Still Figurin' Out Who I Think I Am

This one's about travelling, done wrong.

"You might be moved by the sheer technology of it or the travel abilities that it affords. Let's see if you can connect with the excitement and the mystery and how it has changed your view on travel."

What up y'all? Good prompts today, so allow me to kill a couple minutes of your time with 'em.

It's funny...last weekend actually when I was at my mom's in WNY we were talking about travel. I had an aunt that would fly my brother and I out to Connecticut each summer as unaccompanied minors, and there was some debate as to how old we first were on the plane by ourselves...ma thought we were ages six and four, which even I know would be a ridiculous thing to do. Like, if you were shippin' kids that age off by plane, wouldn't Child Protective Services be involved? I thought I was closer to eight or nine, and even then now that I think about it it still seems kinda odd that airlines would allow kids to fly by themselves at that age. Mom was all like "They're supposed to have a stewardess assigned to you to make sure you're ok..." and I quickly assured her that that didn't happen. Oh sure, there was a flight attendant that asked if we wanted some juice and a snack, but there was not someone so attentive to us in case, you know, someone got sick or somethin'.

Your boy here wouldn't approve of being on a plane unaccompanied at the age of six.

I was that kid. First flight ever, and of course I got air sickness. Apple juice so don't taste the same comin' up as it did goin' down. And now I'm wondering why I went with apple juice that day instead of orange juice...because if there's ever a juice option, I almost always go with orange. But that's not the point. The point is, I filled up that barf bag quickly and before anyone knew what was going on. Ain't no amount of technology was gonna save me at that point.

And from that point on I knew I wasn't cut out for plane travel. I thought maybe, after not flying for so many years, that as an adult I'd outgrown whatever nervous anxiety I had about flying. I knew all the statistics, like how I'm more likely to die in a car crash than a plane incident, and that safety measures have increased, and blah blah blah. But once that plane is up in the air, it's like my feet know we're 40,000 feet from them hitting the ground for awhile...but that doesn't stop them from wanting to try. I'm that guy who grips both the armrests on takeoff and struggles to sit upright because his body's reaction to cabin pressure is like riding a ferris wheel (as you can guess, I'm no fun at amusement parks either). The whole "center of gravity" thing is in my stomach, which isn't capable of reconciling science because the rest of my body wants to curl up inside it. Yeah, I'm a mess on a plane.

Needless to say, I'd prefer to have zero connection with advanced forms of travel. The last time I had to go across country for something, I convinced the immediate party I was going with to go in on renting a car and driving from Buffalo to Savannah, Georgia. I can handle being shoved in the back seat of a car for 19 hours better than being on a plane for three. It's cool. Is it always practical? No. Obviously I'll never be able to drive to England or Hawaii, but I'm also not planning on going there anytime soon. If and when that should happen, I'll suck it up and board a plane...and be miserable the entire time I'm in transit. Sure, airlines are great and all because they've made seeing the world affordable and safe and friendly, but no man, not me. If I don't have to, I won't.

BCF PROMPT: "Your ship has just wrecked on a deserted island. What skill do you have that will make you useful to the group?"

So then there's this, and I'll be up-front about it. If we're low on food, y'all cannibals can take me first. I don't believe I'll like the taste of human flesh, and I could probably feed 6-8 of you if you know how to cook a body (another skill I don't exactly bring to the group).

I don't know what really I could do if we were stranded on a deserted island. So much for being a boy scout all those years ago. I'd probably start crackin' awkward jokes about the whole situation to lighten the mood, until the Negative Nellie in the group gets pissed off and tells me to start being serious and goes off on me about not realizing how much danger we're in (I'm setting the over/under on that happening within 36 hours or when the booze runs out). Seriously, what am I supposed to do? I'm not into catching and killing live animals for dinner, I can barely use a hammer and nails to craft something sturdy enough to float us to safety, and the advent of cellular reception in every area that isn't uninhabited by people has rendered smoke signals fairly useless. Anything else I can do? I mean, that no one else can? My best skills probably are associated with this blog, but if I can't dial 911 then I highly doubt firing off a blog entry or two is gonna save our asses. Nobody makes money during the tragedy; everyone wants your story after you've survived and moved on and settled the lawsuit against the travel agency that got you shipwrecked.

All I'm sayin' is I'm probably qualified to be Gilligan, secretly hopin' for some alone time in the hut with Mary Ann and Ginger. If we can't save ourselves, we may as well try to repopulate the island.

No more "Resurrection Jukebox" , but before I move on I should thank the stellar lizco252 for the awardicon at the top of this page and the "Ghost" merit badge for participating as a Soundtracker. I will probably never do anything else that's worthy of a "Ghost" MB, so it's a really sweet acknowledgement.

Now, why not post a video today of a song that speaks to the aspects of travelling gone awry?

"Hard-wired to conceive, so much we'd have to stow it...
even needs have needs; tiny giants made of tinier giants."
Lyrics and interpretations.  

Johnny Marr would've never been acting in a video like this if The Smiths were still active.

In case you weren't paying attention and were curious, here are over 100 more reasons why you should go to Walmart  . Don't go for the prices or the "customer service" (which needed to be placed between quotation marks in this instance)...you always go to Walmart because of the people-watching experience.

Oh, the nostalgia...treats of our youth you can no longer find in stores.   Perfect for a dreary, chilly Saturday that no longer can talk about having morning cartoons on over-the-air network TV stations. At all.

And now, for "Invalid Item" , please indulge me in another attempt at bad poetry. Today's prompts are: "Monster: El Chupacabra; Cocktail: Choker/Choking Hazard; and just because I know 🌖 HuntersMoon loves it, it's a FREE VERSE!".

Ancient creature? Urban legend?
Goat-sucking livestock felon?
Nobody's sure what to believe next
other than it's a real thing on the internet.
Scales and spines; alien eyes and a tail...
claws and jaws that make blood easier to inhale.
I've never seen one but I guess it's safe to imagine
that trying to eat one would be a choking hazard.

I've heard of chupacabras before, but only in the most basic of senses. I've seen it mentioned as the name of minor, minor, minor league sports teams...so of course I'm trusting the Wikipedia page   on chupacabras for my source info. I don't see myself waking up in the morning anytime soon and thinking "I should go to the pet store and see if I can get a deal on a cute little chupacabra today...I'll love him and pet him and squeeze him and name him Jorgé!". Yup, not in my future, 'cuz according to Wikipedia those things are psychos. They're like small bears with giant frog legs and razorback whatevers and they suck the blood of goats. What'd a goat ever do to anyone that merited death by chupacabra? For real. And since when are goats considered "livestock"? I need someone with some experience on goats here for this. Cobe , are goats actually livestock? I thought they were just hippie animals that lived in fields, playing happily and growing their beards. And this translation thing..."chupacabra" means "goat-sucker"? I don't get it. When I was in Spanish class throughout high school kids would call me "Chivo" because I sported a goatee and "chivo" meant "goat". And isn't a unicorn just a goat with a horn popping out of its forehead? Must be a Saturday, because I'm thinking way too much about this.

Well, it looks like that's where this ride is ending up today. If you made it this far, I apologize congratulate you for your diligent perseverance and readership. Peace, it sounds like someplace I'd like to go, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!