July 28th, 2004
109102733915227381
…originally recorded July 17th…
Donald Duck orange juice
I have an unofficial metric for rating the conscientiousness of airlines by the beverage snacks they serve. Easter China Airlines has become the new archetype for insensitivity towards those with lethal allergies to certain legumes. The entire plane’s economy section is served by about five TV screens roughly the size of a GameBoy Advance. Not that I’m interested in seeing clearly anyway, it seems most of them have large striated swatches of dead black space making for an interesting artistic statement. I’m not sure if the beer is named Reeb, or they just chose to write the letters right to left. The manufacturer’s crest bears a stylized ‘R’, so I guess Reeb it is.
Yes there’s nothing at all like a dixie cup of lukewarm Reeb to welcome you home to the People’s country. Note the clear marking that this beverage contains/was prepared with a full ten degrees P of something. Pasteurization? Preprocessing? Politburo? Whatever it is, I’m sure the competing labels only have eight or nine.
I’ve heard “How much is it?” so many times in the last two days I’m ready to claw my ears off, this may be a sign that my ‘learning by insane repetition’ method may have detrimental psychological side effects. A lot can be said for how softly one intones the syllables of a language. I wonder if I got Sarah McLachlan or Karen Carpenter to coo “that’s too expensive” it would be less painful.
I think that I’ve travelled internationally so much in the last twenty-four months that I’ve adapted completely and can handle it without stress or worry. That or I am on the very cusp of wanton mania. It’s a toss up.
I almost wanted to use the word ‘mayhem’ but I think that suggests a little more organization and a definitive goal. I remember the archvillain in M.A.S.K. was a mustached portly fellow known as Max Mayhem. Now there’s a name for you.
“I’ll get you Trakker!”
I can’t continue my discussion of afterschool 80s cartoons– the meal has just arrived. I was about to remove my humidifying mask to declare which entree I wanted but I quickly discovered I’m having beef. There is no choice. How very fittingly Communist. 
Elan would appreciate the irony of the situation. This reminds me of an old Wendy’s commercial featuring an Soviet fashion show where everyone is wearing drab colors and a rotund, hairy woman struts on stage wearing the same ochre Glad bag of a dress for each category (evening wear, casual wear, swim wear). It always cracks me up, I think it’s the only reason I play ‘Commericial Crazies‘ anymore. That, and John Moschitta.
ECA is not without its bounty. Despite a lack of breadth, I received not one but two separate mini-bottles of soy sauce, more than enough for administration of a near-lethal dosage. Additionally, judging by the number of times the beverage cart has stopped by I could easily have imbibed enough Reeb to get even a Tibetan musk ox inebriated. However, I chose to play it safe and stick to one as I’ll need my wits (and trilingual translation skills) about me.
