I am an idiot.
I burned myself this morning because I hadn't secured the lid on my gigantic kettle and the damned thing steamed me like a salmon filet. My knuckles are the color of said salmon filet.
Nuts, nuts, nuts.
That's what I get for staying up late to watch a three-hour movie made in 1970. It was the disaster movie, Airport; it had no special effects and the writing was over-the-top, but it was still fabulous. Thanks to Helen Hayes who stole the whole bloody picture.
Of course, Airport wouldn't happen in this day and age. When was the last time you saw unionized airport slugs digging a plane out of a snowbank? Never. They prefer to leave you sitting on the tarmac until the snow eventually melts.
When was the last time a 30 year veteran security guy "just had a feeling" that a guy might have something in that briefcase? The goons they hire at security today are too busy confiscating your hand sanitizer to spot the real criminals and looney-tunes.
And when was the last time they trusted a guy like Dean Martin to a) captain an airplane and b) knock up a stew?
Remember when flying used to be a fantastic adventure?
There was always the threat -- and thrill -- of a possible hijacking to Cuba (!!!)
But mostly, it was civilized.
I stopped flying years ago.
It doesn't seem worth all the trouble.
No food -- or bad food you have to pay for -- no free booze, lineups, restrictions on everything, having to get to the airport hours before your flight. It amazes me, to this day, that it takes longer to fly to Toronto than to take the train -- by the time you get through all the bullshit.
Watching Airport made me long for the good old days when you could smoke on an airplane in the back and people in the front didn't complain.
Wait, no, I hated that part.