Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Having said all we did on Monday, for the love of humanity there are certain offline activities to avoid. My soul may rest peacefully, now that I’ve clarified this point. Should we meet at some kind of Renaissance fair, ten or twenty years down the road, and you find me in full costume as Sir Dancealot, Lord of Song, you save me, understand? You print this shit out–you print this shit out on parchment, if necessary–and you remind me of our discussion.

Let’s switch gears tonight, with the holidays fast approaching, and talk about air travel, specifically the safety thereof. You flight aficionados will want to tune out, I imagine, because you already know all the stats that need knowing, and that’s cool. But for the rest of us–the Icarus, as it were–let’s gather ’round.

You’ve had this discussion, probably, about how flying is safer than driving. Despite all the data, some will invariably brush aside the stats, claiming that sitting behind the wheel affords a greater sense of control, which always seemed a little odd. I mean, seldom do you hear the same argument leveled against buses or subways, right? I know when I board mass transit, I don’t tell the conductor to scoot over so I can help out. Similarly, I’m not sure how much differently I’d fly the plane, were I in the pilot’s seat. I suppose I’d be all, like, “I know you guys wanted LaGuardia, but I chose Montreal instead” or “Oh, so don’t fly into the commuter plane. Got it.”

Others cleave tightly to numbers, swearing that planes are the statistically safest way to go. Here’s the thing, though, and it all boils down to chance, namely the chance of walking away from an accident. Say we’re all sitting in a modern automobile, encased in a galvanized alloy cage complete with traction control and restraints and all manners of air bags. This stuff isn’t there so we can magically avoid catastrophe–it’s so that when bedlam strikes, we might just emerge. Not so when we’re suspended tens of thousands of feet above ground. Sure, maybe that stray turbine blade decapitated you, but at least your tray table was in an upright and locked position. And do you really think your seat cushion is going to keep you afloat in 1,000 degrees Celsius? That plane crashes, we’re all fucking dead.

In summary, Southwest’s snack selection has been lackluster as of late.