Editor

Technology is a wonderful thing - when it works.

I’m in Pittsburgh International Airport (like there is another Pittsburgh airport which is located entirely within the USA). I got here two hours early for my flight to Chicago in order to thwart the terrorists like The Government advised I do. It is a slow night so it didn’t take long to get through "what security?" and set myself up at a table in my favorite airport restaurant which is conveniently located across from my departure gate.

All is okay with the world as much as it can be just before having to board one of those very heavy aluminum tubes and "fly". I have my favorite drink (a Hurricane with the extra shot of rum for only a dollar, thank you very much) and I have the only decent sandwich they serve in this building (the Bourbon Street Combo). The place smells as if they had a grease fire earlier and they are booming some gawd-awful rap music (even by gawd-awful rap standards) and the Yankees are winning a post -season game on the TV). But hey, my new laptop has a wireless card and I can surf the internets. So everything else can just go fuck itself.

After I booted up my laptop, I found a choice of two identically named wireless servers I could connect to. Being the clever dick, I chose the second one because everyone else would surely choose the first. After many heavy lung-fulls of grease here in what smelled like the Exxon Valdiz MacDonalds, I’m wishing I had my old 28.8 modem. But at least the Bo-Sox have tied the game up. And the banjo college web site is finally loading.

I really wanted to send Stubby an e-mail to let him know how cool it is to wirelessly connect to the internets and send an e-mail from an airport bistro while listening to the "Deliberate Strangers" from my laptop. I chose this banjo-riddled mayhem to help partially improve on the gawd-awful rap situation. I also chose to fart a lot to help improve the smell of the place. Both choices were having mixed results. At least nobody else could hear me listening to banjo music.

But time ran out. I never could get the godsdamn college’s web page to load due to the slowness of the connection. Pay the tab and off to Chicago. Or maybe not. Apparently the flight is delayed at least 45 minutes, so I have to figure that means at least two hours. The delay was due to lightning storms tearing their way from Chicago to Pittsburgh. I’m cool with waiting for that to dissipate before climbing into the aluminum tube and "flying" right into the thick of it.

Back to the bistro. Another hurricane (with the extra shot of rum for only a dollar)? Fuck yeah.

This time I chose the first wireless server. They must list them in order of how fast they are (ascending) or something, because this connection rocked. It still smells like a burned out hog rendering plant mixed with my farts, but the Bo-Sox still have the game tied up in the late innings. And I can call up live satellite weather reports that show that I am going
to be here for way more than 45 minutes.

So I’m thinking about how way cool it is that I can sit in a bistro across from my departure gate and hook up to broadband with my wireless laptop and get live satellite pictures of the storm that is delaying my otherwise 90 minute "flight" to Chicago. I mean wouldn’t Lewis and/or Clarke have just crapped themselves if they could see me now? And the Company is buying my drinks!

So I really gotta tell Stubby about this. Here I got his banjo-thingy web site up and where is it you go to submit feedback? I tried the "Feedback" page but apparently that is where you go to see feedback that you already figured out how to send before. There is no fucking "Send Feedback" button there. The only thing on the "Feedback" page is a screed I had sent months ago when I must have known Stubby’s e-mail address. I wonder what was on this page before I sent that...

Might as well have another Hurricane. And that extra shot for a dollar is a given. I don’t want to be wasting The Company’s money fer Christ’s sakes. I mean, what time is it already? It can’t be that late is it? The fucking Yankees and Red Sox are still on TV and it really feels like Football Season already. What the hell are they still doing on? Fuck them. The fucking fuckers. Fucking Red Sox can’t beat the fucking Yankees. Fuck.

Listen, I’m getting tired of this waiting around shit. I’m going to go have some words with that bitch with the smug look of concern who is standing at the departure gate and telling everyone who comes up to her every five minutes that it is still raining somewhere in Ohio so we can’t get on the aluminum tube and "fly" the fuck out of here.

Now, I was polite when I asked her just how many more Hurricanes she expected me to have to drink (with the extra shot of rum, of course) before they were going to let us the fuck out of here. But I did give her that serious look like USAirways had better understand who they were dealing with here and that they had better have every employee on board and doing something about these storms sweeping across the mid-west. Afterwards, I felt bad about giving her "the look". I mean it wasn’t her fault I’m an asshole.

Okay, back to the bistro it is and BAM I’m back on the internets. Guess I better get another Hurricane (with the extra shot of rum, of course) or they won’t let me sit here and order drinks off of them. Everyone is still smelling grease fire mixed with my farts and I still have the banjo music to drown out the gawd-awful rap and the Red Sox are still playing like they think they have a chance in hell of coming back three games down to the fucking Yankees in the playoffs. Bet I get the hell out of this fucking airport before the Red Sox ever win the World Series! The fucks.

Oh shit. Looks like peoples are gathering around my departure gate. I gotta get my bill paid and get the fuck out of here before that bitch lets all of them terrorists take off without me. Scramble, scramble - shut down my laptop and lose a wonderful record of me writing a message to Stubby about how wonderful technology was that I could get hammered at the expense of The Company while wirelessly connecting to the internets to track the progress of the storms that were delaying my flight. It was a great screed. You could even tell the effects of the Hurricanes (with the extra shot of rum, of course) as
it was being written by counting the swears.

But it was all lost. When I saw that bitch letting the terrorists on to the plane before I could find my waitress through the fog of my own farts, I immediately shut down my laptop and lost it all. I’ve tried here to reconstruct the best of it. Someday I’ll figure out how to get it all to Stubby so I’ll have something else to read on his fucking "Feedback" page. There should be plenty of room what with it not being cluttered up with actual "Submit Feedback" buttons.

It turns out that the Red Sox won that game as you may have heard. Apparently this was as important as letting me know I was flying over Gary Indiana since the Captain of the aluminum tube let me and the terrorists know about these events during the flight. I was asleep both times. I might have better appreciated the announcements if it were known that terrorists were forbidden to blow up planes over Gary Indiana. Or if they were waiting for the Red Sox to choke yet again as the signal to start the next wave of terror. As it was, I just went back to sleep and dreamt I was writing Stubby this e-mail.

Maybe in my dreams I could figure out how to submit feedback to Stubby. That must be how I did it before... Fuck.