Orange Banana Bread

That's the long and short of it. Made me some orange banana bread, I did.  And it was damn good.  May very well have a new career on my hands.

Feast thine eyes. (thx, Paula)

Hand sold separately.

Goodnight, Goodnight, Construction Site

I hate kids.

Ok, that's not entirely accurate.  I actually love kids.  But I DE. TEST. kids on airplanes.  I LOATHE kids on airplanes.  AND and the stupid parents that are "responsible" for them.  And using the word "responsible" is a bit of a misnomer as it implies that one has not only the duty to protect as needed, but must also act responsibly...a novel choice of behavior so rarely considered by parents on airplanes on which I fly.

Some context?  Sure.  I recently took a trip to L.A.  I was psyched.  L.A. BABY!  Sunshine, palm trees, Blake Lively!  Oh how giddy I was to board the plane and get my spicy tomato juice and peanuts!

But, as soon as I entered the cabin and scanned the motley crowd before me, I noticed many a diminutive being sitting amongst the normal sized humans.  "Hmmm," I thought to myself, "there be littl'uns about."  But, hey, they were just kind of sitting there, staring up at the buttons and lights...seemingly innocuous, right?

Apparently, in turning on the plane's engine, the Captain also inadvertently hit the "child insanity switch," at which point every surrounding kid's head exploded in concert.  "I want the iPad!!"  "Are we leaving??!!"  "How much longer????!!!"  "Ariewhoteoerweoifjweogwer!!!!"

In doing an internet search for the definition of a "parent," I found the following:

par·ent  (pâr’ənt, păr’-)n.

1. One who begets, gives birth to, or nurtures and raises a child; a father or mother.

2. A horrible, broken, detached asshole who brings their annoying, socially incompatible children on my flights and proceeds to fall asleep while said offspring scream, kick my seat, play Angry Birds at full blast, make odd chirping/squeaking noises every 5.7 seconds, and bring me to the point of wanting to suffocate myself with the Sky Mall catalog.

I couldn't help but wonder why the two kids three rows up were speaking so loudly when their Mom was sitting right next to them.  A quick trip to the bathroom illuminated the answer to that question: she was sleeping.  Sleeping.  THE WOMAN WAS SLEEPING WHILE HER KIDS YELLED AT EACH OTHER, FOUGHT OVER ELECTRONICS, AND BOUNCED UP AND DOWN.  I'm sorry, but if you're on a plane with your young kids, you act as though you're guarding a serial killer through interstate transport, damn it: eyes open and, if possible, shotgun in hand.  As I looked around at the people sitting nearby, I noticed that everyone shared a similar look of angry, frustrated bewilderment.  One by one they all turned to look at the sleeping mother like a pack of ravenous lions ready to attack an unwitting gazelle.  Oh, had she not opened half an eyelid and muttered to her kids a barely intelligible reprimand, the carnage would have been glorious!!  GLORIOUS, I SAY!!

The kicker was on the flight back from L.A.  Dad and son sat behind me.  Dad was loud.  Son was loud.  They were a family devoid of volume control, kind of like the Coneheads.  I have to give Dad credit...he did suggest that little "Sweety" take a nap at various points during the flight.  Ever-the-wiser, Sweety decided it best that he stay awake, fart, and kick my seat throughout our travels over the mid-west.  Good call, Sweety!  Btw, there's no Santa Clause and you're never going to have dessert again, you little limburger-smelling punk!!

Adding insult to injury, Dad offered to read to little Sweety Goodnight, Goodnight, Construction Site.  This adorable and realistic children's book describes the activities of a handful of construction trucks as they prepare for bed.  Now, I love anthropomorphized machinery as much as the next guy. (anyone remember Mike Mulligan's steam shovel?)  But, Dad began to read aloud as if he was performing a dramatic recitation of The Tempest to an eager crowd of hearing-disabled geriatrics.  And every truck's section concluded with, "Shhh!!" to which Dad made sure to add a few extra loud "h"s.  And finally...

...finally...

...when he FINALLY finished the damned book...

...just when I thought the worst was over...

...he asked Sweety if he wanted him to read it again.

Truth-be-told, I can't wait to have kids of my own.  I just wonder how quickly they'll adapt to taking the train while Mommy and Daddy fly overhead.

Beam me up

Funny what you find when you do a YouTube search for "Colm Meaney" (and, yes, I realize I might be the first).  This little gem is equal parts uncomfortable and bizarre. Not sure if Colm Meaney would approve, but I certainly do.

ENJOY!