conversations from the plane.

(this is what i heard on the plane.  i'm now on the ground in franklin...but its too good not to post anyway.)

"i'm telling you, i spent $100,000 on shit, man.  i fucked myself up real good.  i have mad anxiety and that's why i took mad pills. . . 

and their parents have mad money, yo, seriously.  there is some fucked up shit going on there. . .

(while i write this there is a workman on the plane, trying to fix a seat.  we could all be doomed. also, i'm wondering who is the third person among this group behind me.  i'll have to steal a look. . .)

"dude, the fucking bruins!"

"dude, i just bought these fresh-ass true religion jeans, but then i got fucked up--i got jumped, dude--and then i went home for christmas with slices on my face."

"that's when i decided i had to live in california, cause i couldn't live like that anymore."

(the pilot just let us know it's going to be another few minutes, because the FAA told him he has to tell us while we sit here.  meanwhile, i've discovered the woman in the row with the two young massachusetts boys is quietly sitting there with wide eyes.  i think she's shellshocked.)

"dude, i pay $1750 in rent in santa monica, and i don't even have screens on my windows.  i don't even have a fucking stove!"

"i'm only 22, dude."

"i've been boxing and shit, and my coach is like, you gotta quick smoking cigarettes, dude."

"it's legit, yo."

"usually marl reds or marl mediums."

(meanwhile, i packed my earbuds in my suitcase, so i have to dig through my wallet to find two dollars in change.  how can i pass up this opportunity to watch bravo for five hours?)

(the boys are discussing how sick chew is.)

(plane yoga.  anyone?  thoughts?)

"I'm actually working at rehab right now."

"that's all you need, dude, just a tiny step."

(babies are trying to go to sleep.  no motion for them.  no motion for us.  oh sweet airplane, rock us gently, please, for the love of christ.)

"i think my seat's broken too, but i'm not going to say anything about it! fuck!" (raucous laughter)

(we've been on the plane for 45 minutes.  not moving.)

(milo just realized that we hadn't left LA yet.  mesmerized by sponge bob.)

as the babies cry around me, i realize that this is an exercise in acceptance.  we are all trapped here together, sharing the stale air and saying prayers to our respective gods to help the pause in all of our lives find a way to unstick itself from this place, this tarmac, this Los Angeles.  help us, anyone who can.  help us recognize the futility of ourselves.

help those poor babies.  but especially those poor parents.

"i have to go now.  i have to stop talking on the phone.  i have to use the bathroom!  goodbye. . ."