got over.)
Tune in next time for Part 2: Driving, drinking, and getting a room comped with no credit cards.
Perhaps it would be more humble to say "for your amusement."
Then again, perhaps it would be more accurate to say "for your bemusement." But this is not the place for wonder whether or not you understand my emotional state. I'm going to an est meeting for that later.
Here, assuming you weren't receiving copies of the surveillance reports for the last six weeks, is part one of the summary of my winter holiday.
Tokyo to New Mexico � Planes, Trains and Automatons at customs
December 13-22: Working.
Imagine your job, but with 40 kids in the room, 50% of whom want you to stare at them while they simultaneously try to explain something of dire importance to a game-boy addicted 9-year old in increasingly louder voices so they can be heard over the other game-boy addicted 9-year olds, and 25% of whom want to touch, pet or climb you, and 25% of whom want to throw pencils, eat paper and say "poo-poo-caca-turds-dookey." But there's no coffee machine, so it's not really like your job after all.
December 23: Lost in the desert, or on the way to the desert, anyway.
We had tickets to fly out of Narita Airport on an ANA flight. After missing the first bus and train we were supposed to take, we finally got underway to the airport and to one of Narita's two terminals. Which was where we discovered that the tickets, which were marked "ANA" with an ANA flight number, were actually for a flight that was being operated by Continental Airlines.
Continental Airlines flies out of the other terminal at Narita.
After much rushing and some barely restrained tempers, we made it to the correct terminal, airline, gate, plane, row and seats. The very small seats in the very narrow rows.
Four hours later, with the seat in front of me resting on my legs which I can�t fully bend or extend, I recall that stress positions were one of the techniques recommended and used to loosen the tongues of people held in Guantanmo and Abu Gharib. Then I remember that I chose to be on this flight, and that it cheapens the plights of others to equate that with being uncomfortable for a couple of hours on a flight that I had the luxury to take. A couple of hours of liberal-guilt-ridden dozing alternating with leg cramps and fear of deep-vein thrombosis followed.
On arrival in Los Angeles, with two and a half hours to make our transfer we discover the following:
1. It now takes immigration officers up to 45 minutes to photograph, fingerprint and process foreign visitors.
2. US security protocols now mandate that any passengers transferring from foreign to domestic flights should collect their checked baggage and go through the security checks again.
3. During the holidays, LAX is capable of sustaining a line at the security gates that takes over three hours from the end of the line to finally being allowed to the gates.
After much kindness from strangers and some line-cutting ahead of less-kind strangers we did just barely make it to the gate before the flight left.
The flight was subsequently delayed.
December 24 � Half-mad shopping. Wrapping presents until 3 am. (This compounded my jet lag, which I never completely got over.)
Tune in next time for Part 2: Driving, drinking, and getting a room comped with no credit cards.
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