Getting from Y'town to Florida is a heady experience

My apologies to my fan for not having a column last week. My grandmother passed away and I was in Florida last week for the funeral and to be with family.

Many people think their grandmother is the best. I knew it. She taught me how to drive [yes, you can blame her for that] and thought I could do no wrong even when I did. She showed me that you should never be ashamed of what makes you happy regardless of what others think of Elvis movies, "Walker, Texas Ranger," professional wrestling, Neil Diamond, and the "Planet of the Apes."

For those looking for political analysis here, sorry, you're going to have to wait another week.

While it's never fun burying a loved one, I had quite the adventure traveling by air between Pittsburgh and Ft. Lauderdale.

The first leg of my trip had me and a handful of others in a tiny crop-duster to Washington, D.C. I was in the last row on the aisle next to the plane's only restroom. It was difficult to forget my location because everyone who used the facility bumped into me.

I rarely talk to people on flights, but I had a conversation with the guy sitting next to me. He was on his way home to South Africa. He builds aquariums at zoos and places like Sea World and had just attended an international convention with his aquarium-building colleagues to presumably talk about building aquariums.

After a short layover in D.C. I boarded a real-sized airplane and sat next to a somewhat strange-looking guy.

Flying high

As soon as we sat down, he started using his favorite four-letter word as a noun, verb, adjective and adverb with great ease and comfort. He was interested in one thing: getting drunk on the flight. By the smell of his breath, he already had a pretty decent head-start.

Using very colorful language, Dave [we exchanged names later on] wanted a flight attendant to bring him two beers and two shots of whiskey before we took off. Dave said he had been traveling all day, starting in Illinois, a word that he repeatedly mispronounced as "ill-eh-noise" even though I kept correcting him, and was going to start a new life as a chef in Hollywood, Fla.

While he carried a large cookbook on the plane, I learned through my line of questioning that Dave had a few run-ins with law enforcement. Dave told me he had served three years' in an Illinois state prison for what I could determine was drug trafficking or possession. Dave insisted the cocaine found in the car he was driving wasn't his.

And how did Dave spend part of his first day of freedom? He sat next to me from D.C. to Ft. Lauderdale.

Despite my constant questions, he kept his focus. He still wanted to get really drunk and he had a plan. You can only order one alcoholic beverage at a time on flights so he asked me to do him a favor. He'd "buy" me a beer, but he would drink it. Who am I to turn down a simple request from someone who's looking to make a fresh start?

Apparently prison slowed down his ability to drink because he nursed the two beers for well over an hour-and-a-half and when it came time for the shots, the plane was descending and it was too late to serve more drinks. But Dave didn't give up. He told me he and his two ex-wives were going to go out drinking. It warmed my heart to see how the prison system had rehabilitated him.

The flights back were uneventful in comparison.

Just because the woman sitting to my left was kind and elderly, I wasn't taking any chances. I asked if she had ever served time. She hadn't. The two of us spent most of the flight struggling to open our two tiny bags of peanuts.

We went our separate ways in New York City. I then boarded another tiny plane, banging my head as I walked down the aisle. I probably shouldn't have said anything to the man sitting next to me, but those little planes make me nervous. I may have said something about us not surviving the flight.

Fast escape

Like Dave, this guy had spent time in prison; 13 years to be exact — as a guard. I had plenty of questions to ask. When the flight attendant asked for a volunteer to get off the plane because it was overbooked, he immediately raised his hand and fled for the door. I can't help but feel a little responsible for that.

I ended up sitting next to a nice woman, who has never been to prison.

I made it from New York to Pittsburgh on that flight, but my luggage didn't. Like the guy who left, my luggage took another flight, apparently not interested in traveling with me.

Friday, June 1, 2007

My apologies to my fan for not having a column last week. My grandmother passed away and I was in Florida last week for the funeral and to be with family.

Many people think their grandmother is the best. I knew it. She taught me how to drive [yes, you can blame her for that] and thought I could do no wrong even when I did. She showed me that you should never be ashamed of what makes you happy regardless of what others think of Elvis movies, "Walker, Texas Ranger," professional wrestling, Neil Diamond, and the "Planet of the Apes."

For those looking for political analysis here, sorry, you're going to have to wait another week.

While it's never fun burying a loved one, I had quite the adventure traveling by air between Pittsburgh and Ft. Lauderdale.

The first leg of my trip had me and a handful of others in a tiny crop-duster to Washington, D.C. I was in the last row on the aisle next to the plane's only restroom. It was difficult to forget my location because everyone who used the facility bumped into me.

I rarely talk to people on flights, but I had a conversation with the guy sitting next to me. He was on his way home to South Africa. He builds aquariums at zoos and places like Sea World and had just attended an international convention with his aquarium-building colleagues to presumably talk about building aquariums.

After a short layover in D.C. I boarded a real-sized airplane and sat next to a somewhat strange-looking guy.

Flying high

As soon as we sat down, he started using his favorite four-letter word as a noun, verb, adjective and adverb with great ease and comfort. He was interested in one thing: getting drunk on the flight. By the smell of his breath, he already had a pretty decent head-start.

Using very colorful language, Dave [we exchanged names later on] wanted a flight attendant to bring him two beers and two shots of whiskey before we took off. Dave said he had been traveling all day, starting in Illinois, a word that he repeatedly mispronounced as "ill-eh-noise" even though I kept correcting him, and was going to start a new life as a chef in Hollywood, Fla.

While he carried a large cookbook on the plane, I learned through my line of questioning that Dave had a few run-ins with law enforcement. Dave told me he had served three years' in an Illinois state prison for what I could determine was drug trafficking or possession. Dave insisted the cocaine found in the car he was driving wasn't his.

And how did Dave spend part of his first day of freedom? He sat next to me from D.C. to Ft. Lauderdale.

Despite my constant questions, he kept his focus. He still wanted to get really drunk and he had a plan. You can only order one alcoholic beverage at a time on flights so he asked me to do him a favor. He'd "buy" me a beer, but he would drink it. Who am I to turn down a simple request from someone who's looking to make a fresh start?

Apparently prison slowed down his ability to drink because he nursed the two beers for well over an hour-and-a-half and when it came time for the shots, the plane was descending and it was too late to serve more drinks. But Dave didn't give up. He told me he and his two ex-wives were going to go out drinking. It warmed my heart to see how the prison system had rehabilitated him.

The flights back were uneventful in comparison.

Just because the woman sitting to my left was kind and elderly, I wasn't taking any chances. I asked if she had ever served time. She hadn't. The two of us spent most of the flight struggling to open our two tiny bags of peanuts.

We went our separate ways in New York City. I then boarded another tiny plane, banging my head as I walked down the aisle. I probably shouldn't have said anything to the man sitting next to me, but those little planes make me nervous. I may have said something about us not surviving the flight.

Fast escape

Like Dave, this guy had spent time in prison; 13 years to be exact — as a guard. I had plenty of questions to ask. When the flight attendant asked for a volunteer to get off the plane because it was overbooked, he immediately raised his hand and fled for the door. I can't help but feel a little responsible for that.

I ended up sitting next to a nice woman, who has never been to prison.

I made it from New York to Pittsburgh on that flight, but my luggage didn't. Like the guy who left, my luggage took another flight, apparently not interested in traveling with me.

Friday, June 1, 2007

as a guard. I had plenty of questions to ask. When the flight attendant asked for a volunteer to get off the plane...