Left Victoria with high hopes of a fun vacation. First flight was fast and easy. No headaches, no hassles, just airport, check-in, flight: the way it should be. Second flight, however is where it gets fun. It was delayed by 2 hours…
We stood in line at the Air France desk to check on our next flight, as there was a high possibility that we would miss our connection. We were 4th in the queue, but it appears that the Air France staff weren’t really concerned with time, as it took us 45 minutes to get to the desk to ask our question. Once there, however, the woman was very courteous and quickly had us on another flight to Edinburgh from Paris. So we found ourselves some coffee, and sat down for our wait.
There is nothing I love more than to sit with nothing to do. I hate trying to make things to do to keep me busy. Sure, I can read, but that only lasts for so long, before I end up falling asleep. I didn’t want to use the laptop too much, as I couldn’t find a free plug to recharge the battery, and the games on the iPhone aren’t meant for long periods of time. Boredom sets in, and I get fidgety. I start dreading the upcoming 9 and a half hour flight. I’ve never been able to sleep on planes, the seats are never comfortable enough, so I start thinking of things to do while on the plane, regretting not bringing a notebook and pen to write with. We get into small talk with some fellow travellers, but nothing too life changing, just time passing stuff, and before we know it, the flight plane has arrived and it’s time to board. We find out, on the plane, that the reason for the delay is snow in Paris, but everything should be OK by the time we arrive. We settle in to our seats, get our books out and I get my headphones ready for some music listening.
A more turbulent flight I have never experienced. The seat belt light stayed on for about 90% of the flight as we were jostled up and down in our seats. They serve dinner not long into the flight, slightly better fare than most airlines, but still just something to fill the belly. Half an hour later they turn off the lights, no chance to relax and read, just lights out. Of course our bodies are thinking it’s 5pm, no chance of sleep. I try to watch a movie on the seat back screen, but there is nothing worth watching, and if there was, those headphones are shite, so I wouldn’t have been able to hear it. Kirsty tries to get some sleep after a few hours, but it’s fitful at best. I start to doze off, but for some reason I can’t keep my eyes closed for more than 5 minutes at a time. I just sit in a kind of daze as it gets closer to 1AM PST, and they turn the lights on for breakfast. Again, slightly better than normal airline food, but nothing to write home about.
As the Captain announces that we are beginning our descent he mentions that it is currently snowing in Paris. Great. The landing was uneventful, other than being in almost complete cloud cover until about 50ft from the ground. All of a sudden we are there! The Air France planes have a nice feature, a camera in the nose that they show on the screens in the cabin. As we start our taxi to the terminal, they turn the camera on, and it’s like watching “Fargo.” All we can see is snow blowing around with the occasional glimpse of tarmac. We seem to taxi around the airport several times, and I joke that they are using the engines of the airplane to clear snow off the runways. Thirty minutes later we are directed off the plane on to a bus that takes us to the actual terminal, another 10 minutes away. We were informed by the flight crew that representatives will be at our disposal to direct us to our next gate. This turns out to be a long line of desks, with about 100-150 people queueing up waiting for help. Judging by the looks of the people in the queue, they’ve been waiting some time. Kirsty sees an opening, and dives right up to the desk, which lets a few fellow travelers vent a little anger in her direction. She tells them we already have a boarding pass, but we just need to know our gate, as it is not on the screens dedicated to such information. A few more grumbles from the queue, but she manages to get our question answered quickly, and off we go.
Charles De Gaul airport is horrible. We walked around for about 20 minutes trying to find a place to get some coffee and breakfast, but all we can see are designer boutiques full of really expensive crap ($10,000 earrings, in an airport!). Being in France, all of the employees speak French, and most don’t speak English, so asking where to find coffee, or a restroom, was fruitless. We ended up finding signs for restrooms, hidden away in what appeared to be a forgotten concrete bunker. By this time a sleep deprivation headache is coming on, and not one shop in the airport sold any pain killers. So coffee had to be found, which with a nice pastry was the only pleasing part of this airport.
Our next gate appeared to be in the unheated ground floor of the terminal, and we had to wait for a bus to take us to our aircraft. Another 3 hours wait, nothing to do, sleep knocking at our heads and the cold slowly creeping in. I manage to curl up on one of the chairs, using my carry-on luggage as a pillow and get about 30 minutes of sleep. Our flight was never called for boarding, I noticed people milling about the door to the bus that we were to catch, and one passenger just walked up there. So I quickly got up and walked over to them, which started a chain reaction and the rest of the passengers followed suit.
The next two hour flight was uneventful, thankfully, and we landed quite easily. We walked to the baggage claim, and found that we only had one of our bags. We were them called over to the baggage office, where we were advised that our bag was still in Paris, and we would be informed when it arrived. I don’t think we quite comprehended what was happening, we just wanted to sleep. We then left the arrival area and were greeted by the in-laws, dressed as Santa and his Elf. Santa, looking slightly more Scottish in his kilt than I remember him, also wore a giant necktie that said “Kiss me it’s Christmas”, which apparently drew some attention from some “dapper” travelers as my father-in-law called them… It was then back to the house to meet the rest of the family and get some grub and some much needed sleep.
As for our luggage, as I write this, it has still not appeared. Air France had it, put it on a plane, the flight got canceled, and 5 days later they still don’t know where it is. We are not alone, the snow in Paris apparently swallowed a thousand pieces of luggage. The thing that gets me is that it is 2009, and every bag is electronically tagged, how the hell can they lose something that has several bar-codes all over it. Also, why can’t Air France just own up to staff incompetencies instead of blaming the weather? The snow did not cause my luggage to disappear, a baggage handler, or two, either missed it, forgot it or misplaced it… But that’s an argument I don’t think I will ever win…
A newer find, but Dax Riggs has an amazing voice, with equally amazing lyrics.Unfortunately I can’t find a streaming MP3 feed, only this lovely video:
All this fades and reappears
and we will always be everywhere everything
dreams tonight
don’t bleed it so white
the fragile waves of days
they break against the shore
of all these years
don’t scream and bite
don’t bleed it so white
if all death is as bright
Just recently re-discovered this fantastic song… In fact the entire album is just brilliant…
Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds“Stagger Lee”
It was back in 32 when times were hard
He had a Colt 45 and a deck of cards, Stagger Lee
He wore rat drawn shoes and an old Stetson hat
Had a 28 Ford, had payments on that, Stagger LeeHis woman threw him out in the ice and snow
And told him “Never ever come back no more” Stagger Lee
So he walked through the rain and he walked through the mud
‘Til he came to a place called ‘The Bucket of Blood’ Stagger LeeHe said “Mr Motherfucker, you know who I am” and the barkeeper said
“No, and I don’t give a good goddamn” To Stagger Lee
He said “Well bartender, it’s plain to see
I’m that bad motherfucker called Stagger Lee, Mr. Stagger Lee”The barkeeper said “Yeah, I’ve heard your name down the way
And I kick motherfucking asses like you every day Mr Stagger Lee”
Well all those were the last words that the barkeeper said
‘Cause Stag put four holes in his motherfucking headJust then in came a broad called Nellie Brown
Was known to make more money than any bitch in town
She struts across the bar, hitching up her skirt
Over to Stagger Lee, she’s startin’ to flirt oh Stagger LeeShe saw the barkeep, said “O God, he can’t be dead”
Stag said “Well, just count the holes in the motherfucker’s head”
She said, “You ain’t look like you scored in quite a time
Why not come to my pad? It won’t cost you a dime Mr. Stagger Lee”“But there’s somethin’ that I have to say before you begin
You have to be gone ‘fore my man Billy Dilly comes in Mr. Stagger Lee”
“I’ll stay here till Billy Dilly comes in, till time comes to pass and
Furthermore I fuck Billy Dilly in his motherfucking ass” Said Stagger Lee“I’m a bad motherfucker, don’t you know and I’ll crawl over
Fifty good pussies just to get one fat boy’s asshole” Said Stagger Lee
Just then Billy Dilly rolls in and he says “You must be
That bad motherfucker called Stagger Lee” I’m Stagger LeeYeah, I’m Stagger Lee and you better get down on your knees and
Suck my dick, ‘cos If you don’t you’re gonna be dead” Said Stagger Lee
Billy dropped down and slobbered on his head
And Stag filled him full of lead oh yeah
A complete story, with fantastic musical background.
The Velvet Underground “The Gift”
Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit. It was now Mid-August which meant he had
been separated from Marsha for more than two months. Two months, and all he had
to show was three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone
calls. True, when school had ended and she’d returned to Wisconsin, and he to
Locust, Pennsylvania, she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity. She would
date occasionally, but merely as amusement. She would remain faithful.
But lately Waldo had begun to worry. He had trouble sleeping at night and when
he did, he had horrible dreams. He lay awake at night, tossing and turning
underneath his pleated quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes as he
pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothing of
some neanderthal, finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion.
It was more than the human mind could bear.
Visions of Marsha’s faithlessness haunted him. Daytime fantasies of sexual
abandon permeated his thoughts. And the thing was, they wouldn’t understand how
she really was. He, Waldo, alone understood this. He had intuitively grasped
every nook and cranny of her psyche. He had made her smile. She needed him, and
he wasn’t there (Awww…).
The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers’ Parade was scheduled
to appear. He’d just finished mowing and etching the Edelsons lawn for a dollar
fifty and had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from
Marsha. There was nothing but a circular from the Amalgamated Aluminum Company
of America inquiring into his awing needs. At least they cared enough to write.
It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in the mails. Then it struck
him. He didn’t have enough money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion,
true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdly simple. He would ship himself
parcel post, special delivery. The next day Waldo went to the supermarket to
purchase the necessary equipment. He bought masking tape, a staple gun and a
medium sized cardboard box just right for a person of his build. He judged that
with a minimum of jostling he could ride quite comfortably. A few airholes,
some water, perhaps some midnight snacks, and it would probably be as good as
going tourist.
By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughly packed and the post
office had agreed to pick him up at three o’clock. He’d marked the package
Fragile, and as he sat curled up inside, resting on the foam rubber
cushioning he’d thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and
happiness on Marshas face as she opened her door, saw the package, tipped the
deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person. She
would kiss him, and then maybe they could see a movie. If he’d only thought of
this before. Suddenly rough hands gripped his package and he felt himself borne
up. He landed with a thud in a truck and was off.
Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It had been a very rough
weekend. She had to remember not to drink like that. Bill had been nice about
it though. After it was over he’d said he still respected her and, after all,
it was certainly the way of nature, and even though, no he didn’t love her, he
did feel an affection for her. And after all, they were grown adults. Oh, what
Bill could teach Waldo – but that seemed many years ago.
Sheila Klein, her very, very best friend, walked in through the porch screen
door and into the kitchen. Oh gawd, it’s absolutely maudlin outside. Ach, I
know what you mean, I feel all icky! Marsha tightened the belt on her cotton
robe with the silk outer edge. Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on
the kitchen table, licked her finger and made a face. I’m supposed to be
taking these salt pills, but, she wrinkled her nose, they make me feel like
throwing up. Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an exercise she’d
seen on television. God, don’t even talk about that. She got up from the
table and went to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue
vitamins. Want one? Supposed to be better than steak, and then attempted to
touch her knees. I don’t think I’ll ever touch a daiquiri again.
She gave up and sat down, this time nearer the small table that supported the
telephone. Maybe Bill’ll call, she said to Sheila’s glance. Sheila nibbled on
a cuticle. After last night, I thought maybe you’d be through with him. I
know what you mean. My God, he was like an octopus. Hands all over the place.
She gestured, raising her arms upwards in defense. The thing is, after a
while, you get tired of fighting with him, you know, and after all I didn’t
really do anything Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him. You know
what I mean. She started to scratch. Sheila was giggling with her hand over
her mouth. I’ll tell you, I felt the same way, and even after a while, here
she bent forward in a whisper, I wanted to! Now she was laughing very loudly.
It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence Darrow Post Office rang
the doorbell of the large stucco colored frame house. When Marsha Bronson
opened the door, he helped her carry the package in. He had his yellow and his
green slips of paper signed and left with a fifteen cent tip that Marsha had
gotten out of her mother’s small beige pocketbook in the den. What do you
think it is? Sheila asked. Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back.
She stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living
room. I dunno.
Inside the package, Waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to the
muffled voices. Sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down
the center of the carton. Why don’t you look at the return address and see who
it’s from? Waldo felt his heart beating. He could feel the
vibrating footsteps. It would be soon.
Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label. Ah, god,
it’s from Waldo! That schmuck! said Sheila. Waldo trembled with expectation.
Well, you might as well open it, said Sheila. Both of them tried to lift the
staple flap. Ah sst, said Marsha, groaning, he must have nailed it shut.
They tugged on the flap again. My God, you need a power drill to get this
thing open! They pulled again. You can’t get a grip. They both stood still,
breathing heavily.
Why don’t you get a scissor, said Sheila. Marsha ran into the kitchen, but
all she could find was a little sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her
father kept a collection of tools in the basement. She ran downstairs, and when
she came back up, she had a large sheet metal cutter
in her hand. This is the best I could find. She was very out of breath.
Here, you do it. I-I’m gonna die. She sank into a large fluffy couch and
exhaled noisily. Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the
end of the cardboard flap, but the blade was too big and there wasn’t enough
room. God damn this thing! she said feeling very exasperated. Then smiling,
I got an idea. What? said Marsha. Just watch, said Sheila, touching her
finger to her head.
Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with excitement that he could
hardly breathe. His skin felt prickly from the heat, and he could feel his
heart beating in his throat. It would be soon. Sheila stood quite upright and
walked around to the other side of the package. Then she sank down to her
knees, grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breath, and plunged the
long blade through the middle of the package, through the masking tape, through
the cardboard, through the cushioning and (thud) right through the center of
Waldo Jeffers head, which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs of red
to pulsate gently in the morning sun.
I do enjoy the lyrics on this one:
Black Francis “Threshold Apprehension” on Blip.fm
Talk to a man just to get a little work
Then you talk to the hand just to get a little jerk
Some people die, then they start to get old
But I don’t wanna die upon on the threshold
I got threshold apprehensionThreshold apprehension
I got threshold apprehensionEvery little shit’s gotta find a salt lick
If I don’t find my babe I’m gonna be junk sick
Roll away the rock so I can get to my ascension
Ain’t my first time on the threshold apprehension
I got threshold apprehension … What?Threshold apprehension
I got threshold apprehensionWho’s carrying who?
Who’s turning the screw?
Who hath prophesied
Petit paramour
I will be the whore
And you’ll be my suicideWe got on my bike and we rode to the sea
I stood on the dock and you got on your knees
Grand Marnier and a pocket full of speed
We did it all day till we started to bleedAre you feeling appre…hensive?
I can leap higher than an old king toad
I do 185 on the new ring road
I love a blue girl and I like my grog
It’s a black and white world, cos I’m a scorpio dogHave a drink, piss by the seventh floor
And wait a hundred years for the elevator door
Come a time if you wanna lose attention
It’s the last time on the threshold apprehension
I got threshold apprehension
Say what?Threshold
I got threshold apprehension
ThresholdWho’s carrying who?
Who’s turning the screw?
Who has prophesied
Petit paramour
I will be the whore
Be my suicideWho’s carrying who?
Who’s turning the screw?
Who has prophesied
Petit paramour
I will be the whore
Be my suicide