Ok, I think I have observed the appropriate amount of snipe-free commentary in honor of Christmas. There was at least a good 15 minute span where I refrained. And because many of you are about to board planes and travel to exotic locations, like Buffalo,  I’d like to present my vision of Air Travel, the Snooty Way in time for your forays into the skies.

Snooty Rules of Air Travel

1. If you must speak to the desk personnel to check-in, you get 5 minutes on the clock. Once you have exceeded your allotted time, you must return to the back of the line and start over. Buh-bye!

2. If you and your traveling companions are sporting matching American flag jackets and velcro Rockports you must by-pass the security line and go straight to the interview room and have your passport confiscated. You clearly represent a security threat, a high potential for diplomatic incident, and at a minimum a confirmation of an embarrassing stereotype. I know, there goes any potential I had for running for Congress. My flag pin has been revoked.

3. There is a line for people who insist on wearing belts, shoes that lace, and have chromium hip replacements, and it is always the shortest line. Don’t be fooled. It’s like the farm equipment line at the DMV. It will draw you in, and then it will crush your soul.

4. If I must take off my shoes and submit my bag to an extra search, then TSA must compliment me on my impeccable taste in footwear and handbags, apologize for suspecting me in the first place, and then go clean the hair out of those bins.

5. If the carrier insists on charging me extra to bring luggage, eat or drink, use the bathroom, have a seatbelt, and sit down, I get to bill the airline for the following: injury to my elbow, seating me next to someone whose person rolls over into my personal space, snores, and/or has a phlegmatic cough; late arrival fee, early arrival fee, tarmac-waiting fee, and core body temperature distress fee.

6. If your carry-on is too large to lift over your head, you must buy a seat for it, and it cannot hog the armrest. And if you feel you must Saran-Wrap your luggage, you must also admit that you really don’t have anything of value in there (or else it wouldn’t be checked on a plane) and that you are just asking for it.

7. If when the plane arrives, there is no gate crew to move the jet bridge, passengers are allowed to boo and then use the inflatable slide.

8. I am allowed to request a seat change on the grounds that the person next to me tried to start a conversation.

9. If you allow your child to continually kick my seat, I get to tell him there isn’t a Santa. And if you must use the back of my seat to lift you out of your own, I get to turn around and stare wild-eyed and say things like, “It’s you – just as the prophecy foretold!”

10. If a flight less than 3 hours in duration requires a bathroom break, you must sit on the aisle or provide your own travel catheter.

I could go on and on, and perhaps I will in another installment, but let’s hear from the snoots…

The stench of Gary, Indiana greets you on the way south out of Chicago.

This post is my homage to the least desirable places I have had the pleasure of visiting. Note: I have not been to Ohio, if you are questioning its absence. Audience participation, please. Think of it as the un-tourist guide.

1. Gary, Indiana (I honestly think the kid in The Music Man was high on refinery fumes.)

2. Slidell, Louisiana (Water is what I would describe as chewy.)

3. Lake Charles, Louisiana (Voted Louisiana city of the year while I was there; obviated my need to see the rest of Louisiana.)

4. Vidor, Texas (The stuff of urban legend, except it’s all true.)

5. Cairo, Illinois (Just like the rest of Illinois south of Chicago. It’s just that you’re almost free!)

6. Newark, NJ (Spent a memorable evening in the airport Holiday Inn karaoke bar, flush with airplane food vouchers. Good times.)

7. Las Vegas, NV (Just a sad-sack of a place. Before you tell me how great it is, recall there is an entire song about leaving the place.)

8. Northern Arkansas (I’m really not sure of the town where we stopped on the drive from Chicago to Dallas, but let’s just say the people at McDonald’s were not wearing shoes. And I do mean the people behind the counter.)

9. Philadelphia, PA (I couldn’t find much redeeming there, except for the Maryland Crab Chowder, and any credit there clearly has to go to Maryland.)

10. Brownsville, TX (Scarred by childhood bird-poop incident; otherwise could be perfectly lovely place. But I suspect not.)

I must have missed the memo that said everyone should add a marathon to his bucket list. Seems like everyone has trained for one, run one, run one on each continent, run as least one in costume, watched someone run one, or read books about running one. It’s the new black, like getting a tattoo or taking up composting.

Let’s be clear. I will not ever be running a marathon. I doubt I will run enough in my accumulated years of living to stretch 26.2 miles. I generally will not run unless being threatened with bodily harm by a pursuer.

I’ve had shin splints before, and as much as I relished spending my junior year of high school smelling of Icy Hot, running is not for the 39 year old body. It’s painful and boring, and I like alone-time. Lastly, I don’t have a 4+ hour block to do anything fun, much less engage in something that will make me lose my toenails, want to throw-up, and require me to ingest a product advertised as “goo.” (Again, inducing vomiting).

But I am generally out of the loop, or more euphemistically, “counter-cultural.” When did everyone get chiropractors? (Lightbulb: maybe if you don’t run, you don’t need one.) Decide to plank anywhere other than a yoga class? Start listening to Ke$ha? Follow single-item food diets? And deem cowboy boots with short skirts acceptable?

And perhaps most importantly, when did I start sounding like Andy Rooney?

I’m advancing rage to a new level. My new movement is called “OCCUPY!” (That is such a weird word when you type it).

There are only a few rules with OCCUPY!

1. The first rule of OCCUPY! is that we don’t talk about OCCUPY!; seriously, it’s more effective if you don’t name the source of your rage
2. It has to be in ALL CAPS to be brand compliant and look sufficiently angry
3. OCCUPY! has its own international hand gesture — the fang; deflate your air quotes and you have the fang; actual teeth baring is optional but applauded
4. When something is OCCUPY!-worthy, you scream “OCCUPY!” with the appropriate amount of fanging (as a guide DMV trips = 1 minute of intense fanging)
5. It is highly desirable to unseat another Occupants, which are by definition worthy of loathing and derision and should be objects of OCCUPY! themselves

Let’s review.  Apostrophes are used to show possession.  (They are also used for contractions, but that is another lesson).  This implies that something is possessed.  Hence, you would expect to find an object following an apostrophe.  If you insist on signing your Christmas card, “The Peterson’s”  I will be forced to pencil in my own object of choice, and believe me, you won’t come off well.    The Peterson’s what?  You must be trying to tell me someone/something too unmentionable to name is authoring your card.  My edit will not be so favorable as to be “The Peterson’s Cat.”  It will more likely be “The Peterson’s Bunion” or “The Peterson’s Irritable Bowel.”   Possibly, “The Peterson’s Undead Zombie Barista.”  So save yourself the derision and apostrophize correctly.  It is my one heart’s (see that?) desire.