In search of the perfect airline seat

“Six A.” “Six A.” “Six A.”

Say what? Well, I’m certainly not playing Bingo. It turns out that on a standard airliner the most popular seat is 6A, according to a poll of more than 1,000 aircraft passengers that was published in the British travel site Skyscanner.

We're all just cattle here in this truck. Photo courtesy of USDOT

The poll queried passengers, in addition to seat preferences, as to what sections of the aircraft they prefer and what influenced their decisions such as legroom or deplaning.

Of course, the aircraft itself influences such decisions especially if one flies certain routes to and from a specific airport. For instance, I rode “Continental Connection” partners mostly Colgan Air, a few times out of both Waco and Beaumont (the latter is now called Jack Brooks Regional Airport, named after the longtime congressman from Beaumont who drafted impeachment charges against Richard Nixon.) Back to the air, these flights were usually on turboprops such as the Saab 340, notoriously known as “puddle jumpers” or worse. Even though I had some hairy rides on the turboprops they are kind of a fun ride as long as the weather is smooth.

Seat 6A on a Saab 340 is located over the wing and forward of the amidships emergency exit. Because of the exit, the seat doesn’t recline — information thanks to SeatGuru. The “A” seats do have the advantage of having one seat on the left side of the plane, thus every seat is a window seat (or aisle seat.)

Other aircraft on which I’ve flown don’t even have a row 6 such as Boeing 737s.

So perhaps this British poll must be taken, like similar sampling, with a grain of salt from that bag of peanuts that is your in-flight meal these days, if you get even that.

What was more interesting than where these polled passengers — not to be confused with a polled Herefordsat are the reasons for where they sit. Some passengers like to sit near the wing because there is less turbulence. Some older men like to sit, naturally, toward the back of the plane near the restrooms. Deplaning be damned!

Interestingly enough was the lack of statistics citing those who choose their seats based on the probability of surviving an accident. Not something we talk about but it was one of the first considerations I had when I began flying somewhat more after only a few flights some 25 years before. I admit to having been a nervous flier. Luckily, an old flame — interesting word for this discussion notwithstanding — who was a frequent flier gave me insight as well as tickets to come visit her for a week. All of that helped make me somewhat more airworthy. I’m by no means a jet-setter but I’ve probably made three-dozen flights in the intervening 13 years. Which brings to mind that some planes also do not have a row 13.

Quite often I have no choice when it comes to seating for one reason or the other. An A or F seat in the 30s is fine with me on a 737. I like looking out the window and appreciate the proximity to the lavatory. I like it even better when I have a whole row to myself. It doesn’t happen often, but it has happened. I like First Class even better but that has happened even less frequently.

It’s all a matter of choice and even chance, sometimes.

 

Tales of a naked week, or more

This week showed that, once again, nakedness makes news.

Take the infamous Time magazine cover with the woman breastfeeding her 3-year-old son who was standing on a chair. By the way, that kid either looked kind of big or that woman wasn’t very tall. It made me wonder if she had some steroids packed in those things.

Then there was the naked man riding a unicycle on a bridge in Kemah, Texas. It was a nice touch, the unicycle. It could have been two naked folks riding on a bicycle built for two. But something odd like that is pretty much going to make the news in tandem with nudity. Nudity itself is usually newsworthy enough.

Just today, this morning, police in Bloomington, Ind., shot and wounded a naked man brandishing a 9-mm handgun. Police received a complaint that the nude gunman was firing shots at a house. Officers fired at the man, who allegedly pointed his gun at officers, striking him twice. The shooting happened near Indiana University.

This happened on May 1, but I thought I’d gratuitously throw it in. Police disarmed and arrested a naked 22-year-old woman wielding a knife outside her home on Orcas Island, Wash., according to the San Juan Journal (San Juan Islands, Wash., not Puerto Rico.) A neighbor reported the woman had been sitting nude inside her car acting strange, as if she was on drugs. Hmmm. Imagine that!

There you have it. Just remember to wear clean underwear in case you get arrested. Or perhaps, remember to wear underwear, period. Have a wonderfully, naked weekend.

 

 

New bike lanes on Calder Avenue. Beaumont finally enters the 19th century

Out cruising on my bicycle today along the Calder Avenue bike lane in Beaumont brings to mind that this Upper Texas Gulf Coast city has finally reached the 19th century. Yes, I said 19th century.

So-called “segregated cycle facilities” such as the “California Cycleway” were among the first structures strictly for bicycles in 19th century U.S. Construction began on the nine-mile bike tollway in 1899 that linked Pasadena and Los Angeles. Unfortunately, the elevated wooden toll road along the Arroyo Seco never made a profit and was closed a decade after opening. The wood was sold for lumber and the right of way eventually became a part of the Pasadena Freeway.

Whether Beaumont ever had any dedicated bicycle lanes in bygone days I can’t say. I just know that on the Bicycling.com list of the top 50 most bicycle-friendly cities in the U.S., Beaumont, Texas, is not listed. For that matter, the only Texas city making the list is No. 11 Austin. That doesn’t surprise me one-half an iota.

For some reason I can’t find a “least bicycle-friendly list.” Surely there must be one with so many articles claiming this city or that is on said listing. Now I am not a bike expert. I rode a Western Flyer when I was a kid. Then I rode a bike belonging to my friend, Bruce, when I lived with him about six months in the inner Dallas suburb of University Park. I presently have another bicycle that I got from Bruce when I last visited Dallas and I now ride it for exercise.

With that preface out of the way, I can built a hypothesis for what a bicycle-unfriendly city might be. To wit: a city with dedicated lanes for bicycles and small motorized vehicles in which larger vehicles freely invade and strike cyclists without the courtesy or duty to stop and render aid. This is a model I have developed upon witnessing — well, hearing at least — this very spectacle about 35 years ago in Jakarta, Indonesia.

Biking on Beaumont's Calder Avenue can now be done in a dedicated lane. Let's just hope Bubba knows what those lanes are for. EFD photo.

Our U.S. Navy warship was on a port visit to Jakarta. We were offered a bus ride to the grounds of the U.S. Embassy where there was supposed to be some kind of party or other goings-on. That was never really too clear. The bus we were herded upon was very crowded with sailors from our’s and another U.S. ship. I was sitting in an aisle seat while others were standing in the aisle. The street had several lanes for larger traffic such as the bus and two smaller lanes for scooters and bicycles. The bus driver had no comprehension of English whatsoever and apparently had no idea where we were going. The driver quickly changed into a lane for whatever reason. In that lane was a man driving a moped. I heard a loud thump when the driver moved to the other lane, followed quickly by a loud moan by those fellow sailors standing in the aisle and others seated in the other side of the bus. Several guys who could see watched the moped driver “go tumbling” off his motor scooter while the bus driver continued obliviously, or perhaps not obliviously.***

I have no idea whether biking of any kind is safer these days in Jakarta. I do know that at the time our bus witnessed extremely bicycle unfriendliness, thanks to the driver, if not vehicular manslaughter.

The bike lanes in Beaumont were thrown in with some other street improvements including paved sidewalks and better curbing along with “aesthetic lighting.” The bulk of the work though is mostly invisible to the “nekkid eye,” as folks around these parts like to say. Under about three miles of the street leading from downtown to the upper-scale West End are 10-foot by 10-foot box culverts. These are for diverting water from the Middle Hillebrandt Bayou watershed to the Neches River bordering downtown Beaumont to help alleviate some of the flooding that takes place when we get heavy rains such as from hurricanes. FEMA paid about $31.5 million for “mitigation” costs. The total project bill is at least $65 million. And, from what I can see, the ponding after heavy rains does not seem as bad in the areas the drainage project targeted.

Beaumont is not nearly as bike-unfriendly as we experienced in Indonesia, even without the dedicated bike lane along Calder Avenue. The main problem — in addition to other streets which have crap for maintenance and those byways without shoulders — is that it is a city unaccustomed to bicycles. Every other automobile is a double-wide, Ford crew-cab, pick-em-up truck, some with tires as big as my bicycle, and the drivers believe that they pay for their pickups what some spend to purchase a small house it therefore gives them the right to park however the hell they want to and take up as much of the gol-danged road as they like. Most of these myopic motorists spend their lives driving up and down the freeway to Port Arthur or other locales in which their refineries or construction jobs are found. In other words, they aren’t used to sharing the road with little-bitty bicycles and are not particularly inclined to do as much.

I am not whining about it as I hear many other cyclists do, some of whom are just as short-sighted as those Bubbas who force the bike riders into the ditch or chunk their empty Lone Star can at them. I have met the enemy and he (and she) fights up and down both sides. I know what the problem is and I just intend to stay away from both monster trucks and helmeted cyclists wearing fanny packs.

It’s not survival of the fittest. It’s just plain ol’ survival.

***EFD’s note: If you’ve heard this story before you, obviously, can’t stop me. That happens sometimes. Suck it up.

 

Eight feet hell! Trying to hang on to the two which are hard enough for one to handle

Trips to StatCounter are rather infrequent for me nowadays. Since my blog is a writer’s exercise I am not always cognizant of those who might pass by and, God forbid, even read my work. I should be more thoughtful. A frog should have wings.

StatCounter, in case you didn’t know, is a site that tracks Web traffic. All one has to do is copy a little code and paste it into your site’s inner sanctum — sounds like rectum but it’s really more like a brain, strange — and there you go. The counter reveals all sorts of cool numbers and can map where traffic comes in and out of a blog or Web site. I’ve always thought the coolest trick StatCounter does is compile the nations where all the traffic comes from and it even lets you look at page visits beside the flag of a visitor’s nation. I checked it out recently and saw that I had visitors from 30 different countries. Most were one-hit wonders, ranging from a single page view from Brazil to Croatia to Saudi Arabia. The most views, 397 at that particular point in time, were from the U.S. of A. That’s not many but quite a few more than I used to get on my old Blogger site. Thanks for that Tokyo Paul!

A keyword analysis the Counter performs is a slight source of amazement, to me at least, and quite entertaining. For instance, when I recently checked there were eight different visitors searching for the keywords “excited smiley face.” I have no idea what the searchers thought they would find. Scrolling on down, there were four page visits for “Leroy farted.” That one I knew.

It isn’t surprising when I find keyword searches for “feet” or something to do with feet given the name of the blog. I really don’t know what people expect when they see the blog’s name. If I didn’t know the reason behind the name — I’m not really sure that I remember the back story anyway — I would surmise it has some connection to a grave due to “six feet under” is or was a popular euphemism for death or buried. Of course, the Aughts HBO series “Six Feet Under” also comes to mind for some. It was a very dark drama although I would personally categorize it as a comedy-drama because it was pretty darn funny in its own black-humored way.

Thus I am buried in the irony that someone is possibly searching my blog for feet information while I am searching elsewhere on the Web for a cheap pedicure. How crazy is that? It’s not?

Now I’ve never had a pedicure before. I’m not a pedicure kind’a guy. But only in the last year or two have I developed wicked — in the bad sense — looking toes due to diabetic neuropathy. Along with that condition, my toenails seem to each have its own idea as to which direction to grow.  The best I can tell, my left first toe may have a condition called “onychogryphosis,” which is a.k.a. “ram’s toe.” (Warning: Graphic toenail photographs!)

I really need to see a podiatrist  but my medical “team” at the VA said they can only refer patients to the Houston VA hospital podiatry department for conditions such as those requiring amputation. Maybe if I just wait and do nothing … That is kind of the way the Department of  Veterans Affairs can be.

My nurse suggested I get a pedicure but I figured that might be somewhat costly. Looking around at local nail sites it seems the going rate is about $25-plus. But the nurse also suggested a cosmetology school as a place to find cheaper pedicures. Sure enough, I found one, and they said that they would do the nails for $8. Although, I admit I am somewhat leery after reading of encounters with even licensed nail technicians and I am still unsure a pedicure is a good idea for a diabetic foot. I have to do something though. My feet are a mess. I also don’t want my big toe to end up as its own freak show.

Decisions decisions. Diabetes really blows. This I knows. Peace, Yo Rapper Feets!

Something stinks in here!

Below is the only known photo of the elusive EFD.

I plucked a previously inert Webcam program this afternoon to record my very first attempt at injecting myself intramuscularly with B-12. Don’t worry, it’s prescribed for anemia. I didn’t know I had anemia, but hey the VA just loads you up with medicine that you can’t really afford.

The shot didn’t hurt but I doubt it did much good because I couldn’t get enough medicine injected. I guess I will go by the VA clinic on my day off tomorrow and get more great tips. The video wasn’t riveting, it was 6 minutes long, it may be useful to me in learning from mistakes. My neurologist says I will be shooting myself in the arm each month for approximately, the rest of my life. I have to give myself a shot every day for a week. Then once a week for five weeks, then I can slack off to monthly. Meanwhile, enjoy the photo. The mask was a visual effect with the program, known as  Cyber Link You Cam.