As I set out to become The World’s Best Wannabe Global Adventure Humor Writer I had envisioned the excitement I  would experience as a result of visiting exotic locales, eating unusual foods, and imbibing in local adult beverages.

Not by the cacophony of armed agents storming my house with guns drawn, in search for my Weapon of Mass Delusion—my laptop computer.

Huh, you ask.

Well, I doubt this story is news for any travel bloggers out there, but with the recent hoopla over people sneaking bad shit onto airplanes in their underwear (yes, I know, puns don’t get any worse than that) the TSA came out with new, but not really very secret, policies to, well, make sure you are not packing anything untold in your tidy-whities.

But, things got exciting for a couple of travel writing bloggers when,

“This morning two black sedans with TSA special agents came to the Connecticut home of blogger Steven Frischling and walked out with his laptop computer. The agents were looking for the anonymous source who leaked a TSA Security Directive which advised airlines to restrict passengers from getting out of their seats, concealing their hands, or accessing carry-on luggage an hour before landing.”

“The agents threatened to get Frischling — a blogger for KLM airlines — fired from his job, confiscate all his electronic devices — phones, computers, and iPods — and declare him a security risk — which would get him on the No Fly list – unless he cooperated.”

“Yesterday evening Chris Elliott, another respected travel blogger — who works for MSNBC, National Geographic, and the Washington Post — was at home in Florida, when TSA Special Agent Robert Flaherty knocked on his door with a similar subpoena.”

You can read more of the facts over on the Huffington Post website, or  in the story at Gadling.com where they posit,

“The agency that was part of the total meltdown of intelligence, and has wasted billions on trying to keep our skies safe, is harassing a blogger to find out who is leaking the information they should have provided the traveling public.”

I had planned to post the actual TSA Security Directive that got my two fellow travel writing bloggers in hot water (which you will find on links in the stories that I list above), but with my propensity for occasional inadvertent and spontaneous explosive rectal leakage upon undue, unexpected excitement, I really did not want a midnight invasion of armed TSA agents busting through my bedroom door.

The result would likely be a pair of undies unsuitable for future airline flights…or any other usage.

Boy, oh boy, am I sure glad that I did not get that Best Job in the World gig I certainly would have NOT gotten, had I bothered to apply among the 35,000 applicants.

Sure, the first five and a half months—getting paid $150,000 to live in paradise and hangout with beautiful women wearing bathing suits—would have been bearable. Barely, I’m sure: mostly barely.

It’s just that a brush with death would have been such a bummer.

And, when I say, “brush with death” it is in the most literal sense possible.

You may have seen the news item about poor Ben and his entanglement with the so-called killer jellyfish while performing one of his Official Tasks, such as riding around on a jet ski on the azure Australian sea. (He is the one without the beard.)

“Trouble struck paradise this week when a British man who has the "Best Job in the World" as the caretaker of a tropical Australian island was stung by a potentially lethal jellyfish.”

Least you question the potential danger of these gentle, delicate creatures that gracefully ply the oceans of the world, you might check out a story about the little beasties over in Japan. While the critters in this story were not the extremely venomous Irukandji jellyfish that attacked poor Ben, the link is worth visiting, if for nothing else than some amazing pictures.

Ben must be one tough dude, as he reports this near-death experience on his official Best Job blogsite as only “a little incident on the beach.”

“Now I’ve spent nearly six months here in the tropical paradise that is Queensland and so far I thought I’d done particularly well at avoiding any contact with any of the dangerous critters that consider this part of the world their home. I’ve avoided being boxed by a kangaroo, nibbled by a shark and bitten by a spider or a snake – but then in my final few days on Hamilton Island I fell foul of a miniscule little creature.”

As I have reported over the months, I have had my share of ocean adventures from Mexico to Indonesia to Europe to Canada to California, including sighting tens of thousands of jellyfish while sailing earlier this year along the Pacific coast of mainland Mexico—and, no, I did NOT get into the water.

After seeing the news item about poor Ben, I just figured I would have carried a spear gun to protect myself…until I read that the nasty Irukandji jellyfish are only the SIZE OF A PEANUT.  Bloody hell!

I am going back to dive in the Philippines in a few months and I think I just might be wearing a full-body wet suit.

Attending festivals is often a fabulously fun idea.

While you people, with your Facebook Friends and so-called Twitter community, may call whatever it is you do in some virtual reality as a form of social activity, I tend towards gatherings of real, honest to goodness, warm-blooded, Piggy Flu disease-carrying folks, where we engage in high-risk human interactions, such as contrived athletic activities and the copious consumption of non-virtual, actual alcohol.

This may result with an infection by a virus not easily cured by McAfee Virus software, or at the very least, a nasty hangover.

If you didn’t already know it, the root of the word “Festival” is from the ancient “Festoon,” which—loosely—means “tying one on”,” combined with “val” (or “vom” as in Old Gaelic German), which was abbreviated from “vomit”, as a result of too much festooning.

It is one of the many risks I undertake as a Global Adventure Wannabe Humorist. It’s what I do for you people.

It is in this quest that I search out opportunities for finding festivals all over the globe. Thus, that I took careful note of a newspaper story about an upcoming event that involved the much maligned fruitcake—the bane of any serious pastry aficionados—and bowling—the epitome of an age-old American pastime.

And I assumed that alcohol would be involved.

A while back, I participated in a well attended, yet-to-be-reported-on, local representation of the national Lebowski Fest, which—true to the movie—included bowling while enjoying the appropriate drink du jour, the White Russian (or “Caucasian,” as it is called by the Dude).

So, I fully expected as an enthusiastic a response to the story in the Sacramento Bee about fruitcakes in general, and specifically, a holiday carnival Fruitcake Bowling event.

Given the reputation of this iconic Christmas gift item that has the density of a heavy metal, the texture of solid rock, and taste of aged cardboard with unnaturally colored chips of petrified fruit, it was only logical to see bowling as the perfect use for this regularly re-gifted “food” product.

The dessert version of Spam, if you will.

“Many people consider this the gift that keeps on giving. No one ever eats a fruitcake; they just send them on.”

So, I eschewed a warm living room, my fluffy slippers and Snuggie and football on the widescreen to join in the revelry, with the assumption that if there is fruitcake, there certainly will be rum.

Wrong. There weren’t even people.

I found a deserted carnival event, a bowling alley tent that housed a couple sets of 3/4-size plastic bowling pins and two big, round soft fruitcakes that looked and felt like cupcakes on steroids. These were soft and fresh cakes that actually looked edible: not the perennially passed on aged cakes that typically come delivered in a metal tin—that is no where as indestructible as the supposed food item contained within.

I give credit for the group that organized the event but they forgot that the only reason ANYONE ever attempted to consume a fruitcake was for the rum residue “baked-in goodness.” Certainly, anyone contemplating using one for a pseudo-sporting activity would like-wise benefit from imbibing said rum.

Maybe next year.

But, it should be no surprise that other enterprising individuals with a flavor for festivals have developed events that find some use for fruitcakes, other than as an immovable door stop.

Take for instance, the folks in Manitou Springs, Colorado, who employ modern versions of the Old Gaelic German catapults in an attempt to locate a fruitcake as far away from themselves as possible.

But wait…there’s more. One of the event activities is an attempt to CATCH the far-flung fruitcake.

I am compelled to ask “Why?” would a sober person even consider such a potentially dental-damaging activity.

Oh, wait…did I say “sober?”

Looking at the costumes they are wearing while standing in the freezing snow and the plethora of ice chests, is there any chance—any chance, whatsoever—that alcohol might be involved with these cheery-looking people.

They even have taken to euphemistically characterize the event as a recycling project.

Of course, as a professional seeker of global festivals involving semi-crazy people, I have learned to carefully research these events.

I mean, isn’t it only logical that when I saw an announcement for The 2nd Annual Fruitcakes In The Alley Bowling Tournament that I would assume a) it would involve fruitcakes and b) bowling would be an integral ingredient?

But, apparently not. As I read the information, the only fruitcakes involved are the Jimmy Buffet groupies.

(Before you start emailing me nasty notes about devoted, so-called Parrot Heads, this is how these Florida folks describe themselves.)

To their credit, while engaging in worthwhile fundraising, the pictures clearly depict plenty of bottles and pitchers of beer.

And as far as I can tell, no one attempts to catch a real bowling ball at the end of the lane.

Although, given enough beer—or Caucasians—landing in the gutter is a legitimate possibility.

Where have I been, you might be asking if you were really bored and desperate for only slightly amusing reading during the last week, so that I left my loyal viewer waiting for the latest in Wannabe Travel Adventure Humor—which, as you know, is my specialty?

The best I can remember, I was supposed to be shopping for Christmas gifts for the wife-person and our young’uns, and I stopped for an eggnog with brandy and that was soooooo good I stopped for a eggnog with rum and…well, you can figure out the rest.

Here it is, after dark on Christmas Eve. Does anyone know what last minute gift items I might find at our local 7-Eleven?

But, I did find a little Christmas gift for you.

Although, it has nothing to do with Christmas or gifts, but rather something to smile about if you have time to watch a 1-minute and 51 second YouTube video.

This item is neither new or much of a secret out on the WWW, but I had not seen it before the other day and I am happy to say that I now know a new method of downloading recreational pharmaceuticals into my bodily system.

So, if you happen to see me with my shirt pulled up—which is a frightful sight in any regard—and I am rubbing a Q-tip on my belly, well, you will know what I am doing. Enjoy the video.

And enjoy the holidays.

You never know what you will see when you stick your head underwater.

A little over a year ago, I reported about my adventure on a live aboard dive boat for a week of scuba diving in North Sulawesi of Indonesia, which is considered one of the premiere dive spots on the planet.

I dove under pretty much wide-eyed in a constant state of being awestruck by the wildly varied and brilliantly colored sea life.

Generally, it has been my experience that scientists are typically stereotyped as stodgy and less prone to being astonished.

That is, until I happened upon a story that Aussie researchers witnessed a most interesting behavior of Octopuses making themselves right at home in coconut halves.

“Australian scientists have discovered an octopus in Indonesia that collects coconut shells for shelter – unusually sophisticated behavior that the researchers believe is the first evidence of tool use in an invertebrate animal.”

So shocking was their monumental discovery that one of the scientists were said to have been “gobsmacked,” and repeated himself by saying,

“That’s an example of tool use, which has never been recorded in invertebrates before.”

“Tool use.” I want to know what kind of tools the octopuses are using to crack open those coconuts.

Have you ever even tried to open of those damn things?

If so, you will agree that a coconut is one hard nut to crack.

And I want to know what happened with the innards of those hard-shelled, tasty tropical fruits?

I’ll tell you what. As soon as those researchers capture photographs of the octopuses sitting around the sea floor holding umbrella drinks (one in each of their eight “arms?”)—well , then you can just color me gobsmacked.

If you can spare a couple of minutes, check out this video of an octopus scurrying across the sea floor with half a coconut shell tucked under his butt (I think it is down there, somewhere; his butt, that is) and then stopping to turn it over and crawl underneath. And there is another octopus that takes two halves and gets inside of them.

Yes, these are fairly small species of octopus; either that, or those are some damn, big coconuts.

As if you don’t already have enough to worry about as you travel the planet, with your concerns about the safety of the drinking water, the miserably weak dollar, and a general lack of ultra-soft toilet tissue.

(Yes…I know that last one especially chaffs your ass.)

Now, when someone tucks you in at bedtime with the old adage, “Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” they ain’t kidding.

Apparently, since we have pretty much banned all pesticides that are more lethal than Starbucks coffee, those pesky little buggers have made quite a comeback.

I happened to see a story on the subject a couple of months ago, but did not really take a look at it until tonight…and now I’m afraid to go to bed.

The story told about a Bed Bug Summit up in Seattle. My first surprise was that these creepy crawlers even had summits.

I mean, how 90’s. I would have thought they would take care of their organizational needs via Facebook and Twitter, like everyone else does, nowadays.

“Hosted by the National Pest Management Association, it’s one of several gatherings sparked by one the Environmental Protection Agency held to address the issue. We call them the new flea, said Daniel Valenti, Terminix International’s Seattle branch manager. They’re tenacious creatures. They can survive six months without feeding and they’re extremely difficult to get rid of.”

“The things are essentially little vampires. Roughly the size of a tick, they hide during the day, mainly in mattresses and behind headboards. At night, they come out to feed on you.”

Survive six months without feeding? Exactly how much blood do they suck out of me at a time, anyway?!?

So, how do you know if you have been visited during the night?

“Instead of a pair of puncture wounds on the neck, these guys typically leave little red welts on your skin and tiny droplets of dried blood on your sheets — which compounds the rudeness, as those droplets are defecation from your blood, which has passed through them as they left.”

Charming description.

So, other than blaming the damn enviros for getting those effective pesticides from my youth banned, such as DDT (twitch, what twitch?), whom else can we blame for this nasty resurgence?

Foreigners, that’s who.

“Another cause: travel. Some have pointed to the dollar’s lower value and the foreign tourists it has drawn. In any case, Zack said, “bedbugs are very easily transported from one area to another. Someone who has an infestation in a dorm, if they take things with them such as suitcases or shoes, there’s a very good chance bedbugs will be in that suitcase or their clothing.”

Quick, someone call TSA and get Bed Bugs on the Do Not Fly List. And while they are at it, better put them on the Do Not Crawl List, too.

Before you go about pulling apart your bed sheets or getting this uncontrollable urge to start scratching your back, you might want to know what to do if you really do have some unwanted company. (No, I don’t mean your roommate’s friend from out of town who has been couch-surfing your place for the last three months without contributing to the food or electrical bills.)

“Don’t overreact, Soumi said. “Don’t grab the first can of pesticide or set off 10 bug bombs inside your house because that’s not going to work.”

They’re tough buggers, I presume.

So, what’s a person to do?  I wonder if I can buy a low yield nuke from that nut-job running Iran or that bat-shit crazy dude from North Korea.

Or, you can check out Bed Bug Central Command for information you might find just slightly more useful.

In the meantime, just try not to think you feel something crawling on you when you lie in bed tonight.

Sleep well, my friends.

Oh, and of course, “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

You kids are killing me.

Or, at least my ability to hold my reading material in my aged, hairy-knuckled, wrinkled fingers.

Yes, I admit it.

I am one of the old dinosaurs who still reads a printed daily newspaper (actually, two of them) and subscribes to more travel magazines than I care to admit to.

I still have not gone to doing much of my reading online.

Among other reasons, I just get too distracted with, what, yet another Breaking News item that has one more Tiger Woods mistress coming out of the woodwork.

What are we up to, nine?

But, the changing world of travel writing has not really hit home…until today.

Via Don George’s Adventure Blog I discovered that,

“Last week National Geographic announced that it was ceasing the publication of National Geographic Adventure magazine with the current issue.”

Of all the printed travel magazines I read, this was my second favorite travel publication—after National Geographic Traveler.

(No word as of press time whether Traveler would take the same path as Adventure.)

The story went on to say,

“National Geographic is transitioning its Adventure brand from traditional print to a multi-platform model that will include newsstand editions, books, e-magazines, mobile applications and a robust Web site.”

“Include newsstand editions?” Wait, isn’t that what I pay them to mail to me every month?

Are they just boycotting the U.S. Postal Service?

And what exactly is a “robust web site” and how do I know if I have one?

Maybe “robust” has something to do with the pictures of a woman running along the beach in a skimpy bikini that they included in one story this month.

Their stated reason for this change is no big surprise,

“Given the current advertising environment and the opportunities we see in emerging digital platforms, we think the time is right to transition the Adventure brand.”

Money.

I guess unless the government is going to hand them over a few billion dollars of TARP funds as a bailout, who can blame them?

I have twice met fellow travel writer Don George—him being a legitimate professional one. Nice guy.

A few years ago, I took a travel writing class from him in San Francisco and then later, he served as conference chairperson at the well respected annual travel writers conference held at Book Passage in Marin County, which I attended.

One of my primary reasons to attend the conference was to meet and learn from the acclaimed and brilliant travel writer extraordinaire Tim Cahill (yes, I swoon at the very sight of his written word).

From his early days at Outside Magazine, Tim (which is what I would call him if he would allow it) has been an influential inspiration to me, not only to experience adventure travel, but also to write about it.

Ironically, Cahill is listed as one of the contributing editors of Nat. Geo. Adventure.

“Hey, Tim. If you need another writing gig give me a call and I’ll make a space for you over here at my robust Sand Dollar Adventures emerging digital multi-platform web site (as soon as I figure out what all that means).”

Also, probably lost in this transitional business period is the $17.97 I paid for my current subscription well into next year.

But you know what we are really losing as we see our printed media go the way of the VCR player and music CD’s?

Just wait until you are stuck someplace without toilet paper.

Good luck wiping yourself with your iPhone.

It had to happen.

We have pretty much dumped many of our magazine and newspaper subscriptions in favor of garnering our news and entertainment via the wonderful World Wide Web.

Of course we did…it was FREE, and aren’t we all really into the whole free thing?

But was free may be the key concept nowadays.

If you have kept even a sideways glance towards the online news and entertainment biz, especially those that used to make a profit from paid subscriptions from paper versions, you know that they are suffering financially.

And they have been less than happy with our viewing habits, especially those as facilitated by the global gleaner of the grapevine, Google.

They, meaning Rupert Murdoch, of the evil empire, the colossal News Corp.

Well, Dr. Evil may be getting his way with news of the so-called “First Click Free,” which may lead to the end of unlimited free information on the web, as reported at The Huffington Post.

“In a move that could help improve relations between Google Inc. and the media industry, the Internet search company is offering publishers a way to build more solid "pay walls" around their online stories while still appearing in search results.”

 

Of course, Google is not asleep at the wheel, as can be read in yet another story I found on the internet by way of a Google search, whereas Google proclaims,

“we do not steal content from newspapers.”

Is the issue limited to just the news you might happen to be looking for over the web?

Well, the short answer is “nope.”

You, like myself and millions of others, have gone to the internet to view TV shows that you missed viewing while it was shown on the television—assuming you are somewhere near a TV…or even still own one.

Millions, as in 40 million a month, go to Hulu.com to watch shows, like the latest Daily Show or Colbert Report.

In October, Hulu hit one billion minutes of viewed television and video clips. That’s billion with a “B.” And every minute has been for free.

But, this viewing method is also under attack by people who are tired of your—I mean, our—freeloading manners, by…yes, you guessed it Rupert Murdoch and the News Corp, among others.

How do I know all this?

Yup, another Google search and another linked news story, in this case, to the New York Times.

“With millions now watching TV on their computers, can the media companies put the Hulu genie back in the bottle?

The scramble by TV companies to preserve its ad model while giving consumers choice — what Comcast’s chief executive called in interviews Thursday “anytime, anywhere media” — mirrors the efforts of newspapers, magazines and radio companies to wring more money from digital media. But all are facing some entrenched habits.

“If you disrupt the consumer experience, you’re in trouble,” warns Mike Kelley, a partner at PricewaterhouseCoopers.”

 

Is there any good news out there in the world for formally free forms of enlightenment from our beloved WWW?

Hmmm. Well, I got one of an auditory nature.

I enjoy many hours a day of the most amazing, commercial-free music over the internet.

Radio Paradise is beyond description as to musical genre due to its broad, eclectic nature. World music is in the ballpark, but too limited of a characterization. You can listen to it on your computer and even over your iPhone or Blackberry. I happen to listen to it most of the time over a sound bridge, which connects my internet stream to my stereo system.

How does Radio Paradise exist? By voluntary NON-tax deductable contributions from listeners like me. They gratefully accept how little or how much you can afford and wish to donate to the cause. Note of caution: the “sub-genre” they play shifts fluidly from one song-set to another, so don’t judge it based on only a couple of songs.  Anyway – the free plug is over. Listen and decide for yourself.

Back to our viewing habits, that same New York Times piece went on to conclude that,

“On-demand viewing is about to get much more complicated.”

I don’t think anyone can reasonably argue against that point. For people who spend much time away from home, whether on business, a vacation, or as a permanent vagabond, this issue will affect how we stay connected and informed to the world around us.

In other words, you will probably get plenty of use out of your PayPal account.

But, maybe not to the level attributed to this by Stephen Burke, the CEO of Comcast , who recently called

“streaming the biggest social movement I’ve ever seen.”

Really, Mr. Burke? Watching stuff for free on our computers is the biggest social movement, ever?

More than Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin becoming national icons?

I think not.

Back in the day, you might hear a friend say,

“Dude” (I did say, it was Back in the Day) “You should have been here yesterday!”

Then, your buddy would proceed to regale you with tales of [insert as appropriate: perfect powder for skiing or boarding/ a limit of fish or game/ epic wind for kite boarding or windsurfing/ etc.]

The point was that the conditions and results were as good as it gets.

After all, isn’t that what we all would like to experience given our limited time and money to enjoy our recreational pursuits?

Well, apparently maybe not.

By way of a Columbia Sportswear advertisement in the October National Geographic Traveler magazine, I learned that I am lagging behind the social trends, yet again.

For those of you who suffer the mistaken idea that “good” is good, I am hear to tell you that there is a trend whereas you brag to your friends as to how bad the conditions were while you were out enjoying the great outdoors.

Case in point.

I had never heard of the term Junkboarding, but the concept is simple, if not of questionable self-preservation value.

You start with a junked snowboard, or in some cases a piece of scrap plywood, a table saw, some hardware, slap them together and then go out and look for slopes covered in just about anything—that is except wonderful, deep, fluffy, dry powder.

You are looking for ground cover such as dirt, grass, rocks, gravel, bushes, and other obstacles that I personally tend to avoid while I careen down a steep slope at a high rate of speed. I’m funny like that.

Even people who partake of this apparently risky recreational activity recognize,

“Most people just think it’s frickin’ dangerous”

Gee, where would they get that silly idea?

That comment from one practitioner from Vermont, named Dave. But he goes on to admit he has,

“ taken his fair share of spills, tearing pants and returning home muddy, but he stresses that he and his friends don’t go fast enough to get badly injured”

Ah…Dave, could you please provide your definition of “badly injured?”

Are we talking broken bones, but something less than a compound fracture, with pieces of your femur poking out of your Columbia Sportswear Junkboarding pants? (Lest we forget, this whole topic started with a clothing ad.)

As to the trend of seeking less than ideal conditions for various recreational avocations, then showcasing and even glorifying those outings, it is not limited to attempting to remove large patches of skin while shredding the slopes.

No, truly adventurous fishermen have eschewed pristine, high-mountain streams of clear, cold, waters while seeking out semi-polluted, discarded-furniture laden, suburban ditches in search of hardy fish species that should advisably be handled only with multi-layered, Kevlar-reinforced, hazmat gloves—let alone considered for consumption.

Known as Brownlining, this form of fishing is practiced with zeal by hardy outdoorsmen who risk spent hypodermic needles, rusted automobile bodies, and other items dumped into drainages by people too lazy and cheap to drive to the dump.

Arguably the master and mentor of this merriment can be found at Singlebarbed.com.

Caution, this is not an activity for the faint-of-heart or anyone not having an up-to-date tetanus vaccination.

This got me to wonder. Is this just the tip of the iceberg (the part that hasn’t yet melted)?

Is there a new, improved (?) version of kayaking that involves really rocky streams with low water?

Call it Creek Crashing or maybe Stream Bashing.

Or, how about scuba diving in really cold water with really poor visibility?

Call it Shiver Scuba or maybe Scuba Hobby In Totally Terrible Yuk diving.

The opportunities to do things under lousy conditions abound.

There is always bike riding on puncture vine strewn trails along inter-city, gang infested back streets.

That one might be best classified as a one-time, one-way adventure.

So many good times to be had, so little time to seek crappy conditions.

How can you recognize an aficionado of these alternative venue activities?

Well, for example, a typical big city downhill skier might be wearing shimmering, one-piece outfits and the latest technology in boots and skis, while the Junkboarder probably has clothing held together with copious amounts of duct tape.

A big city fly fisherman might look like he just came off the cover of an Orvis catalog, while holding $1,000+ worth of gear.

The Brownliner will be sporting brown-stained waders, a cheap cigar, with a gas station hotdog in his pocket.

You get the idea.

As to Junkboarding: call me when it snows another few feet.

Me…I’m going back to bed.

Moses said it all a few years ago, “Let my people go!”

Once again, the subject of being kept captive while crammed into the crummy coach seats on a grounded airliner is in the news.

And I thought the airlines, the FAA, and the TSA, had this worked out for them earlier this year when,

“It has finally happened. In a unanimous vote, the Senate Commerce Committee last week approved legislation — the so-called “Airline Passenger Bill of Rights” — giving passengers the option of leaving a plane that has been stuck on the tarmac for more than three hours. The bill provides that pilots can extend that deadline by 30 minutes if they feel that departure is imminent.” 

Unfortunately, the damn bill is still bouncing around the halls of Congress awaiting final action. 

Gee, how long might that take?!?

In the news today was the story of yet another stranding, if you can call it that, given the fact that they are only a thrown luggage toss away from the relative comfort—and flush toilets—of the terminal boarding area.

“The passengers of Flight 2816 were kept waiting nearly six hours inside the cramped regional airliner amid wailing babies and a smelly toilet even though they were only 50 yards from a terminal.”

But in the latest case, it appears that justice—the kind that costs money—has prevailed with the news that,

“The government is imposing fines for the first time against airlines for stranding passengers on an airport tarmac, the Transportation Department said Tuesday.

The department said it has levied a precedent-setting $175,000 in fines against three airlines for their roles in the stranding of passengers overnight in a plane at Rochester, Minn.”

So, will someone please help me make sense of this; why does this keep coming up?

The passengers went through a TSA screening to get to the boarding gate. 

No shampoo, no toothpaste, no drinking water. I feel better; we are all safe.

The plane is stuck on the ground, mere feet away from said boarding gate, which—stay with me on this—is still beyond the same TSA screening area that was there a few minutes prior, when the passengers got on the damn plane.

Still, no dangerous body creams. We are still safe.

So as long as the passengers stay within the terminal and boarding gate on the inside of the TSA screening area, why is it such an insurmountable problem to drive the damn plane back to the un-boarding gate to let the passengers deplane and let them stretch out, go sit on a human-sized toilet in a stall that is not pitching to-and-fro (unless they had a few too many pre-flight cocktails) and maybe even purchase a cup of that great Starbucks corporate coffee?

How is it that they are somehow no longer safe to themselves? Hopefully, not with something from the plane they are sitting on and preparing to soar to 30,000 feet.

I just don’t get it.

But, if you ever find yourself in such a predicament, don’t succumb to the stress and risk formal action by over-reacting to the stinky situation.

And for the sake of preventing a permanent smirch on your legal records, say, should you someday decide to run for political office (or Miss USA), I will present The Top Ten Things NOT To Do in order to get let out of the plane after sitting six hours in the stench, stuck on the tarmac.

1. Do not jump up and down and scream. They will just think you are reacting to yet another fee being tacked onto the price of your airline ticket.

2. Do not pound on the door of the cockpit. The pilots now pack guns and might be inclined to use them, assuming they have not lost track of which airport they are sitting at while discussing airline scheduling or distracted while using their laptops.

3. Do not threaten to drink the airplane water in order to elicit violent chest heaves and loss of all bodily functions. Remember, the toilets on the plane are already overly full.

4. Do not threaten to grab and scarf down all remaining in-flight meals just because you are starving. See reason on previous items.

5. Do not try to sneak a smoke in the airplane bathroom. Again, see reason on Item “3”—ever see what happens with excess methane around a spark?

6. Do not relieve yourself in the aisle, hoping the flight crew will think you are crazy and then get back to the boarding gate. If it doesn’t work, your fellow passengers will likely beat the crap out of you, at least whatever you did not leave on the carpeting.

7. Do not mention the “B-word” (as in the thing that goes badda-boom, big badda-boom). You will suddenly find yourself with way more attention than you ever wished. And the cell you will end up in will present more problems than your overcrowded airplane.

8. Don’t fake a sudden life-threatening ailment, such as a heart attack. That might result in a shocking experience when they apply the portable electric defibrillator.

9. Do not deploy the emergency exit evacuation slide. The fresh air might be a nice relief but chances are the airlines, the FAA, and TSA will frown on you ever flying again. (Which will not be a problem, as you will likely be behind bars for the next few years, in any case.)

10. Your turn. What would you be tempted to do (but probably shouldn’t)—admit it, you’ve thought about this before—should you find yourself stuck in a plane for six or seven hours, parked right next to the terminal, with no food, no water, overflowing stinky toilets, screaming babies (and other passengers), and a fifty-something, hirsute, pudgy wannabe travel writer snoring loudly into your ear (yes, that would be me)? 

Something to think about as you are on your way to the airport, heading to grandma’s for Thanksgiving dinner.

I hope your plane makes it off the tarmac.