Home at last, though the lizard brain has no idea what time it is, and is very unhappy about it. Coming Eastbound is always the roughest for me for some reason, so I’m guessing it will be a couple days before my body sorts itself out. Probably just in time for my next trip with my luck.

The flight home was a bit shorter than expected because of strong tailwinds helping to blow us along. The Sydney to Los Angeles part wound up being 13 hours and the Los Angeles to Boston part was 5.5 hours, so not too bad. When I got on the first plane, I thought my travel luck may have turned. First off, my seat was in the top deck of a B747-400, which always rocks. Then as I found my seat (back row - woot!) I noticed there was a tall blonde sitting next to me. Long legs, short tight skirt, stiletto heels, tight sweater - I thought my travel profile that asks to be seated next to fat balding combover guys with gland issues had finally been erased. So then she turned to look at me…and it was the Crypt Keeper with too much makeup. She was 60+ and a flight attendant in between shifts. Apparently she’s been a flight attendant for 40 years this year, so she started out with the Wright Brothers more or less. Very nice woman, but too much perfume, probably to cover the smell of death and wee. Still, I’ve had worse traveling companions, so what the hell.

At LAX I had to get my checked bag, walk through customs, and drop it on another belt to go on to Boston. This is a seemingly simple exercise that gets cocked up by all of the asshats on the plane. Specifically, there’s one carousel serving all of the people coming off a loaded 747. Rather than everyone standing back a few feet from the belt, thus increasing the number of people that can see their bags, everyone piles on top of it and jockeys for position. So, even when they can manage to spot their bag through a crevice somewhere, there’s nowhere to drag said bag off the belt. My approach is to simply wipe out whomever happens to be nearby for not getting the fuck out of the way. Well, unless they’re bigger than me, then I just stand and sulk.

The second issue is that of bags, both size and number. Is it really necessary to carry every worldly possession you own on a week holiday? Did duct-taped cardboard boxes really seem like a good idea to have the baggage-handling apes throw around, and did you really expect them to survive? Same goes for carry on. General rule - if you can’t lift your giant fucking Louis Vuitton knockoff bag over your head, don’t drag the damn thing on the plane. Retards - all of them.

Finally, let’s address my favorite oxymoron - the Smart Cart. These are the wheeled carts you can get at every airport to throw your bags on to wheel around. Unfortunately, the “Smart” part comes into question by the absolute fuckwits that use them. They’re usually the people dragging way way too much shit along with them, and they use these things like battering rams whenever there’s a crowd they need to get through. They also go back to problem number one in that they have no issue parking their carts right up against the luggage belt like they were valet parking their Rolls. So now when someone needs to get their bag, they need to clamber over not only the fuckwit, but also a pile of metal tubing with wheels. My favorite (ab)user of these are the old ladies that turn my ankles into hamburger when they ram them because they can’t see a thing through their coke-bottle glasses and those giant black shades that go over them.
There’s a solution to this: pack light and buy some luggage with wheels, dammit. I know wheels are a new invention that have only been around for, what, a few thousand years, but trust me - they’ve worked out most of the bugs by now. Those foldable luggage carts don’t count - in fact, every time I see one, I want to beat the person using it. Talk about a great way to screw up overhead space. Also, if you can’t lift your bag, you may want to reconsider just what your view of “essential” is. Underwear changes? Okay, I’d label that as essential. Your 1974 World Book Encyclopedia? Probably not. Have to bring your own pillows because you can’t sleep on hotel ones? Forgive me as I smother you with them.

Anyways, I’m home now. About freaking time. I still have some pics to post in the gallery section when I get around to it. I think I took more pics than a Japanese tourist on crystal meth, so it may be awhile. This kind of quality site takes time. Stop laughing.