Worst idea ever

I have decided that coach class seating on a Delta 737 is quite possibly the most uncomfortable position in which one could ever find oneself. I mean seriously. I spent the first 45 min of this God-awful flight attempting to cram myself every which way in order to find some moderately comfortable position, to no avail. Somewhere between the tracks “Cannonball” and “Older Chests,” from Damien Rice’s O album, I managed to fall asleep, only to wake up with a crinkled neck and a grand view of one of the most inhospitable places on planet earth—somewhere over New Mexico. What a wretched state.

I have attempted to view one of the on board films, but have been foiled in that endeavor by an in-seat computer that would much rather reboot itself every 2 minutes than allow me to watch Jumper. I am probably better off, as that movie likely blows. But it’s the principle of the thing. I was also, for whatever reason, singled out and passed over for the free nut/animal cracker/conventional cracker serving. Luckily I brought my own bloody nuts.

Flushing the toilet on a plane is a rather unnerving experience. I think I hit the button about 4 times, and had given up and turned around to wash my hands when it finally flushed. It makes that terrible “whoosh,” and you can feel air being sucked out of the cabin. I would like to think that planes empty their septic tanks somewhere over New Mexico.

One of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen is sitting about three seats ahead of me. She has an empty seat next to her, and my mini TV is not functioning. I thought about possibly moving up to that seat earlier. Then, I remembered I have a mustache.

Damn filthy mustache. What was I thinking?