Thursday, March 19, 2009

Hold the Applause

Dear People Who Clap When Planes Land,
Since June, I have been on exactly 18 different flights. And during all but three of the landings there was clapping from like four or five of you on each flight. Why? Similarly I take tepid issue with those that clap at movies, but that is at least in a setting of entertainment. I suppose people want to express their delight with the quality of the film. I still don't really get it, yet maybe I somewhat understand the concept. But clapping when the plane lands? You are expressing delight for what...ummm not dying? And if that is the case why don't you clap when you get off buses or trains or when you park your 2002 Chevy Cavalier that you no doubt drive? Ok. Maybe I am being hasty in my assumption. I tend to do that. So maybe you are clapping because the landing was a job well done. Sure. Do you clap when the waiter at TGI Fridays serves you and drops nary a french fry on your lap? NO. That's what you paid them to do. I paid that pilot $178 to get me back to Salt Lake safe and sound and execute an acceptable landing. So he did. End of story. He didn't throw in any aeronautic acrobatics, the flight attendants did not perform. I flew in a plane and didn't die. Didn't even come close to dying (had we come close maybe I would clap.) MOREOVER even if you wanted to give the pilot that extra pat on the back by whacking your carpals together, he can't hear you. However, if you wait about five minutes, you can give him a literal pat on the back when you walk by him at the front of the plane when you leave. You know what? I even bet he'd hug you.


A Logical Non-Clapper

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

More unsolved mysteries - rated PG-13

A few strange and uncanny things have happened over the past week or so. In this picture below, I give you a purple cake sprinkle that mysteriously appeared on my desk this morning. Now, yes, last night I was indeed decorating a cake. Furthermore, yes I did use sprinkles. But because I only wanted the sprinkles in very specific spots on the cake, I opted two pour them in mini proportions into my hand and toss them onto these specified areas of the cake by hand. So it’s conceivable that the sprinkles might have been in my hair, bra, shirt, pockets etc. But please tell me, I beg of you, how that purple sprinkle managed two stow away on my person, for over 18 hours, surviving a shower and a night’s sleep to eventually end up on my desk at work.

Secondly, forgive the lack in propriety, but you are looking at my torso after I undressed to my brown and tan striped unders after coming home from a party that night. I was worried because I thought I lost $20 from the pocket of my jeans because at the party there was a lot of dancing and moving and my pockets were shallow. So I just figured the cash had fallen out. Nope. There it was, stashed in my knickers like a stripper. Please explain this to me if you have the answer, or at best, a theory.

Sunday, March 1, 2009


I have never really freaked out about getting older. I graduated from college a tad earlier than most of my friends so I was one of the younger ones in my higher college courses, plus I was the youngest at my job while I was in college and the youngest in my college internship. Then when graduating and going to work at the paper in SLC I was the youngest there for a few years, and then when I was pushed out of that role I became a part of a group that was identified and treated as the "young journalists." From the minute I graduated college up until I hit 26 I found myself lying about my age to sources and professional acquaintances to increase my years, and thus, increase my credibility (yes, I had people ask my age. A lot.) And now, at my latest job, again, I am the youngest in my department. So feeling old has never really been an issue for me. But lately, despite my long tenure as the "young one," I have started to recognize tell tale signs that I am still well on my way to Ensure and Depends.

I listen to news and talk radio more than I listen to music in the car
I don't get boys wearing skinny jeans
I judge people that dye their hair wild colors
I think 97.6 percent of high school kids these days look like they just got out of bed and might smell a little.
I have wanted to yell, when looking at a group of boys/young men, "Pull your pants up, you hoodlums!"
I consider it a late night if I am not in bed by midnight.
When asked why I don't want to go out on a given night, I now feel that "because I went out last night" should be a viable excuse
I have found myself devoting significant thought to the weather strip, or lack thereof, on my front door, cleaning out vents, tire pressure, UV rays, lawn fertilizer, air quality and house plant health.
I insist those who ride with me wear a seat belt because I am carrying precious cargo.
I care about things like fiber, antioxidants and triglycerides.
I know more high school teachers than I know high school students.
I refer to my bum ankle as "an old college injury."
I have hesitated doing trampoline flips because I don't want to hurt myself.
I get ready in the morning to the sound of news anchor banter instead of Beyonce
I have forgotten the names of people I went to high school with that were my friends.
I fully plan on being her in the not so far future....