I’ve been rendered to some Eastern European jail by the geniuses at the TSA for sharing a name with either Craig T. Nelson’s son, a little known indie singer-songwriter, or a former correspondent to NBC News. Any of whom could’ve gotten on the no-fly list just for having awesome initials.
I haven’t flown since 9-11. I’m looking forward to the experience the same way that I look forward to my once-a-decade trip to McDonald’s: I figure I have to understand the pain of my fellow Americans every so often.
I really don’t want to have to take my shoes off. I mean, really… shoes? Like someone is going to try that again?
Why are all the major security measures in place seemingly based around preventing improbable and fairly hare-brained terrorist plots anyway? Shoe bombs? Binary explosive compounds in hotel shampoo containers? Snakes on the motherfuckin’ plane?
Really?
