Just Plane Nuts

For a long time, it seemed like buses had the market cornered on crazy. Who hasn't had a late night crazy person experience involving to a bus or related building? Or heard a story of someone else's? Or seen one on television? Or imagined one? You see my point, I'm sure. Buses were the designated 'crazy' transportation mode of choice: hobos have trains, scary men in yellow rain jackets with hook hands have fishing boats, and crazies have buses. I see those Greyhound commercials with the clean people riding the buses, smiling, excited to be using such glamorous transportation.

Right. I've 'gone Greyhound.' Where, pray tell, are the unwashed masses? The crying Amlids? The goopy smear on the window you want to wipe off but don't want to come in even indirect contact with your skin? Not in the commercials, that’s for sure. The commercial just features that humanoid with the head of a greyhound, which I'm guessing is the male of whatever species Paris Hilton is. Let's look into some sterilization options before they find each other, mate and fill the earth with litter upon litter of dog-faced Cheeto-colored skeleton monsters. But I digress. I can't speak for the hobos or the raincoat men, but the crazies are branching out to the nation's airports.

I sat next to who I think was a genuinely crazy person on a plane from Roanoke to Detroit. It’s not often I get to sit so close to un-medicated psychos these days. He was that special brand of crazy that holds animated conversations with windows, and as a bonus, he seemed to have a grudge against the pilot. After every altitude adjustment announcement he would laugh derisively and snort, "Yeah, right." At first, he made me think he new something I didn't, which made me nervous, until I realized that he was just insane, which made me MORE nervous.

I managed to ignore his shifty mannerisms and avoid direct eye contact until the beverage service. Flying coach is the norm for me, except for that one time I got bumped up to first class which was both random and awesome. But back with the peons in coach, you have to pay for your alcoholic beverages- $5 gets you one tiny bottle of your choice. I had always thought you'd have to be crazy to pay that much. As it turns out, I was right: Nutjob McTwitchypants was all over that deal like crazy on, well, him. The stewardess was more than happy to comply with Nutjob's request because really, when you've got a crazy person in an enclosed area, the situation can only be improved with the addition of alcohol. She hurried off to get his change as he began mixing whatever crazy cocktail they're drinking in the loony bin these days. (Drink Skye Vodka! 9 out of 10 of the voices in your head agree, and the tenth might ease up on the maniacal ranting after a drink or two!)

I turned up my music and checked my watch. Soon, the stewardess returned. She was very sorry, but they didn't have enough change for him. Would he like to buy another drink instead? Of course he would! What's another $5 bottle of vodka between schizophrenic splinter personalities? With my music turned up, I could barely hear his arguments with the double paned oval window. I was waiting for him to shout "This conversation is over!" and then slam the molded plastic window shade. Everyone knows windows can't sass back when their shades are shut.

He probably would have gotten in trouble if he had done that. Why do they always insist on the windows being open during takeoff and landing? Not that I’d never shut the window if I had a window seat, even if I wasn't actively using it. Only jerks with no concept of other people's window-love who always end up sitting next to me do that. Jerks. But they rabidly insist that the shades be open, and I can't figure out why. We used to have a conversion van that had shades on the windows, and we would always have to leave them up so my dad wouldn't take someone out when he had to merge. I can't see that being a very relevant issue on an airplane. First off, don't they have air traffic controllers to manage where the other planes are? And short of having a spine that responds to the verbal command of "Go-go gadget neck!", there's no way those windows are gonna do anything for your visibility.

They're only more insistent about the uprightness of seat backs and tray tables. In that polite yet stern stewardess voice that you must not defy. Which is why I was so shocked when I encountered Those Who Would Not Obey on flight 74CRAZY. Before takeoff, I was stowing my carry-ons like a good little passenger. I sat and watched the dramatic reading of the airline safety guidelines, accompanied by the seat belt and oxygen mask interpretive dance. I really only watch because no one else does and I feel sorry for them, performing for a bunch of safety hating philistines. I care, I say silently with my eye contact. Help me to be safe and give me extra peanuts for my cooperation. Hasn't happened yet, but I remain hopeful.

When the safety skit was over, I glanced (in my quest to avoid eye contact with Nutjob) at the people across the aisle- only to find them openly flouting all the rules I hold dear! CD players, no doubt blasting something rebellious, out on top of tray tables! The stewardesses were making their way down the aisle; surely a highly anticipated aero-beat down was not long in coming. Imagine my disappointment when nothing happened! They leisurely put up their trays and continued their illegal music listening, totally missing the announcement about how wrong they were. Wow. When I’m climbing to 37,000 feet above solid ground, I'm pretty likely to follow any directives given to me, on the off chance that my tray table is connected to the turbines or something. Their rebellion did inspire me on the next flight, however. Let's just say curly hair and small earphones can hide a multitude of indiscretions, and also if my music was transmitted over the pilot’s airwaves, I didn’t hear any complaining.

I suppose one crazy flight out of four isn’t too bad. The crazy migration isn’t complete; your odds are still much greater on a bus. Unless of course, you are the crazy person. If that’s the case, I don’t know what to tell you. Except to not sit next to me.

Alternative Rubber Glove Uses I've Explored Today

10. Inflatable turkey
9. Unreliable water balloon
8. Ineffective sock
7. Hard-to-aim slingshot
6. Dancing inflatable turkey
5. Stress reliever
4. Fingerprint-less crime
3. Far-reaching geyser
2. Finger muscle builder
1. Unpoppable, dot-covered trash turkey

What I Learned in England

10. If you need to 'get used to it,' it probably isn't good for you.
9. Everything is not a crisis.
8. Torp is a great multipurpose word.
7. Sleeper trains- one of the many things that sound like a good idea, but aren't.
6. 'Ziznevy Pez' means 'The Thirsty Dog' in Czech, but when said with a slightly off accent, it means 'tell these Americans what these words mean and then give them incorrect directions to get there.'
5. Spanish is handy for negotiating shower coins in Austrian castles.
4. Ewan MacGregor makes a comfy bed.
3. If you ever find yourself in the midst of a Flemish festival with giant scary arm creatures and a naked statue, just go with it.
2. Cambridge students know how to make queues fun.
1. It's easy to pick out the rich penguins.

The Night Amish

I recently had the opportunity to experience life through the perspective of our nation's Amish. My long-standing fascination with this group is no passing phase: I was born in Pennsylvania, and feel a sort of kindred bond with this enigmatic group. It transcends race, religion and zipper utilization. My journey into the heart of the Amish lifestyle was one of self-discovery, patience building and enlightenment. I’d like to share my story with you.

Huh. It sounds so noble and Discovery Channel-worthy when I put it like that. Flowery prose aside, we had some bad thunderstorms and our power went out. For three hours! Right before my Sunday night TV shows came on! I know! It was awful. The things I go through just to have something to write. So I figured, hey, I’m curious about the Amish. Once while some of my family and I were at an aquarium, we noticed there was an Amish family there, too. After a few minutes, my aunt nudged me. "The Amish are watching the fish," she said. "We're watching the Amish. Who's watching us?" But being curious about them doesn’t mean I think I could cut it as one. The power outage and more have convinced me that most likely, livin' the vida Amish is not for me.

I’m sure there are perks to being Amish. Like, that tree the thunderstorm took out in my backyard. Were I Amish, I could no doubt grab a couple of my fellow Amish and whip up a barn out of it in no time. You never know when you'll need a barn. And say what you will about Amish clothing, the fact remains that black is very slimming. However, with all the butter churning that'd be going on, your arms would probably be toned within an inch of their lives anyway. Also, you get to be around horses a good deal of the time. If you ask me fresh off a viewing of the Lord of the Rings, which I am, this is very cool. Of course, Amish horse related activities probably lean more towards 'driving a buggy along a highway to town' rather than 'tearing ass through a sparsely wooded area to escape Ringwraiths.'

So the horse aspect is a mixed bag- which brings us to the reasons why I could never last as an Amish. For one, I enjoy using zippers, and have nothing against them. They've been, for the most part, quite faithful for holding my snow pants, jackets and head wounds closed. (Ha, ha. Also: Eew.) All this zipper-love despite the fact that until about three months ago, I didn't even know how a zipper worked. Seriously, you ever try to zip a broken zipper? I was convinced there was some sort of sorcery at work in that little metal slide. Maybe that's why the Amish don't like them. Someone should tell them that they're not of the devil, they're of simple machines. They'd be all over them, I'd imagine.

Another problem I foresee is the bonnet. I'm not really a bonnet kind of girl. I don't think. I mean, I look ridiculous in a baseball cap, I can't see headwear that enfolds my melon into a covered wagon being an improvement. Let’s not even get into the hat hair issues. I think I read somewhere that the Amish have actually developed a genetically lessened hat hair response through natural selection. Well, either I read it in a scientific journal, or I made it up just now. Either way, I am passing this knowledge on to you. Do with it what you will.

Of course, one of the major reasons I can't be converting anytime soon is the electricity. I fully admit it, I love it and the gadgets that slurp it down. I want to be like that woman in the jewelry commercial, but with electricity: snuggled up to its chest, I'd murmur, "I love this utility! I love it, I love it, I love it." Sweet, sweet gadgets: the more specialized and obscure, the greater my desire to possess them. The Sharper Image is one of my meccas. Incidentally, I think my altitude is directly proportional to my gadgetphilia, and the airlines are fully aware of this. I confess to lusting after several objects in the Sky Mall catalogue on a recent plane trip. Coffee mug with a battery powered stirrer in the bottom? Electronic key locator? I'm looking at you guys.

A close cousin to this lack of electricity would be the dark. No, more than a cousin. More like that annoying neighbor kid who's always at your house, even though you told him to leave God knows how many times, his mother obviously needs to keep a better eye on him, and he can't take a hint to save his. Ahem. And for the purposes of this analogy, by 'kid' I mean 'marrow-craving undead humanoid monster.' Because if there's something worse than total darkness, it's darkness lit only by a quavering candle flame. I'm sure my bonnet and butter churn would take on creepy nocturnal lives of their own when lit only by a (no doubt hand-dipped) candle.

Without my various electric devices whirring and glowing, it'd be infinitely easier to visualize a slavering hell-beast hunkered down beneath my bed. And with naught but a candle lighting my way, the dancing light would surely find something that looked like red-rimmed, carnivorously evil eyes watching my every move. Of course, as an Amish, it's very likely I would not have watched as many movies as I have, and therefore would have a greatly diminished mental store of such images. Unless the Amish are allowed to have illustrated Bibles, their monster experience is probably limited to imagining satyrs, unicorns and the occasional dragon. Dragons, I'll give you that one. But satyrs? Half goat- so they can climb reasonably well in rocky terrain and probably have a propensity for eating tin cans. Yikes. And unicorns aren't nightmare inducing! They dance with rainbows and sleep on clouds! Psht. Nice try, Bible.

I might be scared of a unicorn at night, though. Case in point: I know I've mentioned the llamas that live near me. Well, these llamas cohabitate with a goat and a pony. Yes, it's like an admittedly lame but rather cute and fenced-in barnyard safari. Anyway, driving home from my sister's graduation, the car full of us was silent as we passed the llama-stead. The headlights suddenly illuminated the lone pony. His eyes flashed behind his ashen forelock before he dissolved into darkness as the road veered away from his paddock. In the creepiest whisper I could muster, I breathed, "night pony." Silence. A tense silence. "Wait. Did you just say 'night pony?'" Someone asked. Cue laughter. That comment ruined the mood. Nevertheless, I distinctly felt at the least a little weirded out and at most a lot weirded out by that night pony.

I think a night satyr or a night unicorn would have much the same effect, with a dash of 'the hell?' to taste. I urge you to try the night-object game - it's surprisingly creepy. Don't go for the obvious and clichéd 'night stalker' or 'night light'. Flex your creativity. 'Night pants' and 'night Elvis' are ready and waiting to freak you out.

So for now, I think I'll stick on the non-Amish side of this fence. Or barn. Whatever. I think if I had been born Amish, I'd be a rather confused individual, with an inexplicable yearning for complex arrangements of simple machines and a bad case of bonnet hair. I'd have saddle sores, really toned arms and about the same amount of fashion sense as I do now. Is there even an Amish conversion program available? I mean, outside of that Tim Allen and Kirstie Alley movie? So far, I’ve done okay without a plethora of barns or a orange slow-moving vehicle triangle braided into the tail of my primary transportation. And based on that no electricity experience, and maybe the trailer from that awful-looking movie, I'm gonna have to pass. Thanks, Amish, but I’ll stick with watching and wondering from afar. With my electronic infra-red binoculars. Which, let's face it, I’ll be ordering shortly, probably from a car on a cell phone.

I love you, electricity. Let's never fight again.

Top Ten Quotes From Roanoke

Lisa: ...and they say Achilles' heart grew three sizes that day.
Catie: Is that from The Illiad?
Lisa: Um, no. The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

Mugatu: That Hansel is so hot right now.

Everyone: Give me a platform!

Lisa: What am I supposed to be focusing on?
Catie: I don't know. It doesn't matter. I forgot the eggs.

Lisa: That's some fromthing, isn't it?

Tara: Best pickup line ever: Hey- you played a great first round.

Catie: I can't even focus, what have you gotten me into??

Lisa: I'm glad I can provide you with knuckle-biting excitement.

Catie: One of the three of us is not drunk. I'll give you four guesses.

Lisa: I know! We'll each pick a patron dick.