Boarding the plane for my flight home to L.A. from Dallas, I had succumbed to a momentary lapse of reason. See, I’m one of these assholes who ALWAYS has to sit in an aisle seat, because I’m a major claustrophobe. Especially on a plane. Oh, I’ll pout if I don’t get my way on this. I have very patient people in my life who have put up with my demands over the years. But this time? This time I chose…a WINDOW seat.
Please understand, by the looks of it, it appeared there was not only more leg room by the window, but also the seat ITSELF seemed larger than the aisle one. Cozier, even. Cozier??
It was like the seat was CALLING to me: “Max. Maaaaaax. Sit here. Here is where you want to be. You can gaze out the sun-blasted window as you soar 30,000 feet above the Earth. You can mentally surf oceans of cumulus clouds. You can reflect on your new nephew, and the world he is about to engage in, be it a place of grave danger or hope. Or perhaps you can enter a state of deep contemplation about your own life. YOUR role in this grand scheme of ours…”
Whoa. Take it down a notch, Window Seat. Okay, okay, I’ll try you.
Worst. Mistake. Of my life thus far.
A scowly-faced woman immediately took the aisle seat that was just mine and before anyone knew anything, a gargantuan SHADOW was cast over our row (and let’s face it, a few rows behind us.) Lo and behold, he appeared. All 350 lbs. of him. “Dis seat taken?”, he pointed with his kielbasa-sized indexer. “Uh, sure, I mean, no, all yours”, Scowl-face reluctantly responded, answering for the both of us.
Now I don’t know science and physics, but the manner in which this brazen behemoth managed to squeeze his never-ending girth into the middle seat was a cosmic mystery worthy of scrutiny from the likes of Neil deGrasse Tyson himself! I was immediately crushed by his arm, which was as big as those sides of beef Stallone pounded to a bloody pulp in the first “Rocky” movie. Any notion of a mid-flight pee or stretching of the legs was now totally off the menu. I was BEYOND stuck, with zero room to maneuver. It would be this way for the next 4 hours of the flight. Forget ordering a cold beer and continuing to motor through Ron Perlman’s memoir. This was a survival trip now. It was OXYGEN I needed to fight for most, above all comforts and joy.
Oh, I looked out the window, alright. Only to stare straight into my own suffering face, reflected back at me.
Never again will I error this way.
Wait, was there something in this post about a video? Oh, right! Part Two of my trip to Grapevine. Yes, yes, simply click the pic below of the delectable bottle of Pedernales Texas Tempranillo I intended (and succeeded) to pick up down there. I think you’ll enjoy the last of the footage. It’s a real party…
WINE PAIRING: I’m sorry, but I just can’t stop thinking of the aforementioned Pedernales. This, from their website: “Pedernales Cellars is committed to crafting world-class wines that are 100% Texan. This has meant identifying the grape varietals that thrive in Texas terroir. Our Spanish and Rhone style wines are benchmark wines that have been awarded such accolades as Top Texas Wine by the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo Wine Competition, a Grand Gold at the Lyon International Wine Competition, and a Gold at the San Francisco International Wine Competition.
Our wines are an integral part of the Texas tradition of fine cuisine. They have inspired celebrity chefs to craft pairings, and where possible we include these pairings in the presentation of our wines.”