I'm not quite sure exactly who or what is responsible for the geographic layout of this big blue ball we inhabit, but I would certainly like to have a 'chinwag' with those in charge of topography. They went completely bonkers over large bodies of water. I mean this stuff covers roughly two-thirds of the earth's surface for pity's sake. I don't know who got the bid on this job of arranging continents around massive bodies of water, but I think the outsourcing on this one really sucks.

Here is why I am mildly apoplectic about this setup. Since it is not remotely possible to build bridges over these vast expanses of oceans and seas, and since time is of the essence in this the 21st Century, one has little choice but to fly. For me, this falls under the heading of 'necessary evil'. Any journey that begins and ends with airborne transportation is my idea of the ultimate punishment.

As far as I'm concerned planes are just high tech mausoleums with wings. Not to mention that these days, the process of flying is literally a cattlecall. You are herded aboard much like cattle being led to slaughter, merely replacing the 'Judas Goat' with several uniformed airline personnel. (But never under estimate their sacrificial intent!).

After stuffing all personal belongings in overhead compartments, one is then obliged to 'stuff' oneself into a rigidly designed seat, (I've seen electric chairs that looked more inviting) in close proximity to the rest of the human equivalent to Hereford cattle (all that is lacking is the numbered ear tag).

When all have been neatly crammed into this cylindrical tomb, the airtight door to the crypt is slammed shut and sealed tight. My chest simultaneously slams shut for the remainder of the flight. I feel as if I have been involuntarily entombed with no way to let the outside world know I am still very much among the living. (Do you know how difficult it is to write your last will and testament on cheap, 1-ply toilet paper in a damn water closet half the size of a phone booth ... with turbulence?).

For one such as myself, who puts great stock in being in control, this is a most unsettling turn of events. I have now become a captive audience and at the mercy of those who fly this craft to its final destination and without benefit of being able to backseat drive.

I would feel safer flying on the back of a California Condor; at least I would be out in the open air. With the added benefit of a helmet and a catcher's mask to trap the bugs, this could be a rather nice alternative to the tonnage of metal designed to defy gravity and the laws of physics and fly. This has always had 'bad idea' written all over it.

The concept of 'flight', as it pertains to airplanes, seems to me to be a folly filled with hubris and I feel each time I participate in this ongoing 'Kitty Hawk' experiment, I am contributing to its ever increasing state of insanity.

I will preface this next statement by saying that I do not imbibe, as a rule, and I do not take drugs. That said, on occasions where I have no choice but to fly, I am all about exceptions to the rule.

Example: Ativan immediately washed down with a nice serving of Russian Kool-aid, aka, Mother vodka, is pretty much an acceptable act on my part. Anything that will unlock my jaw and release my muscular system to within normal range works for me.

While I dearly love visiting other countries, the 'travel' part is something I could do without. I keep hoping teleportation will become commonplace and make conventional flying obsolete.

However, it would probably be my luck that the upper half of my anatomy would become separated from the bottom half upon attempted reassembly. Much like luggage goes its own way on conventional airlines today.

I would love to hear the explanation those at the teleportation terminals would have ready for this particular dilemma ... "Madame, we have located your lower extremities in Newark and they will be here directly." "In the meanwhile, please help yourself to a complimentary beverage of your choice." What sort or training must one go through in order to say that with a straight face?

Hmm, given a choice of possibly being separated from a vital part of my anatomy or suffering in silence while being entombed on an airplane, I think maybe the airplane isn't so bad after all.

To all of you who fly the friendly skies, if, in your journeys, you happen to encounter a diminutive woman with very short, yet stylish, gray hair and she appears to be in a quasi-Zen state, not to worry. It is just the Ativan and vodka kicking in; she is in no pain and all anxiety has left her body. She will be completely fine for the duration. A semi-catatonic state in this situation is "a good thing" to quote Martha Stewart.