I'll be your Uber driver tonight.

I've never used Uber. I get the concept, and the concept scares the hell out of me.

As I understand it, through an app on your smartphone you let Uber know you need a ride.

Then, they let a complete stranger, who's somehow managed to pass a cursory background check while hiding the fact he killed three kids in Jersey, know where you are and what you look like.

They pull up in their personal car, which may or may not have been serviced or inspected since they've owned it ("Brake pads?! That's just crazy talk."), and you get in.

That thing you heard through your entire childhood about getting into cars with strangers? Yeah, not so much.

Google "bad Uber experience" and you'll get thousands of pages detailing horror stories. On the flip side, there's a website called Diary Of An Uber Driver, written by an anonymous driver, who appears to work in Australia, about the nightmare customers he's picked up. It's quite funny, although not as funny as this blog or Round Seventeen.

The reason I'm ranting about Uber is I was mulling over becoming a driver to research a short story in the works.

Fortunately, I sat still for a few minutes, the urge passed and I thought of something else to write about.

As far as I can tell, being an Uber driver does have a few things in common with freelancing: you work when you want. You can take long gigs (drives) or short ones. And you have to make a good impression each time out so they'll ask for you again (passengers get to rate their driver through the app).

On the other hand, when I'm freelancing at home or in an agency, rarely does anyone throw up where I'm working, leave their purse or wallet on my desk, fall asleep in the chair next to me (unless we're in a status meeting) or scratch my upholstery with their keys. Then expect me to clean it up.

The reason I even signed up for Uber - did I mention I signed up for Uber? - is because of my son. He doesn't have a car while he's at school, so he'll be using public transportation (which university students ride for free), getting rides with friends and using Uber when he has to. The deal was if I signed up, he gets $20 in free rides.

Which is $20 I don't have to spot him, so sign me up.

The catch is he doesn't get the credit until I take my first ride. Around the block counts, right?

Theory of flight

I have a theory about flying. It's a simple one really, and it goes like this: no matter what the destination, there is no flight too short for first.

Elitist? Maybe. Expensive? Definitely. Worth it? Without a doubt.

This shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who follows this blog (and if you do follow this blog, you really need to get out more). After all, I've posted before here about the rapid decline in respect for air travel as evidenced by the caliber of people who fly. And by that I mean people who fly coach.

I know how I sound. And, as is typical of first class passengers, I don't care.

We used to go see family in Carmel, CA. While my wife and kids would get all excited about the six hour road trip up there (by road trip they meant monotonous drive up interstate 5, with a stop at the McDonald's in Buttonwillow being the highlight of the trip), I on the other hand would make my airline reservations. I'd fly from L.A. to S.F., then take jet-service back down to Monterey.

The flight from San Francisco to Monterey is exactly 16 minutes. Know where I sat? In the front of the plane. I'd buy upgrade coupons from United in books of four, and I wasn't afraid to use them.

So when I went to New York a couple weekends ago to see my friend Holland Taylor in the Broadway show ANN, which she wrote and stars in, there was no question what part of the plane I was going to sit in.

Which is why you're looking at a picture of the left wing and engine as seen from seat 2A.