Observations of Iowa:
Iowa is an entirely unremarkable state. Its expanses of empty fields leave a person feeling at home or isolated from reality. I tend to believe that I am in the latter. It is true that I was born here but that is saying very little. About six months after my birth, my mother packed me up and moved us to live with my father’s family in Wisconsin. One of many moves I will undoubtedly make during my journey through life. My perceptions of Iowa, prior to moving here, consisted of what I had seen in the few trips to visit distant relatives. Of course, the open fields, the agrarian communities strewn across the landscape like stars in the nights sky, and a relatively slow pace to life all define Iowa. Since moving here, those observations are still evident but there are other truths I have come upon.
Over the course of 24 years, I must have shed whatever outer appearance I may have had that linked me to Iowa. I can enter any restaurant or bar in this state and it is as if I have some infectious disease which is outwardly noticeable to all but me. Like out of a Hollywood movie, I enter through the front door, the music in the juke box screeches to a halt and every neck snaps in my direction to look at the incoming freak show. I want to scream the immortal words of Joseph Merrick, "I am not an animal!" I have a high and tight hairstyle, t-shirt and jeans. I am not dressed any differently than anyone else but for some weird reason, people in Iowa have a sixth sense for people not of Iowa.

Girls in Iowa are pretty disappointing as well. Upon my arrival, I asked if there were any good looking girls around and when pointed towards a few examples, I said a very eager, "No thanks." My coworkers countered me by saying that they will begin to look "good" after a few months. What is this, prison? The fact of the matter is, they were right. I know that I have been here too long when the girls in Iowa Falls start to look like a good idea. Thank goodness I will be able to leave in a couple of weeks. This may be an exaggeration but it's pretty damn close...Iowa has been kind to me in many ways, however. The people at the college are nice and the fact that I don’t have to pay for rent or food is a bonus. My room is just that. Four walls made of the best cinder block money can buy. The electricity is steady and rarely goes out. The cable is fuzzy but, also, rarely goes out.

The food choices in this town however make it difficult to maintain a weight below a metric ton. Every restaurant is a buffet, which combined with my lacking strength of will can be a lethal combination. I have a super mini fridge in my room which stores about two meals worth of food so... I either have to shop for groceries every day or try to work off every bit of food I eat. It’s a daunting challenge but one I have to be up for.
These are just a few observations I have had on Iowa thus far. I am sure I will have more but until then, keep on keepin’ on. For more on Iowa, here is Bullsh** video about it...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UqgKGtYfr_U

Social Interactions and Flying

I am not the most approachable person in the world. I do this intentionally. I place headphones in my ears most everywhere I go. Even if there is no music coming from my ipod or even if I have no ipod at all. I wear black shirts to further make myself appear darker, more evil. Not to mention the slimming advantages that come with black clothing. I am a master at giving a good scowl. When a person appears to have a desire to sit near me or, heaven help them, strike up a conversation, the look I will shoot them would bare a striking resemblance to that of a death row inmate. This is never more evident than on an airplane.
The airplane itself does not bother me. My earliest memories as a child were of flying alone across the country to see my father one week a year or visiting distant relatives in order to give my mom a break from me. I am an experienced flyer and I know all of the tricks. I know that if you wedge the Sky Mall Catalog just right in the hinges of the seat in front of you, that it will be incapable of reclining and allow you greater personal space. I know that the seat cushion below me can be used as a flotation device and a pretty wicked pillow if there are very few people on board. I know that if you ask for anything with a smile from the flight attendants, they will go out of their way to help you just to break the monotony of doing the pre-flight safety announcements and serving peanuts. All of these things are right up my alley when it comes to flying on a plane. What I lament is the interactions with others.
If I am going to be stuck in a cylindrical tube for hours, hurtling through the sky, I want to be left alone. I always board the plane early. Usually, I will take the seat I want to sit in whether I am assigned to sit there or not. I then proceed to shoot dirty looks at every person who enters the plane. I want that seat and if someone has the balls to call me on it, they will get it.
No one ever has the balls.
I once sat in a seat that a couple of newlyweds had assigned to them. The wife sat next to me and the husband, realizing that I, the evil looking guy with his headphones, had stolen his seat. He proceeded to find somewhere else to sit about ten rows further back. He didn’t even say a word. I thought I should warn the newly married woman to my right that she had just wed a complete pussy. I had a feeling that she knew without me saying anything. Now that is my type of communication.
The worst people to sit next to on a plane are elderly women. I don’t know what it is but the mind games just don’t work with old women. I could be handcuffed with federal marshals guarding me and a mask which protects me from eating others. Like Hannibal Lector or something. It doesn’t phase them. They will want to use the time to tell their story. They will plop right down next to you and, God forbid, you make eye contact. That is their opening. The next three hours will be spent hearing about their granddaughters piano recital, how she used to buy her groceries with a wooden nickel, or any assortment of useless tedium she can spew. I can’t stand it. Socializing must be important for them. I can’t blame them. It has to be better than wandering around the "home" from room to room comparing bedsores.
My worst experience on a flight happened recently. It started out perfectly. I found a good seat. One right next to the window. I like window seats because I have a wall to rest my head against and I can close the window and piss off everyone in my row.
That is a personal favorite.
I was also in an emergency exit row for this flight. The seats in front of you can’t recline so I wouldn’t need to use the old Sky Mall trick. The best part of the trip was that there was a teenage boy sitting next to me. Awesome. He had headphones in, as did I, and we would have an uneventful, no words allowed flight. I pulled my hat down over my eyes and proceeded to fall asleep. I wasn’t that tired but it always makes a flight go quicker.
We must have hit some turbulence somewhere during the flight. It wasn’t enough to wake me. It was however enough to upset the teenager’s delicate stomach. I was awakened by what felt like being sprayed with a hose. The boy, instead of reaching for the barf bag in the seat pocket, decided that if he was going to hurl, it was going to be in my general direction.
Karma.
The projectile vomit sprayed all over my face and neck, then proceeded to douse my jacket before I knew what was happening. The spray went seemingly everywhere, everywhere on me. Because I sleep with my mouth open, sure enough, I could taste his lunch. Chunks were stuck in my goatee. My entire right side of my body was covered in a chunky pink vomit. I did not say a word to the kid. He didn’t even try to apologize. And people wonder why I don’t like people.
Because of the turbulence, the fasten seat belt sign was on and we weren’t allowed to get out of our seats. I know because I tried. The flight attendant, presumably thinking that I had just puked all over myself, witnessed me trying to get into the plane’s bathroom. She told me to go back to my seat until we landed. It was another twenty minutes before we were safely on the ground.
Twenty minutes of sitting, covered in puke.
A multitude of questions go through your head when you are forced to sit in a confined space while lathered in a nice aromatic layer of vomit.
"Why couldn’t he have just used the barf bag?"
"Was the turbulence that bad that it would call for THIS?"
"Would it be justifiable homicide if I took my belt off and proceeded to strangle the life out of this little shit?"
After the grueling fight with myself on how I should deal with this situation, we landed and I proceeded to rush to the plane’s bathroom. I cleaned my face and hands, removed my jacket and shirt until I had nothing left but my thin white undershirt. Fortunately, the flight attendants did have a plastic bag for my clothes that had been ruined. As if I wanted them back, ever.
Anything to break the monotony, right?
I then used the poor excuse for running water to douse my pants and rinse the chunks from my jeans. I could not clean it all off and my body reeked of bile, stomach acid and remnants of a lunch forever lost. I still had another two hour flight to take and all of my clothes were in the belly of the plane. I took a different seat on that same plane and flew the remaining hour to my final destination. Needless to say, I had no problems keeping people from talking to me after that.