An open letter to United Airlines, the Focus of Evil in the Modern World

Dear United Airlines,

Good morning! I hate to tear you away from your conference with Satan and his Army of the Night (morning seminar: "Goodness and Light in the World: How United Can Help Destroy It"), but I have just a couple of small notes on the recent trip I took on your airline. Constructive criticism, right!

Here's the Executive Summary: I contracted with you to take me from San Francisco to Tucson and back, and YOU FAILED TO DO EITHER ONE CORRECTLY. You'd think, just by SHEER CHANCE ALONE, you'd get one of them right, wouldn't you? NOPE. You actually had to TRY to fail this miserably at the task which you ADVERTISE YOURSELF AS BEING ABLE TO DO SUCCESSFULLY.

Let’s recap and see if we can figure out what went wrong:

PHASE ONE: SAN FRANCISCO TO TUCSON, VIA LOS ANGELES, THURSDAY, MARCH 24.

So The Wife and I are going to a little town outside Tucson to see my Mom, who for some reason decided to live there. Anyway, we’re supposed to leave SFO at 6:30, change planes in LA, and get to Tucson around 10:30 pm. Long layover in LA but whatever. That gives us 2 1/2 days there, coming back on Sunday.

It’s raining at SFO, and we’re about an hour delayed. Oddly, one of your minions says the delay is occasioned by “bringing in another plane from Seattle,” which doesn’t sound weather-related at all, unless the Seattle plane is a Magical Weather-Resistant Plane that can fly through the most violent storm without incident. Anyway, we all get on, very late now, and fly to LAX. We land there at 9:15. Guess what? Our flight from LAX to Tucson is scheduled to leave LAX promptly at 9:15. Now THAT flight, of course, left with Germanic precision, at 9:15:00, one minute before The Wife and I arrive at the gate. GUESS YOU CAN LEAVE ON TIME WHEN IT HELPS FUCK ME OVER HUH?

Well, that’s life. Let’s go to the Service Counter and get our hotel voucher and we’ll leave tomorrow morning. What’s that, United? You won’t pay for a hotel, because the delay was weather-related? The Magical Weather Plane wasn’t the cause? Oh, that’s great. So far, we’re out $90 for a hotel in LA, plus a $80 bar tab at said hotel that I also blame you for, United. But little did we know, the worst – much, much, much worse – is yet to come.

The next day, mirabile dictu, we get on an 11:50 am flight on standby and make it to Tucson. We weren’t vaporized by acid and the plane didn’t explode in midair, so POINT TO YOU, UNITED. YOU GET A GOLD STAR STICKER IN YOUR STICKER BOOK FOR THIS FLIGHT.

So we see Mom blah blah blah that’s a whole other blog post coming soon.

PHASE TWO: TUCSON TO SAN FRANCISCO, VIA LOS ANGELES (SUPPOSEDLY), SUNDAY, MARCH 27.

Sunday was a gorgeous day in the Greater Tucson Area. Bright sunshine, low 70s. Perfect day to travel! UNLESS YOU’RE ON UNITED AIRLINES IN WHICH CASE THIS DAY IS A BLACK AND HORRIFYING SCENE OF HUMAN MISERY AND DEBASEMENT.

Just as we arrive at the Tucson airport at 11:30 a.m. for our 1:30 p.m. flight to LAX, I receive a robocall on my phone. "YOUR FLIGHT," the robotic voice of one of United’s Archdemons Who United Chairman Glenn Tilton Keeps When Needed to Unleash Hell on United Customers informed me, "HAS BEEN CANCELLED." The culprit? Oh, it’s that tricky “weather” again! For some reason, EVERY OTHER AIRLINE has developed the capability of flying in the rain, but Ultra-Cautious United has a different approach: “A stiff breeze? A fine mist? DANGER DANGER GROUND ALL PLANES!!!! IT’S NOT SAFE!!!! WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!!!!!!!”

UPDATE: Wait, The Wife just reminded me that this flight was cancelled due to the ever-mysterious "mechanical problems," not "weather." So I was wrong to blame United's inability to fly a plane in a light fog. I should have blamed United's inability to manage to have aplane mechanically able to fly a short flight you've known about for months in advance.

United Customer Service Agent #3442. How may I help you?

So we make our way to the counter, where two United Agents await. Here we arrive at a bright spot in the story, for we chose wisely. Our guy, John Something, immediately went to work trying to get us home. The Tall Bald Guy with a Moustache next to him took a different approach. When the girl next to us asked for help getting back to LA, he said “SORRY!!! NOTHING I CAN DO!!! SEE YOU TOMORROW MORNING!!” She left weeping. Meanwhile, John Something tapped and tapped and developed a solution: We would fly USAir from Tucson to Phoenix, then USAir from Phoenix to Santa Barbara, then United from Santa Barbara to SFO. We’d be home at 8:30 that night, earlier than the original itinerary! Sold! THANKS JOHN SOMETHING!! Off we go.

I have to admit, hubris took over and in Phoenix we were positively giddy. We’d made it! Sure, we were conducting our own Personal Tour of Western Airports, but we were going to get home! I mean, USAir was taking care of shit, and United only had to do one thing: Get us from Santa Barbara to SFO! Even stupid, incompetent, hateful, evil United could get ONE THING RIGHT that day, right?

What do you think?

20 minutes before boarding time for the ON-TIME, TOTALLY PROFESSIONAL, NON-WEATHER-AVERSE USAir flight to Santa Barbara, RING RING RING. It’s one of United Chairman Glenn Tilton’s Demons calling again!!! OH NO!!!! YOUR FLIGHT, Tilton’s Pet Demon says, HAS BEEN CANCELLED.

Jesus Fucking Christ. NOW IT IS WAR, UNITED AIRLINES. Here is a list of people who HATE UNITED AIRLINES:

1. Jesus
2. Mother Theresa
3. TK and The Wife
4. All Good and True People of the World

So I get on the phone to the United Call Center, located in Strange Accentia, Somewhereland. I don’t even know what I said. My eyes had rolled back in my head and I was frothing at the mouth. Mothers were directing their children away from me. I asked to speak to a supervisor. I might have been speaking in Latin at some point. All I know is, at the end, United agreed to refund the entire ticket price and we were at the Southwest counter, buying the last two seats on a flight from Phoenix to Vegas to SFO. Which was a little delayed, BUT NOT CANCELLED LIKE UNITED DOES EVERY TIME.

We’ll see if the refund shows up on my credit card. So far, nothing.

So in closing, United, good show. You almost beat me. Cancelling that flight from Santa Barbara to SFO was a masterstroke. That would have broken many lesser men. Well-played, Glenn Tilton. Somehow we made it. Slink back to your Evil Lair and try again.

Please, please, please, refund my money like you said you would. Next time I’m in Chicago, we’ll go out for Virgin’s Blood and the Flesh of Your Enemies.

Your pal,

TK

I am going to Arizona

I should be there around 10:30 tonight.

"Are you going to spring training, TK? That's totally rad!!!!"

No. I am not going to spring training. Yes, that would be totally rad, but that is not why I'm going to Arizona. Normally I would be loath to contribute financially in any way to that Godforsaken Tea Party paradise, but unfortunately my Mom lives there and I ran out of reasons why I couldn't come visit her. So off we go. That lunatic already has our days planned out to the minute and I assure you that little or no relaxation is on the sched.

ANYWAY. At least it's in the 70's during the day and NOT FUCKING RAINING. I don't know whether or not I'll be blogging, but I'm sure I'll be dropping my usual bon mots via Twitter. Have a good weekend.

Why the Barry Bonds perjury trial is a complete waste of your money

As you may have heard, especially if you live in the Bay Area[*], former San Francisco Giant and all-time Major League Baseball home run leader Barry Lamar Bonds is on trial for lying to a federal grand jury about whether or not he used steroids. Contrary to what you might think, he's not on trial for actually using steroids, he's on trial for saying he didn't when he did.

Let's start out by assuming two basic premises are true:

1. Barry Bonds knowingly used steroids while he was a baseball player; and
2. Barry Bonds lied to a federal grand jury when he said otherwise.

Now, if we accept those things are true, what should the federal government do about it? What they've decided to do is to use your money (and mine, and Barry Bonds', presumably) to empanel and inconvenience 12 citizens and conduct a jury trial at some (probably not inconsequential) expense. I am more than willing to agree that people emphatically should not lie to grand juries while under oath, but is this prosecution really the way we want to spend our money?

Yes, Barry Bonds once looked like this.

I mean, I guess it SENDS A MESSAGE that you won't get away with lying under oath, so that's great, but (1) how many people are ever put in the position of needing to lie under oath, and (2) is this trial going to convince them not to, if their ass is on the line? "Well, I really want to lie and deny my part in that multinational cocaine-smuggling conspiracy, but I don't want what happened to Barry to happen to me, so I guess I'll admit it.") We can all agree that it would be best if people told the truth ton grand juries, and that Barry should suffer some consequence for not doing so, BUT BUT BUT prosecutors routinely pick and choose what crimes to prosecute and what crimes to let go.

Whether you like it or not, some other criminal is currently not getting prosecuted in federal court while Barry is. Does it make sense? I mean, the feds could be going after the investment bankers who conspired with bond rating agencies to award AAA ratings to mortgage-backed securities that the I-bankers and ratings agencies both knew were about as valuable as a used Scratcher, but instead we get this.

Here's the Real Story: The vast majority of people in Barry's position would reach some kind of plea deal and this would never go trial, because the government has essentially unlimited resources in the context of a given criminal case and 99.9% of the citizenry does not. Ergo, they can't afford to go to trial, and they make some kind of deal. But Barry DOES HAVE, essentially, unlimited resources, and nothing better to do, so he CAN go to trial. And the government doesn't have to dismiss the case - I mean, they get paid to do this - and before long you have a dick-size contest between the defense attorney and the prosecutor and before you know it we have the spectacle of 12 hapless citizens being forced to listen to testimony about the size of Barry Bonds' testicles as part of the government's effort to get him sentenced to spend a few months in his mansion. YAY JUSTICE!!!

And then the prosecutor can go off and write his book "Busting Barry's Balls: How I Brought Down the Home Run King" and Barry can go back to being a jerk and we will forget the whole thing.

ONE FINAL NOTE: Yes, I am a Giants fan, if not a particularly huge Barry Bonds fan. I happen to STRONGLY DISLIKE Roger Clemens, but I think his upcoming prosecution for lying to Congress about whether he used steroids is just as stupid. He should be prosecuted for naming his kids Koby, Kory, Kacy, and Kody, if anything.

[*] Does it bug you when people use the word "Bay" to refer to the "Bay Area"? Like, when someone says "She's back in the Bay," I always picture the person at the bottom of the Bay, struggling for breath underwater.

Are the Top 3 songs in America destroying our nation's youth? An investigation.

Listening to my local right-wing radio station the other day, as is my want, I was alarmed to hear that (1) "gangsta rap" is probably responsible for the nation's decline, and it's a wonder that "anyone graduates from community college, let alone real college," and (2) that the top 3 songs in the US right now are so filthy they "can't even be played on the radio."

INTEREST PIQUED.

Now, normally my relationship with any music on the Billboard Top 10 is like the US's relationship with Central America: I'm vaguely aware of it, but I certainly don't want to interact with it in any way. Thus, having no idea what songs might be the Top 3 in America right now, I set off to find them and hopefully enjoy some disgusting, perverted lyrics.

DISAPPOINTMENT FOLLOWED.

The #1 song in America right now, according to the Billboard Hot 100, is "Born This Way" by Lady Gaga. I think I knew this was a song, but I've never heard it before, so I listened to it. It's kind of a terrible ripoff of "Express Yourself," by Madonna, but if you think this is so filthy it can't be played on the radio, you probably think Cap'n Crunch commercials are debased, sickening documents of a declining civilization. I think it's about gay animals accepting themselves ("It doesn't matter if you love him, or capital H-I-M/Just put your paws up/'Cause you were born this way, baby"), and if you have a problem with gay animals, you spend too much time alone.

NEXT: "Fuck You" by Cee Lo. OK, you're right about this one. Are they playing the "Forget You" version on the radio? Cause if they are, (1) that's lame, and (2) IN YOUR FACE, Right-Wing Radio Person! Also, I love this song.

NUMBA THREE: Something called "E.T." by Katy Perry. Also never heard this, so I checked it out. Apart from being SO AWFUL IT'S DIFFICULT TO LISTEN TO, I don't hear anything that would preclude it from being on the radio. Even with the memorably terrible lyric "Infect me with your love." Ewwww pass.

Oh wait, I think I see what's going on here - there's a version of the song with Kanye rapping and I guess parts of that are pretty filthy. I mean, if you think "I'm trying to bathe my ape in your Milky Way" is filthy and not just WEIRD.

(Also, this is so precious: Some YouTube commenter says "cant we all just keep our thoughts to ourselves and enjoy this song?" FIRST TIME ON THE INTERNET HUH?)

Results: Inconclusive.

Lyric Deconstruction: "Friday"

Rebecca Black, 2011

(Yeah, Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ark)
Oo-ooh-ooh, hoo yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah, yeah, yeah



By now you know the story. Dead-eyed teen becomes YouTube sensation through her existentially sad, Auto-tuned pop confection. But why is this the "Worst Song Ever" when something like Britney Spears' "Hold It Against Me" is just terrible? What did Rebecca Black do to deserve this?

Seven a.m., waking up in the morning
Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs
Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal
Seein' everything, the time is goin'
Tickin' on and on, everybody's rushin'
Gotta get down to the bus stop
Gotta catch my bus, I see my friends (My friends)

The problem, perhaps, is this: when we listen to pop music, we want to be transported. We want to hear about happiness, fun, romance. You know what's not fun to hear about? Someone else's morning routine. But that's the genius of this song! It's elevating the mundane to the level of the sublime. Of course you gotta have your bowl! Who among us doesn't? Of course you gotta catch your bus! Me too, Rebecca. Me too.

Kickin' in the front seat
Sittin' in the back seat
Gotta make my mind up
Which seat can I take?

You take the back seat:

In an analysis of frontal collision data from 1980-91, researchers Donald Huelke and Charles Compton of the U-M Transportation Research Institute found that, when comparing front-seat occupants and rear-seat passengers—both belted and unrestrained—in the same crash, those in the back seat more often than not sustain less severe injuries than those in the front seat.

It's Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin' down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend
Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin' forward to the weekend

Fun fun fun! Who could argue with that? Unfortunately - and I think I'm getting at the root of the problem, to the extent there is a problem, with this song - Rebecca's flat affect and mercilessly compressed vocals don't suggest "Fun fun fun" so much as "My overbearing stage Mom is forcing me to do this send help I don't want this." Soembody should slow down the video and see if she's sending a Morse Code message with eye blinks.

7:45, we're drivin' on the highway
Cruisin' so fast, I want time to fly
Fun, fun, think about fun
You know what it is I got this, you got this
My friend is by my right, ay
I got this, you got this
Now you know it

That's right, Rebecca. Fun, fun, think about fun. Don't think about the endless mall performances you're going to be required to do or how sad this whole endeavor seems to even the most casual observer. Think about fun. You got this.

[Chorus]

Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday
Today i-is Friday, Friday (Partyin')
We-we-we so excited
We so excited
We gonna have a ball today
Tomorrow is Saturday
And Sunday comes after ... wards
I don't want this weekend to end

There are some other days, too. Moonday? Wershday? Something like that. I can't remember. It's not fun fun fun.

Hey, time for a break with our Creepily Older Rapper!

R-B, Rebecca Black
So chillin' in the front seat (In the front seat)
In the back seat (In the back seat)
I'm drivin', cruisin' (Yeah, yeah)
Fast lanes, switchin' lanes
Wit' a car up on my side (Woo!)
(C'mon) Passin' by is a school bus in front of me
Makes tick tock, tick tock, wanna scream
Check my time, it's Friday, it's a weekend
We gonna have fun, c'mon, c'mon, y'all

WHOA. Passing the school bus makes you wanna scream, huh? Stay tuned for our next hit, "Megan's Law Is Such a Drag."

[Chorus x 2]

By the end, you're just praying to die.

The Bachelor Finale: I'm Ready for My Happy Ending

So, friends, we have finally arrived at the South African end to our Journey together and we will begin by meeting Brad’s family, which consists of a twin brother named Chad (PAUSE MOMENTARILY – that’s right, Brad and Chad. Oh, Absent Dad, you have quite the sense of humor. You can continue to torture your kids even while away), a Mom who looks like Paula Deen with a bad haircut and a little brother, Wes, who doesn’t look like anyone and is either adopted from some Plump White Kid Adoption Agency or has Ugly Dad instead of Absent Dad. There are, of course, stick-thin sun-blasted Texas wives to go along with the bros, oddly named “Dylan” (or “Dillon,” I suppose) and “Prima,” which are also the names of someone’s cats. Brad greets his family by weeping like an Italian grandmother and it’s really a bit much.

Here comes Chantal to meet the family. Chantal is coming on WAY TOO STRONG and is all ME ME ME I HOPE HE PICKS ME with her bright red chest like it’s some kind of mating plumage and her shiny shiny hair. Mom thinks she’s “precious,” which is Southern for “cute and dumb.” Everyone seems to like Chantal but they’re clearly a little scared of her RELENTLESS INTENSITY and girlfriend just needs to dial it down a notch.

Next day. Time for Lifetime Emily to meet everyone. She brings flowers but forgot her illegitimate child. There is a Very Awkward Moment when Fleshy Wes wants to know where the Baby Daddy is and everyone acts weird and I’m starting to think he’s actually in Witness Protection and then Lifetime recounts the Legend of Racecar Rickie. Wes finds this a “shocking and sad story” but honestly it’s a little played at this point.

(Let me break here to note that I was recently furnished with a copy of In Touch magazine, via which I learned that Lifetime Emily is not exactly the virginal princess she seems, and instead runs through NASCAR drivers like she’s on her own circuit, if you know what I mean, and also is maybe not that fascinated by Little Rickie and also is a bit of a gold-digger. The More You Know.)

So let’s just cut to the chase: The Fam loves Lifetime because (1) she’s a Mom, and the Cat-Named Wives like that and (2) she’s Southern. Lifetime tells Mom that Brad’s an “angel” and this makes Mom all teary. Lifetime knows how to talk to a Southern Mom.

OK, next day. Last date with Chantal. They’re going Shark Diving! Chantal must sense that she’s in trouble because she comes out with her wetsuit unzipped to her crotch but she may as well leave the cage because she’s basically dead in the water at this point. The sharks are all “whatever” and no one gets killed. That night, Brad pops by Chantal’s suite and she’s all “Look! I drew this map of all the places ABC sent us!” and frankly it looks like something Little Rickie could have drawn and Brad’s all “Oh, that’s nice, you stayed in the lines and everything” and then takes off but not before calling her “Channie” which kinda bugs. She is toast and it is clear at this point.

Date with Lifetime Emily. Hopefully they’re going Tiger Wrestling or this just isn’t fair. Oh, helicopter ride! This is bullshit. They sit on a cliff and she says he can’t watch football any more or drink beer at 6 o’clock and obviously she’s never been to Texas. Same deal that night with the suite visit and ABC realizes they have to wring some drama out of this so they have Brad go “I’m ready to be a father” and Lifetime goes “No you’re not” and he says :”Yes I am” and she goes “No you’re not” and then he gets all sweaty and takes off and from what I read, Brad, you’re not going to have to worry about seeing Little Rickie all that much.

We somehow have to fill two hours, so we’re treated to some scenes of the chicks writing in their faux journals and Chantal’s all “I’m ready for my happy ending” but I hate to break this to you Chantal, your happy ending will include you, a limo, and a box of Krispy Kremes. Lifetime, meanwhile, is writing Dale Jr. to tell him she can still see him but he best keep it on the DL.

It’s time. Brad’s off to The Proposal and HOLY FUCK IS HE WEARING A LEATHER SUIT?


OK, it’s time. Chantal’s first and just so nobody is taken unawares, she’s wearing a black dress and Lifetime’s wearing white. Brad does some blah blah blah and you know it’s coming and BOOM Chantal you are a Space Rocket being launched to Planet Dumped. Perhaps your gobs of money will console you. Here’s The Wife, brightsiding the situation: “You made it to the Top 2! That’s good!” True. True.

Time for Lifetime to collect the hardware. Brad blurbles something about wanting to marry her and she says yes. I wonder if Lil Rickie will like New Daddy.

Hey, we have almost a full bottle of wine left so let’s watch After the Final Rose and then kill ourselves. Wow, that is one ugly studio audience they’ve assembled. It looks like they just picked up a Wal-Mart and shook it out into a TV studio. Chantal comes out and cries like always but then we learn she’s got a New Thing Going! He must love her constantly sobbing about Brad. Emily comes out and DAMN she looks pretty good and we learn that things have not been progressing smoothly in Brad and Emily Land, I know SHOCKER. She won’t even marry him right now on this show! What kind of a fucked up bitch won’t get impulse-married in front of an Ugly Live Studio Audience!?! What is this, Iran? Chris Harrison wants to know “What makes a successful Bachelor relationship?” Functional retardation and hair gel, Chris. See you guys next time.

UPDATE!!!!! OH HEY GUESS WHAT I just realized. This blog is 3 years old today. 3 years of sarcasm, boiling rage, ill-informed opinion, TV dating show recaps, and lots of drinking. I owe it all to you guys, the deeply disturbed people who read this. I wish we could all run away together and start our own civilization but instead let's just not do that.

I'm going to totally plug a local business here

Friday night The Wife and I went to Limon Rotisserie on South Van Ness and it was fucking great. We split half a roasted chicken (more than enough for 2 unless one or both of you is morbidly obese), which comes with two sides. We got the rice, which was rice, and sauteed vegetables which appeared to be varieties of long bean and was also delicious.

Also got a lomito saltado app, which we probably didn't need and which was a little tough, but I don't want to dwell on that because the chicken was fucking excellent, like perfectly crispy outside and falling-off-the-bone tender inside. The Wife had a sangria and I had two glasses of wine and the whole thing was $45 before tip, no joke. I thought they left something off but nope.

The only problem arose when the three girls at the table next to us wanted us to take their picture and we tried multiple times with 2 different cameras and nobody could make the flash work. But we saw them outside trying their little scam on someone waiting for dinner and he couldn't make the flash work either and we were kinda relieved that it wasn't just us.

What else can I tell you? Service was fine. Looked like a long wait but we had a res. I'll go back in a fucking heartbeat.

(I didn't get comped anything to write this or anything, but if you're reading this, Limon Rotisserie, I will take some free shit any time.)