Friday, October 12, 2001

Skyfall?!

I wasn't at all apprehensive about boarding a plane and heading off to New York this weekend. Frankly, although I fly all the time and hardly give it a second thought, I've really never entirely believed in airplanes.

Sure, I understand the rudiments of science that make jet travel possible, but I've always operated on the assumption that planes were nothing more than long, metal bumblebees, physically incapable of sustained flight and held up not by lift and jet power, but by faith. They are held aloft, I thought, by our collective belief in them, the same way the national economy is — more or less — held up because everyone seems to share the delusion that little green pieces of paper have some worth.

So, yeah, winging off to New York tomorrow didn't concern me in the least.

And then the FBI announced that they heard from a guy who knew somebody whose brother's second cousin's girlfriend said there might be another attack or two on the United States "in the next several days." The code name they assigned to this tidbit of "information"? Skyfall.

Skyfall! Great mother of Chicken-fuckin-Little, can you imagine being the public relations officer on watch when that beauty hit the papers?

So for most of today, I was as skittish as a hen about boarding TWA 468. More than twice I considered scrapping the whole trip, excited though I was about hugging old friends, seeing a couple of shows and a city I haven't spent more than a couple days at a time in for more than two years.

At 5:04 p.m. today, though, my nervousness vanished and my resolve to live my life unmolested by terror returned.

Why? Because the gods smiled upon me and said, "You wanna see The Producers, eh? Sure, why not? Will third row mezzanine seats for the Sunday matinee be OK?"

"Yes," I answered in humble suplication. "Yes, that will be very, very OK."

I'm going to see The Producers on Sunday afternoon at three. And that means I'm getting on that plane tomorrow. That means if anyone, for any reason, tries to bring that plane down and kill people and cause mayhem and fuck with my vacation and my chance to see the hottest show on Broadway, I'm gonna scream like a banshee and kick 'em hard in the nuts.

Give my regards to Bialystock and Bloom, and tell 'em I'll be there 'ere long.