The right connections

Assuming you're going to read this post—and I recognize that's a big assumption—are you going to read it all the way through the first time, or stop halfway, go do something else for an hour, then come back and finish it?

Stop talking, it's a rhetorical question.

If you're going to read it, you'll do it nonstop until you get to the end. And why wouldn't you? It's easier, it takes less time and you can get to whatever you're doing afterwards a lot faster.

All the same reasons I like to fly nonstop.

It's literally been 21 years since I last took a connecting flight somewhere. The only reason was because it was the only way I could get to a surprise birthday party I'd arranged for a friend who was shooting a movie in Ponca City, Oklahoma. If you've never been to Ponca City, the Walmart on Saturday night is the hot tip. You're welcome.

Of course, part of the reason it's been so long since I've been on a connecting flight is I usually fly to destinations that are easy to get to directly. San Francisco. Las Vegas. New York. Las Vegas. Seattle. Las Vegas. Portland. Las Vegas. Austin. You get the pattern.

With how much I love gambling (how could you tell?), you'd think I'd book connecting flights more often. It's always a roll of the dice whether or not it'll be on time, the connecting flight will be there when I land, or the weather will cooperate at the second airport of the day.

I was just in Iowa. I had to fly to Denver, connect to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, then drive an hour and a half to where I was going in Iowa. It was an adventure, but it wasn't fun.

Like visits to the dentist, prostate exams and tax returns, I just prefer to have it done and over with as soon as possible. But because of the airline hub structure, and my need to go to little out-of-the-way towns in Iowa, I don't have as much choice in the matter as I used to.

I suppose the thing to do would be to look at connecting flights as a way to see parts of the country I wouldn't normally see, fly a variety of aircraft I wouldn't otherwise get to experience and rack up more frequent flier miles than I might going nonstop.

I also suppose I could also look at kale as cotton candy, but that's not happening either.

Eye in the sky

Sometimes I really love technology.

For example, today my daughter had a flight on Delta from Los Angeles to Nashville. I can already see you being judgmental from here, but just know it wasn't me who put her on Delta. I'm not that kind of parent. It's a school trip to a singing competition, and the choir director was responsible for booking the flight.

I'd have gone with Jet Blue or American, and my little princess definitely would've been sitting in the front of the plane because she's the best daughter in the world and deserves first class all the way.

I've scored enough dad points for one night.

The technology I love is the FlyDelta app. It let's me track where my baby is in real time with all the essential information: departure time, estimated arrival time, altitude, time in flight, time remaining and a map of where she is at any given moment.

Every airline has a similar app, but Delta's, unlike the airline itself, is fairly intuitive.

I like knowing when she lands. That way when she calls me an hour and a half later and says "I just landed." I have a card to play later on I can use as leverage for things like room cleaning, or laundry doing, or car borrowing (not that she'd ever do that, because she's as honest as the day is long - more dad points).

My son also flies back and forth a lot from his out-of-state university, and when he does I have my eyes on his airline flight app as well. My babies mean the world to me and I like knowing they've arrived safely.

To me, the airline apps that let me track flight status is technology at its peace of mind given', stress relievin', parentally reassurin', easy breathin' best.

I just hope I can find one to make sure she doesn't listen to country music when she gets back.

Sticking the landing

When I freelanced in San Francisco for nine months, I was living in Santa Monica. I'd fly up every Monday morning, and back every Friday night. Occasionally, I'd have to come back a time or two mid-week. What I'm saying is lots of take-offs and landings.

Landings, with all they imply, are a welcome part of any flight. It means the screaming baby in 11B will soon be a thing of the past, you'll be able to take your iPhone off airplane mode and, provided you don't clobber someone taking your carry-on out of the overhead, you'll never have to see, make small talk or apologize to any of these people again.

What I've noticed a lot, especially in the age of discount airlines, is that when landing, a lot of times pilots simply come in hot. They have schedules to make, flight attendants to diddle (make sure they're fastened low and tight across your waist) or another plane to pilot. They're in a hurry to touchdown.

We've all been on that flight where you feel your bones rattle when the plane slams onto the runway, and then a flight attendant blows the dust off some old joke over the P.A. like, "As you may have noticed, we've just dropped into Kennedy."

Rare is a pilot who manages to stick the landing. I was fortunate enough to have one on my flight this morning.

It's family weekend at young Mr. Spielberg's university. So the wife and I hopped JetBlue to the red state to see our boy. When we touched down, it was barely noticeable if you weren't looking out the window and watching the ground come up. The wheels hit the asphalt with a gentle, feather touch. Both of them in sync, making contact at the same time. No loud screech of the rubber hitting the road. No one gear down and then the other. There wasn't a person within earshot who could stop talking about how perfect it was.

So kudos and many thanks to the JetBlue pilot(s) this morning. You gave a cabin full of sleepy, weary travelers a gentle reminder how the talents of a skilled pilot can make getting where you're going much more pleasant.

To everyone who flies, I wish for you what I had today. Happy landings.

Summertime, Spartans and bagpipes oh my

I have to admit as open and freewheeling as I like to think I am, the truth is I'm probably much more a creature of habit.

For example, there are two staples of my summer every year. The first is a four-and-a-half day trip to San Diego for Comic Con with my son. The second is our family tradition, now in its twelfth year, of a few days in late summer at the Hotel Del Coronado. I look forward to each of them equally, but for obviously different reasons.

I mean, you almost never see women scantily dressed as Spartans from the movie 300 at the Hotel Del. And try as you might, it's just impossible to find a four-piece shrimp cocktail for forty-five dollars at Comic Con (I've taken the liberty of not including a picture - you're welcome).

Each place is unique in its own way.

This year however, in a fit of wanderlust and gypsy channeling, the wife brought up the idea of going someplace different. When I heard her say that, two thoughts went careening through my head: first, by different I hope she means in addition to, because there's no way I'm giving up my two summer traditions (cue Tradition from Fiddler on the Roof).

And second, how much is this going to cost me? Especially at this late date.

Still, I like the idea of adding a third leg to the summer routine.

In summers past, before Comic Con and the Del, we’ve gone up north and spent a few days in San Francisco. One particular time, we enjoyed a week in the Hapsburg Suite at the Fairmont that we'd won in a charity auction. I like to file it under worse things could happen.

But I'm afraid the wife is thinking of a somewhat larger, more distant trip - more along the lines of Scotland.

Now don't get me wrong. I've been told more than once that I have legs that were meant for a kilt. And once I get past the idea that bagpipes sound like a bag of cats screaming to get out, I actually enjoy them.

The problem with a trip like that, as with so many things in life, is timing. We’re already late in the game as far as booking air fare and hotels at any kind of reasonable price. Plus – and this is a good problem to have – I seem to be getting fairly booked up work wise, so I don’t know how I’d clear the days. With freelance, no worky no money.

Still, because I've been known to occasionally act on a whim, pour gas on the credit cards and ask forgiveness later, I’m going to brush up on my brogue and see if I can acquire a taste for porridge and kippers just in case.

If it does turn out to be Scotland, the only thing I know for sure is I’m not playing golf when we get there.

Quick warning: clip has language not be suitable for the youngsters.

First class warfare

Yesterday I flew home from San Francisco on Jet Blue. Unfortunately it wasn't the Jet Blue flight where they played tackle the captain, but even without that it was an interesting flight.

Looking around at my fellow flyers, it got me to thinking about how much flying has changed. There are the necessary inconveniences that have been instituted since 9/11 (by the way, all for them - scan, frisk, question away - no problem with it). But there have been other changes that haven't been as sudden or as obvious. Ones that've crept up on the flying public slowly over many years, so subtly that we've gotten used to them in a way we would never have stood for had they been imposed in one fell swoop (by the way, one fell swoop is a manuever pilots try to avoid).

Most airlines only have two or three cabin classes: First Class, Business Class and Coach Class. But if you've been on a plane even once since airlines were deregulated 35 years ago, you know they should rename those sections Low Class and No Class.

The currency of air travel has been cheapened by catering to the lowest common denominator. I'm just going to say it: there really are some people who shouldn't be flying.

Mr. Hefty Garbage Bag for Luggage, Greyhound has a seat waiting for you where I'm sure you'd feel much more at home. Mr. Wifebeater Shirt & Shorts Guy (Flip Flops optional), you're already living in a trailer - why not just take it off the blocks, put the wheels back on it and let your absence be felt. And, let me put this delicately, I think the words wide body should apply to the planes, not the passengers. Especially the passengers spilling over next to me.

With all the absurd fees the airlines are charging for everything from extra legroom to bathroom privileges, you'd think they could put some rules in place that would insure a more pleasant flight for everyone.

There was after all a time when flying was glamorous. It was an adventure. People dressed for the occasion (people used to dress for a lot of occasions but don't anymore. Been to a play lately?). I'm not saying there should be a dress code, but even some restaurants ban shorts, t-shirts and flip flops. They do it for health reasons. Airlines could too. For starters it would lower the blood pressure of the rest of us who have to fly with the sartorially and hygienically challenged.

It's great that almost everyone can afford to get where they're going by plane. But people, good Lord, check the mirror before you leave for the airport.

Just because self-respect has made an early departure doesn't mean it's a one-way trip.