Back in Tack
So its been a whole 14 months since I’ve been home. It was great to see everyone, and it’s true what they say about the heart growing fonder.
On the flight back I sat beside an old man who looked liked he suffered from JOMS (Jovial Old Man Syndrome). His eyes kept trying to meet mine, looking for a green light for conversation. Not wanting to be rude I would just flash him my hazards with a simple, “This movie I’m going to watch looks great,” entertaining some conversation while leaving a trail of breadcrumbs hinting at him that…I don’t want to talk for much longer. His bald head and bulbous check bones made him look like an ice cream cone ready to melt stories on to me of past recessions or his time in the war, but I wasn’t in the mood for that.
Oh, having JOMS would be one of the syndromes I wouldn’t mind having in the slightest. Even though it’s fictitious, it sounds like a great way to go through life. Telling people on planes that you have a disease, sparking some interest from a fellow traveler, building up a heartfelt story and then smashing it down with the punch line by describing what the acronym means. Oh, I would have fun in my old age.
But, I would much rather have the gift of flight. Then I could visit my friends anytime I wanted.
The food on the flight was interesting. Satisfying, considering how hungry I was, yet sadly meager in quality, quantity and presentation. However, they do get a B – in their attempt at putting a classy spin on such an average meal. By this I mean, by putting pesto and cranberries on a turkey sandwich. That was redeeming, but as I ate the sandwich I thought about distribution. Distribution of the contents on my sandwich, like Robert DeNiro in Casino yelling at the cook for the distribution of berries in a muffin. I don’t really care to tell you the truth, I just think about what was going through someones head at the time when they were putting the cranberries on because they only put them on one side of the fucking bun. I can understand that a job as an Air Canada line cook isn’t the most glamorous job, however it isn’t too demanding of a responsibility to evenly spread the cranberries on a sandwich so you get a little bit in each bite as opposed to a mouth full of cranberries as a surprise at the end of your sandwich----(have you ever put 15 cranberries in your mouth at once…it sucks) I think the person who made the sandwich would have been better suited at something that requires one to make things less even spread and more conglomerated into specified niches. Like he could have been Mother Natures personal assistant designing owl habitats in forests ...but I guess that job was taken and the only thing left over was …well, “sandwich catering services for the Canadian airline industry.” A good second choice.
That man beside me was probably just flying to Edmonton to visit his son, or his grandkids. I should have made more of an effort to talk. My lack of conversation forced him to watch Surf's Up. But, I was lazy. Lazy thinking about JOMS.
With an eruption of frigid air, blowing like a torch on my head, the roof of the plane ripped off creating an airborne convertible. The chaos of the screaming flight attendants abruptly stopped as they were thrust up through the lack of ceiling by the split second change in cabin pressure. My senses twisted my spine not only from the engines of air thrusting a certain way through the fuselage, but from the man beside me calmly gripping his seat asking someone something. I could see that he wasn’t talking to himself, for he was talking with the air rushing in; serenely asking for a way out. Cyrus clouds ripped through my ear drums and coated my body in dense fear. I gasped for breathes searching for my air mask, for it had eluded me. There was not a roof anymore, subsequently creating a lack of place to store an air mask, I gave up on my quest for survival. And with a jarring thump it happened. We landed, I woke up and then I died. I landed in Edmonton, on my way to Yellowknife. The point of no return. I knew I would be stuck here working for at least another 5 months, in limbo.
I hate Edmonton.
Off to the Knife.
On the flight to Yellowknife, there was a guy dressed up in leather boots, leather tilley hat and....leather fanny pack. And he was french. And he looked like the singer from Crash Test Dummies. Come on now! Even the singer from Crash Test Dummies doesn't want to look like the singer from Crash Test Dummies. L'Alligator Bastard
At least the bugs are gone in Yellowknife.
A mosquito only lives as an adult from 4 to 30 days. They spend the first half of their lives in a metamorphasis state from egg to pupae. That would be like us being in our mom wombs until we are 30, coming out and then dying at 60. I think for mosquitos, when they leave the pupae stage, a clock goes off in their head, or gets triggered and counts down the exact amount of time it took to develop their little creature bodies. It reminds me of one of those traps in the movie SAW, where as soon as your start the game, by reaching for a key, it starts the timer for some stupid head exlploding device or whatever. For mosquitos, its exactly like that. The game triggers as soon as they become an adult. They search around for blood. They find it and eat. Unfortunatley, blood isn't the goal and they all die.
Maybe its the same with humans too.
Lego comes from the Danish phrase Leg godt which measns 'play well'. I read that on wikipedia.
So...Leg Godt
On the flight back I sat beside an old man who looked liked he suffered from JOMS (Jovial Old Man Syndrome). His eyes kept trying to meet mine, looking for a green light for conversation. Not wanting to be rude I would just flash him my hazards with a simple, “This movie I’m going to watch looks great,” entertaining some conversation while leaving a trail of breadcrumbs hinting at him that…I don’t want to talk for much longer. His bald head and bulbous check bones made him look like an ice cream cone ready to melt stories on to me of past recessions or his time in the war, but I wasn’t in the mood for that.
Oh, having JOMS would be one of the syndromes I wouldn’t mind having in the slightest. Even though it’s fictitious, it sounds like a great way to go through life. Telling people on planes that you have a disease, sparking some interest from a fellow traveler, building up a heartfelt story and then smashing it down with the punch line by describing what the acronym means. Oh, I would have fun in my old age.
But, I would much rather have the gift of flight. Then I could visit my friends anytime I wanted.
The food on the flight was interesting. Satisfying, considering how hungry I was, yet sadly meager in quality, quantity and presentation. However, they do get a B – in their attempt at putting a classy spin on such an average meal. By this I mean, by putting pesto and cranberries on a turkey sandwich. That was redeeming, but as I ate the sandwich I thought about distribution. Distribution of the contents on my sandwich, like Robert DeNiro in Casino yelling at the cook for the distribution of berries in a muffin. I don’t really care to tell you the truth, I just think about what was going through someones head at the time when they were putting the cranberries on because they only put them on one side of the fucking bun. I can understand that a job as an Air Canada line cook isn’t the most glamorous job, however it isn’t too demanding of a responsibility to evenly spread the cranberries on a sandwich so you get a little bit in each bite as opposed to a mouth full of cranberries as a surprise at the end of your sandwich----(have you ever put 15 cranberries in your mouth at once…it sucks) I think the person who made the sandwich would have been better suited at something that requires one to make things less even spread and more conglomerated into specified niches. Like he could have been Mother Natures personal assistant designing owl habitats in forests ...but I guess that job was taken and the only thing left over was …well, “sandwich catering services for the Canadian airline industry.” A good second choice.
That man beside me was probably just flying to Edmonton to visit his son, or his grandkids. I should have made more of an effort to talk. My lack of conversation forced him to watch Surf's Up. But, I was lazy. Lazy thinking about JOMS.
With an eruption of frigid air, blowing like a torch on my head, the roof of the plane ripped off creating an airborne convertible. The chaos of the screaming flight attendants abruptly stopped as they were thrust up through the lack of ceiling by the split second change in cabin pressure. My senses twisted my spine not only from the engines of air thrusting a certain way through the fuselage, but from the man beside me calmly gripping his seat asking someone something. I could see that he wasn’t talking to himself, for he was talking with the air rushing in; serenely asking for a way out. Cyrus clouds ripped through my ear drums and coated my body in dense fear. I gasped for breathes searching for my air mask, for it had eluded me. There was not a roof anymore, subsequently creating a lack of place to store an air mask, I gave up on my quest for survival. And with a jarring thump it happened. We landed, I woke up and then I died. I landed in Edmonton, on my way to Yellowknife. The point of no return. I knew I would be stuck here working for at least another 5 months, in limbo.
I hate Edmonton.
Off to the Knife.
On the flight to Yellowknife, there was a guy dressed up in leather boots, leather tilley hat and....leather fanny pack. And he was french. And he looked like the singer from Crash Test Dummies. Come on now! Even the singer from Crash Test Dummies doesn't want to look like the singer from Crash Test Dummies. L'Alligator Bastard
At least the bugs are gone in Yellowknife.
A mosquito only lives as an adult from 4 to 30 days. They spend the first half of their lives in a metamorphasis state from egg to pupae. That would be like us being in our mom wombs until we are 30, coming out and then dying at 60. I think for mosquitos, when they leave the pupae stage, a clock goes off in their head, or gets triggered and counts down the exact amount of time it took to develop their little creature bodies. It reminds me of one of those traps in the movie SAW, where as soon as your start the game, by reaching for a key, it starts the timer for some stupid head exlploding device or whatever. For mosquitos, its exactly like that. The game triggers as soon as they become an adult. They search around for blood. They find it and eat. Unfortunatley, blood isn't the goal and they all die.
Maybe its the same with humans too.
Lego comes from the Danish phrase Leg godt which measns 'play well'. I read that on wikipedia.
So...Leg Godt
posted by BoneSymphony | 3:54 PM
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