Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Hola, Adeus, I´m Back Again.

 Hillbilly in Brazil Edition

Friends and enemies ask me if I was scared to be flying to Brazil again. My reply was that only two things bothered me about my flight, Sam driving me to the airport and getting my huge camera/computer backpack through security. The first part of that is rather easy to explain, Sam is probably one of the worst drivers I know. He doesn´t wear a seatbelt, I don´t really think he can see very well because of the long hair in his face and he tends to drive his car like a cruise ship. Bobbing and swerving over the lines, never a gradual stop or acceleration always blast of one or the other. All I can say is that Sam is a lot better than he used to be, back in the days when he would pull out in front of Log trucks or hit cars and not even know about it until the cops pulled him over.
Turns out I shouldn't have worried about Sam´s driving, he got me there in one piece and I was only terrified once or twice during the entire trip which is about the normal times I get terrified driving down I-65. As for my carry-on bag I shouldn't have worried because some people were trying to take pianos on-board.
 I have to say that I enjoyed the Houston airport a lot more this time when I didn't have to knock old ladies over and jog/run all the way across the airport to get to the International Terminal. Struggling for breath and handing over my passport and ticket like a madman which I am sure they are used to seeing. This time I had a four hour layover affording me enough time to eat at Chili's Too and have what looked like a barrel of beer with a handle.
I had high hopes that the beer mixed with the dramamine would effectively knock me out for the nine hour flight to Sao Paulo but it had little or no effect at all. Obviously hard alcohol will have to be tried on the return flight. It is a delicate procedure, you don't won't to show up completely zonked out of your head, the days are over where they will just push you onto the plane and slam the door shut. Now they took you to a dark room with no windows and a metal desk and ask you questions while you shiver in the nude under a light. So I am told.

Most of the plane ride down to Brazil is a blur, I remember being excited that I could watch Iron Man 2 for the inflight movie but like most things the cover was misleading. My choices were a Jennifer Lopez movie in which she gets knocked up, has a dog that was in a wheelchair and about ten different CSI's. I didn't watch any of these though I caught glimpses of other people watching it. The scene were the crippled dog eats J Lo's pregnancy test and she returns to find it in the brownest wettest shit ever told me all I ever needed to know about this movie. Romantic Comedy huh. I have to say I am not a woman but I think anytime a shit joke is used in a movie that it should automatically be disqualified from being Romantic.
CSI just looks like bullshit to me, complete and utter bullshit. Some guy in a lab coat solves a murder in 24 hours, get the fuck out of here, I don't care how brooding David Caruso looks it ain't going to happen.

Sleeping on a plane is about damn impossible unless you can afford to get first class in which you rest on bed made of chocolate feathers and are served champagne by young trim fit stewardesses. Back in economy (aka coach aka third class, you know the people that drowned on the Titanic) your seat is upright or slightly upright and the one feather in your pillow doesn't really give much in the way to comfort. I slept in ten minutes shifts, I think I got about 4 hours all in all if you add them all together.

Landed in Sao Paulo, handed over all my documents and got stamped the quickly ran to take the longest piss in history or my history. Sometimes you just have to say the hell with the fucking luggage and hope it will still be spinning on the thing while you drain a few liters out of your bladder. I have no fear of pissing on airplanes but the woman sitting next to me seemed so peaceful that I didn't want to wake her while in flight. Damn stupid southern gentlemen crap, if I had been born a Yankee I could have woke her with either my ass or crotch in here face while I hurled ineffective "excuse me's" behind me as I pushed people out of the way to the air pisser.

But noooooooooooooooooooo!

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