Something Rich and Strange

I have previously commented on the unpredictability and security-theater-of-the-absurd that is air travel today. But even I was a bit taken aback when, after taxiing to the runway at JFK on the way to Brussels last Thursday, the captain announced that we would be heading back to the gate because of a “security” issue. And oh yeah; “law enforcement” would be boarding and we should all remain in our seats.

Now, you may be thinking how nice it was for this pilot to be so candid with the 200+ passengers in his charge. My reaction, however, being a little closer to the action was more along the lines of “holy bleeping bleep, that is waaay too much information”!

Because if you were the subject of that security issue (and I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that you would know if you were), wouldn’t you be, say, alarmed? And given the fact that people have been known to ignite their underwear to make a statement about god (sorry) knows what, wouldn’t you perhaps become a little agitated knowing that your bust was imminent and your mission about to go unaccomplished? I mean, whatcha gonna do when they come for you?

In this particular case, gather your personal belongings and calmly exit the plane, as two gentlemen who looked to be of Middle-Eastern descent did, along with their escort of three uniformed (and packing) TSA cops. Thus began the 90-minute ingress and egress of an assortment of local and federal security personnel.

Since you are learning about this “incident” from my blog versus a major media outlet, you know that nothing nefarious transpired. The aforementioned passengers, in a cringe-inducing reverse perp-walk, were eventually escorted back to their seats at the rear of the plane for what I can only assume was a very relaxed and convivial seven-hour flight.

While I will probably never know the full story, what I could glean from eavesdropping in the galley while ostensibly waiting to use the lav was this: a fellow passenger dropped the dime (forgive me, but it is impossible for me to report on such things without lapsing into police lingo) on the two men, suspicions were thoroughly investigated (as we were assured many, many times by the various officials presiding over the event) and turned out to be nothing. Unless of course you were the two apparently innocent guys who were temporarily mistaken for terrorists. I just hope they were comped the $8 blankets.

The idea of a bunch of gals (or at least more than one gal) getting together for a “spa getaway” conjures images of fluffy white robes, mani/pedis, and sipping green tea while wearing a revitalizing cucumber face masque and listening to a recording of the pan flute. How gentile.

And boooooring.

The real Spa getaway (and yes, that’s Spa with a capital “S”) takes place this weekend, not in an exclusive new-agey enclave of pampered chicks, but the Ardennes Forest on the border of Belgium and Germany (think Wagnerian heroines with braids and breastplates versus Scrunchies and terry cloth sarongs). And this soundtrack is so soothing you need to wear earplugs (no offense, Richard. Really).

Of course (duh!), I’m talking about the 2010 Formula 1 (you know, the pinnacle of motor sport action?!?) Belgian Grand Prix at Spa-Francorchamps.

My BF1FF (best Formula 1 friend forever) Kimberly and I are doing a surgical-strike sporting mission to Belgium beginning on Thursday to take in what is generally regarded by F1 drivers and spectators alike as the best place to race and watch racing in the world.

So stay tuned, as Kimberly is not only a kick-ass graphic designer, but photographer, as well. I’m also trying to persuade her to come-up with an info-graphic for this event, so we’ll see (no pressure, but it would be soooo epic if you did). In the meantime, I can guarantee that a pic or two might pique some interest out there (oy, the alliteration!).

But don’t worry about the whole spa thing; we’re sitting in a covered grandstand so our coiffures won’t get ruined in case of (likely) inclement weather.