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Friday 4 February 2011

NO FLY ZONE


Recently a survey was done that concluded that a large majority of airline passenger’s pet hates were children. You know Minstrel Madam was responsible for this one 
[for those of you not familiar, it’s worth going back and reading about her: http://www.antheaanka.com/2010/12/minstrel-madam.html]. She probably went door to door in the driving snow and conducted the interviews herself. Witch. The study found that nearly 75% of upper and business class passengers found kids ‘annoying.’ I’m assuming that those seated in economy figured they deserved the abuse or were just too tired to put up a fight.

Commentators – of course the article left this term vague which means that we don’t have to take these people seriously – suggested from this earth shattering survey that airlines introduce ‘quiet’ cabins like on trains, saving the poor childless individuals out in the world from having to endure other people’s children. Note to commentators, I’ve ridden in the ‘quiet’ cabin, and actually, there were a ton of adults I found annoying. So how are you going to remedy that little problem? 

Apparently, those in the upper classes (on the plane, not in life, although I have a feeling I know how they feel as well) claim they pay a premium in the expectation that they can work and sleep in comfort. Huh. That’s funny, cause when I travel, I pay a premium so that I can take the King aboard the plane and not have him stuffed in the overhead compartment with a muzzle wrapped around his head. I’m thinking if these upper classed individuals want some peace and quiet they should consider pooling all their ‘upper’ friends together and hire a private jet, not trying to segregate the plane according to their liking.

My favorite part of the article was when the ‘travel industry’ (apparently it speaks as one large body) claimed that business travelers and those with families want different experiences when they travel. Wow. And someone got paid to cough up that statement. Well, gosh, I’d love a hot towel and a glass of champagne when I travel, but sadly, I’m in the cow class with my child – who may or may not be crying - being forced to endure the hate stares of the minstrel madams of the world. You’re damn right I want a different experience. I’d certainly like a better experience than that!

So first we ban kids from flights, who is next? Certain ethnicities we don't like? (actually, this is already happening I think). People that can't hold their liquor, or those with butts too big to fit into the seats? No, of course not, that would be outrageous and discriminatory. But barring a child from flying business class or creating a special kid zone is justifiable because they are annoying? Well my friends, I have a long list of who annoys me and if that were the determining factor I’d be flying in an empty plane. Quite happily in fact. 

I can just see it now, "Homogenous Airlines – if you’re white, rich and mute, come fly with us, we’ll make you feel like you’ve just left your country estate!" More importantly, I’d like to know if all these people surveyed had children. Wouldn’t’ that be a laugh. 'Of course we have children, but someone else looks after them, and I certainly don’t want to travel with the little buggers!'

Wednesday 2 February 2011

KNOCK KNOCK, WHO'S THERE? LAUGH DAMN IT, LAUGH.


I was watching one of those red carpet pre-award show things the other night. In my defense I only watch to see who wears the most hideous dress and who says the most embarrassing thing on air - and trust me, it never disappoints. One thing I always find myself wondering is what celebrities talk to each other about when they’re on the red carpet. I’m talking about the celeb couples that walk down together in a show of beaming happiness, clutching to one another like life preservers. They do this walking in tandem thing, turn, wave simultaneously like robots, then whisper in each other’s ears and let out a huge guffaw, as if their partner just told them the funniest thing in the world. 

Pretty much every couple does this, as if to say, 'do you see pedestrian public how much fun we’re having? Don’t you want to be us, don’t you? Because not only are we rich and famous, but we get along tremendously well.' I may be a cynic, in fact, I know I am, but I trust this genuine show of affection about as far as they trust their faces to hold up under the scrutiny of age. Seriously how much botox is out in the universe? Or shall I say, how much of it is in Nicole Kidman’s forehead? You could seriously ice skate on that thing.

So here is what I think these couples are really saying, and it’s not ‘you look beautiful tonight sweetheart,’ cause they would have gotten that boring preamble over with in the limo on the way to ceremony. Along with, ‘if you leave me sitting next to that drunk lush one more time, I’m going to divorce you,’ and the clichéd, ‘if I see that talentless two bit hussy you hit on last time, I’m going to stab her with a butter knife.’ [My version of Hollywood is cut throat and violent like a Tarantino film. It’s so much more entertaining that way].

So, option one of what is being whispered amongst the couples: “You’re stepping on my dress a**hole, I have to give it back by tomorrow. Although, I’m famous, to h*ll them, I’m keeping it.” Or, “I'm going to nibble on your neck now; just throw your head back and act like you enjoy it, even though we know I like men.” Or there is always the statement that would illicit laughs from just about anyone, “oh my god we’re so rich, we’re so rich, look at all those poor people waving at us, aren’t they adorable?!”

Then again, some couples could simply be delighted at the fact that the public is buying what they’re selling - or so they think, cause some of us are on to them! Perhaps these couples are simply tickled pink that the fans that have turned up and stand in those awful bleachers, sweating under the California sun, truly believe that they are what they say they are: they love their husbands (and are not sleeping with their castmates), they naturally look the way they do (um, I don’t think so) and that they eat hostess pies on the way to the auditorium and then shoehorn themselves into those dresses....I’m betting that the entire red carpet hasn’t eaten since the last awards show.

Then again, perhaps I'm jaded and cynical and Brad just told Angie one of the funniest knock knock jokes she's ever heard. It's possible, but highly unlikely.



Monday 31 January 2011

DAY OFF


I’m in a hotel watching breakfast TV – the segment is discussing men that have ‘man boobs,’ and how it has ruined their lives. God I love morning television. More importantly than man boobs, I am on my own, not a King or partner in sight. No, I haven’t run away. Well, perhaps I have, but only momentarily. My partner kindly agreed to let me have the night off so that I could sleep. Between jetlag and the neighbors, my face has started to resemble Rocky Balboa’s after his bout with Apollo Creed. Okay, fine, I’m not that scary, but I do appear as though I haven’t slept for a considerable amount of time.

For all those ooohing and aaahing about how nice my partner is for letting me do this, you are correct, he is one of the kindest men out there. But aside from his kindness, I also have a sneaking suspicion that he too needed the day off, from me that is. Fatigue can do some tricky things to one’s communication skills and their patience. I’m woman enough to admit that when I haven’t slept I start to behave as rationally as the King when he’s woken up too early from his nap.

So here’s the thing with the planned escape, it’s never quite as you imagine it (is it me, or do you imagine large marble bathtubs with butlers that bring you drinks with umbrellas in them?? Yes, I dream large). Whereas time usually just ticks by at a somewhat agonizing pace (when you’re a Mother some days can feel so long you actually start to think they’ve added hours to the day), when you have time to yourself, time suddenly flies by at such a pace you can’t figure out what you did with the last half hour. 


Then there is the pressure to do things you normally don’t have time to do. Your options are limitless: should I eat? And when I say eat, I mean eat sitting down with silverware and actually chew my food? Should I watch TV? Should I read a book...take up a hobby? Then, realizing how much time is actually left of your day, you suddenly feel compelled to start combining things. Maybe I should take a bath whilst reading a book, doing my nails and eating a slice of quiche (that someone else cooked of course)? Yeah, I could manage that, I’m a woman, I’m a multi-tasking maniac.

Then comes the moment during your day off when you realize that you could simply sit and do nothing and suddenly just staring at the wall watching the paint peel seems somehow appealing. You realize you don’t have to pick up, fold, wipe, turn down, chop, appease, soothe, solve, or entertain anything. In fact, you suddenly realize that doing absolutely nothing feels somehow odd and foreign and you do not quite remember how to do it.

And of course when it comes to sleeping, really sleeping without interruptions of any kind, the pressure lays its heavy body on your chest like a three hundred pound gorilla. ‘I CAN sleep. I must sleep. God I want to sleep. Oh sleep, please let me sleep!!’ Last night I woke up about six times, purely to check that I was still sleeping and nothing was preventing me from sleep. God I'm pathetic.

By far the most ironic part of my day/night off away from the King and my partner is how many times I thought to myself, "I wonder what they’re doing?..Gosh, the King would love this remote, I mean this remote has a ton of buttons. He loves buttons...and my partner would love how dark this room gets, it’s like an abyss of darkness, he loves sleeping in absolute darkness"….and so on. And then I realize I miss them, I’m still tired (and probably always will be) and I want to go home. 

Women can be so ridiculous...although I will deny I ever said that.
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