Dear Fellow Americans: You really must travel better.

Last night marked the end of roughly 20 days of travel, during which, I flew and took trains both domestically and internationally. While I enjoyed this much needed vacation, I also couldn't help but notice the atrocious manner in which Americans travel.  I'm not sure if this is a new phenomenon, or if as I age I get crankier - I'm thinking it may be a bit of both. But I'm telling you, the next time I run into one of these ignorant, rude or obnoxious American travelers...I don't think I'll be able to keep my mouth shut. Here's just a sampling of what I witnessed both domestically and abroad with American travelers over these past few weeks:

1. At Sea-Tac airport, the morning we departed, there was a family of four in front of us, traveling internationally. As they approached the first TSA agent in the security line (the one who double-checks your boarding pass against your ID), they just threw at her four plane tickets and four passports, none of them matched up...mistake number one. After the TSA agent tersely (and honestly, I don't blame her) reminded them to always match each ticket to each passport, she also noticed that none of the passports were signed...none of them. Now, for the two minor children, this is not an issue. However, the two, of age, adults, who were hoping to travel internationally, with their children, had not bothered to sign their passports. When the TSA agent told them they must sign the passports and provide other documentation to prove their signatures while she watched, they both acted surprised that the passports even needed to be signed!  In fact, the mother asked, "Where are we supposed to do that?"  Um, on the line on the first page of your passport that says: sign here or invalid.

Listen, the TSA agent was within rules and regulations to tell these people to pound sand - they are lucky she didn't. I cannot believe that two, supposedly intelligent people, who are parents, didn't double-check every single detail before traveling internationally...with their children. Moreover, it's just another example of idiots holding up the security line because they're either too stupid or selfish to care about the hundreds of people backing up behind them.

2. Buckets and buckets of you still don't realize that for carry-ons, liquids are limited to 3 oz or less and must be in a quart size ziploc bag. No, you may not carry full size toiletries in your carry-on luggage and NO you can't use a gallon size bag! Sure, there are exemptions for things like baby formula, and guess what? TSA has a handy little website to help you hammer these details out BEFORE you get in the security line at the airport. It's been years since these regulations were put in place; stop acting surprised.  The last time I checked, the Uni-Bomber was the only one who was actually living in a hole in the ground. You have access to this information; please utilize it.

3. No, you cannot carry your beverage through the security line. There is a Starbucks on the other side so please wait to get your fix and stop making the rest of us wait while you argue with the TSA officer because you have to throw your $20 coffee in the garbage. P.S. You cannot put your beverage in the little bucket and run it through the scanner either.

4. You must, must, must take your laptop out of the bag and put it in a separate bucket! Again, this is not a new rule so please stop acting surprised. Conversely, you do not have to empty every other electronic device you have into the bucket...just in case.

5. The area at the end of the conveyor belt where you pick up your belongings after going through security, is NOT the place to put your shoes back on and put everything back in your bag. There are roughly 300 people behind you; grab your crap and get out of the way.  There are benches literally everywhere put in place just for you to get organized again.

6.  Get in the right passport line.  The signs are in several languages so even if English isn't your first language you should be able to figure it out.  Again, there are people behind you...the ones you don't seem to give a damn about.

7. Don't cut in line. Don't pretend you don't see the line and walk around it. Don't be a tool. We all have connections and we're all in a hurry. If there is truly an emergency, ask for help and you will be escorted to the front of the line by an airport employee. But please, stop thinking your travel anxieties are more important than anyone else's.

8. When the gate agent announces the boarding process has started...DON'T RUSH THE GATE. There are boarding groups/zones for a reason. This "last one there's a rotten egg" business has got to stop. You have a boarding pass, a legitimate reason to be on the plane. It won't leave without you. If you have special pre-boarding circumstances the airline has a process for this. Please remove yourself from your "I am special" bubble and comply because again, there are roughly 300 people behind you. Don't cut.  Don't pretend you didn't hear the gate agent say it's not your turn. In general, stop being rude.

9. When boarding, do NOT...and this one really chaps my hide...put your luggage in an overhead bin 20 rows in front of your seat. The bin over your seat is for your luggage. I watched a little kid chuck his bag in the first class bins as he marched to the back of the plane. His mom just shrugged her shoulders and said, "oh well." No, not "oh well." That is inconsiderate. Use the bin over your seat and if your luggage doesn't fit then take a look at the damn size. You cannot bring on giant bags and expect them to fit. Which leads me to...

10. The limit is 2 carry-ons!!! One of them is supposed to be small like a purse or a laptop bag. Please don't act like it's OK to bring everything you own on as a carry-on because it's not. Your full size suitcase will be taken away from you and it will be checked.

11. Parents, it's not adorable when your kids run around yelling and screaming. I understand ear pain and crying, it's going to happen. What I don't get is you allowing bad behavior as if there is no controlling it. However, waiting until you get to the airport to bring down the hammer might be too late. Yesterday morning in Prague, I witnessed a father decide that 5 minutes before we boarded was the moment he was going to announce to his overly indulgent wife and bratty daughters that he'd had enough of their behavior and that he was now in charge...in front of the inlaws. Guess how well that went?

12. When traveling internationally, yelling doesn't help those who don't speak English understand you. And no, it's not OK to get angry with the person who doesn't understand you. YOU decided to travel internationally without learning a few words in their language. Don't you dare blame it on them when they don't understand you.

13. Don't behave badly and then blame it on others. In Vienna, an American woman literally pushed me out of the way as I was climbing the stairs to get on the train. I said, "excuse me" and she started yelling at me. I was deathly ill and trying to drag my bag up the stairs. I had also just insisted another woman go in front of me so she wouldn't be separated from her husband. This woman who was now pushing me had just witnessed me being kind to another traveler so she couldn't say I wasn't polite. She just decided it was her turn and she was going to knock me over to get what she wanted. When I called her on her behavior she blamed it on me and said if my bag was smaller (I traveled 20 days with a small carry-on and a backpack) I would be happier. Then she told me to go to the dining car and get tea for my throat. These written words might not convey the snark from her in this situation but it was incredibly rude. Wait your turn people, again this "last one there's a rotten egg" mentality boggles me.

14.  Louder isn't better.  Everywhere I travel abroad, I always know where the Americans are because they can't seem to turn the damn volume down.  Take a look around, there are others around you.  We don't want to hear your conversation.  At the airport yesterday morning it was solemn and quiet...until the Americans started rolling in.  It was a flight to Frankfurt, a giant international hub, where everyone can connect to get home, so there were a ton of Americans.  The international travelers were quiet and kept to themselves...the Americans?  Wow...just...wow.  There's a reason we're labeled as loud and obnoxious.  Be quiet.  It's OK, the world will not come to an end if you have to endure a little silence.  At a minimum, can you at least turn the volume down?  Just a little?

It all seems like common courtesy, but it just doesn't seem to click for so many people.  Without sounding trite, I always try to use the Golden Rule:  Do others want to hear my conversations?  Wait my turn in line because I'm no more important than anyone else.  Move quickly and courteously through the lines so others aren't held up.  Keep to myself and be polite.  Follow the rules.  Pay attention.  Is it too much to ask that we all do that?  Travel more politely.  Please.  I beg of you.

Sunny with a chance I might scream

I hate talking about the weather. I should clarify: I loathe talking about the weather. It is the most inane topic and I pity the fool who tries to engage me in a conversation on the matter. I am also quite passionate about other people around me discussing the weather. It's silly and boring and it doesn't make sense to me...at all. What's more, WE CAN'T CONTROL IT PEOPLE SO JUST DEAL AND MOVE ON.  (In all honesty, I did warn you.)

But I am curious. Why do you all seem to freakin' looooooooove talking about the weather? Is the topic that scintillating? What is it about sun, rain, sleet and snow that sucks you all into this mind numbing topic? (I'm bordering on passing judgment here, aren't I?) What I really don't understand is why people try so hard to control an element that is utterly uncontrollable. It seems as if you all think that sending enough energy to the weather will make it happen - i.e. the snow dance. Why??? Unless you are an evil villain with a weather machine in your garage I implore you to knock it the hell off.

And what really chaps my hide? Complaining about the weather. Guess what? You live where you live and the weather patterns, for the most part are established (lets save the global warming chat for another day). Yes, the spring lasts longer in Seattle and we had a La Nina this year so it was colder. Move or shut up because if I hear one more person bitch I might end up on the evening news.

But wait! Yesterday the sun came out (and so did all the inappropriate clothing for a whopping 60+ degree day.) And today it was even warmer, almost 80 in some spots, so I'm just waiting...for someone to complain that it's too hot. You know it will happen. Mother Nature can't seem to keep you weather whiners happy. It's as if a little bit of Goldilocks resides in each and every one of you; you're not happy until it's "just right."

It never will be. Never. Ever. So stop talking about the weather because I really don't want to end up in prison.

She had me at yel-low.

When I was in fourth grade my school had a program where once a month one of the parents would come into the classroom with a copy of a famous piece of art and explain it to the class.  The first piece I ever saw was Van Gogh's Sunflowers; our friend Holly's mom, Mrs. Rushton, told us about the piece.  (I really cannot believe I remember names.)  Mrs. Rushton told us all about Vincent and his mental illness, how he cut off his ear - all very honest for a class full of fourth graders - but it got to me.  She also talked to us about the colors Van Gogh used and pointed out the painting is not merely yellow and green, but rather many different tints, tones and shades of the colors, blending together to create the beautiful sunflowers.  And then Mrs. Rushton hooked me, she said that to this day (well, at least when I was in fourth grade) the paint was still wet!  No way!  She explained that oil paint dries very slowly, if at all, but that we could not touch the painting to find out because museums rope these famous works of art off.  She warned us sternly to never, ever, touch the paintings in museums (something I still want to do to this day).  Heck, I touched a marble table at The Huntington Library last week and the security guard nearly exclaimed, "off with her head!"

But I digress.  6 years ago I traveled to Amsterdam.  Guess what's there?  Yep, the Van Gogh Museum.  I had been looking for Sunflowers all over Europe (lazily never bothering to look it up online) and had yet to find it.  I realized on this day, my one day in Amsterdam, that this might be my chance - Sunflowers could be in the very building in which I stood!  Jackpot!  It took a while, and I almost blazed past all the other paintings to find it (annoying Jim and several patrons), but find it I did - a full circle moment.  I think I even cried a little.  My quest to see the first painting ever explained to me as a child was right there in front of me and I soooooooooooo wanted to touch it to find out if Mrs. Rushton was right.  But I controlled the urge - mostly because I didn't want to miss the rest of the exhibit (and every step I would have to retrace), but also because the exit was far too far away and there was no way I could stick my finger in that paint and make a run for it without getting into some serious trouble.

I left the museum that day with a book of all the paintings in the Van Gogh Museum and a print....of....The Bedroom.  Well, Suflowers is in my book and I fell in love with a new painting that day, one that now hangs in our guest room (OK, so it's a copy).  So, without further ado, here are two of my favorite Van Gogh pieces - one I waited to see in person for nearly 25 years - totally worth it.

Vincent Van Gogh

Sunflowers, 1888

Oil on Canvas

92.1 cm × 73 cm (36.2 in × 28.7 in)

Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam

Vincent Van Gogh

The Bedroom, 1888

Oil on Canvas

72 cm x 90 cm

Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam

Knocked over! Knocked over!

So many things rushing through my mind tonight:

Hey, Dubya, now the mission is accomplished.

Hey, Trump, is this good enough for you? Do you need his birth certificate too?

Hey birthers, would an extremist Muslim President kill one of his own? Can we drop this now?

Tsk, tsk, Pakistan; you swore you weren't hiding him. You've got some 'splaining to do.

Crap, Boehner's gonna cry again.

Four more years!  Four more years! (Not that I'm overly excited about it, but I know many who really are not, and a little light hearted ribbing seems to be in order.)

Rush is going to say something stupid, isn't he?

Beck is going to say something stupid, isn't he?

Jon Stewart is going to say something brilliant, isn't he?

Do I still have to fit my toiletries in that stupid quart size bag?

Now can I leave my shoes on when I go through security?

Will TSA finally stop frisking toddlers and cancer patients?

There's just something missing without Peter Jennings delivering this news tonight. I feel like I need him to close the loop.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to all my friends and family who serve. Each and every one of you owns a piece of this.

Peace to all of the families who lost so many on that dreadful day. We never forgot.

Confessions of a "Good" Student

I've always been a good student - label it how you will. I study hard, get good grades, blah, blah, blah. And I don't really know if I'm a good student because I get good grades or if I get good grades because I'm a good student. It's one of those circular, chicken and the egg type arguments. At any rate, I was labeled from an early age, along with many of my friends, and we traveled in a pack through all the advanced classes our school district had to offer. Well, except for the time I boycotted sophomore AP English because I heard it was "too hard." After a week of SSR (silent sustained reading) in "regular" English, I'd had it. I marched down to the guidance counselor and respectfully requested my original slot in the AP class - crisis averted. I then happily (well, as happily as any normal teenager can) continued my journey towards high school graduation.

But there came one final crossroad (crossroads? See how much that AP class helped me?) before I graduated...Calculus. Me and my pack (grammar error noted) had moved together through all the advanced math classes from 7th grade on, and then Calculus reared its ugly head at us. It wasn't the subject matter that daunted us, but rather, the instructor. He was a known alcoholic. I knew a little more about the situation than I wanted to because he was our neighbor, three doors down, and I had spent much of my childhood around him. I knew it wasn't a rumor. I also knew he was very smart. However, I had no intention of marring my academic career (translation = grade point average) by taking Calculus from someone I did not trust to actually teach it to me. So I did what every grade point average loving, crazy, "good" student would do: I bailed and was a T.A. for the band director instead. Bright move.

But wait, there's more! I gained early acceptance to PLU (Pacific Lutheran University for those of you not from the PNW) my senior year and then sat back and watched everyone else scramble as they waited to apply during the normally prescribed time. I thought I had it made, was in the clear. And then PLU did something I never thought they would do; they sent me a math placement test. It had been a year since I'd been in a math class but I figured I could easily pass the test. After all, I was a "good" student. And even though the test was accompanied by a letter strongly encouraging a review with a math teacher, I ignored it. One afternoon, on a whim, I grabbed that math placement test and took it with no review, mailed it back to PLU and waited. When I finally received my fall schedule guess which math class I was placed in? Remedial Algebra, a 2 credit class. Dammit. I was crushed and I don't think I've ever told any of my friends this story, the same friends from my "pack" of "good" students - probably because I was ashamed.

I bounced back. Within a month, my professor could not understand why I was in a remedial class and waived the following 2 credit class, allowing me to go straight into Business Calculus, a 4 credit class. I would leave PLU with 2 more math credits than I needed, but also with a very important lesson learned - not to let my ego get in the way of what was best for me. I did very well in both classes, with the exception of functions, which I don't think I'll ever wrap my brain around (Thanks, Jen, for getting me through that topic.), and I graduated college, which is the main goal, really. Right? And guess what kids? You really do use Algebra when you grow up, but that's a discussion for another time.

Here's the thing, I just turned 40 and I still have nightmares about not taking that high school Calculus class. It is one of my biggest regrets and it drives me batty. My subconscious cannot seem to get past the fact that I did take a Calculus class in college. Guilt? Probably. So I've made a decision; when I finish at the Art Institute next year I am going to take a Calculus class at a local community college so I can close this crazy loop. And this time I know I will need some review before I take the plunge. I have a few things going for me: 1) I live with a math wizzard and 2) I'm a "good" student. That should help, right?

Shame on you!

Some of you know I'm more than a little irritated with the Chris Brown situation. He refuses to own what he did, passes it off as if it's not a big deal and says promoting his new album is what's most important. Pig. Been under a rock for the past few years and don't know what the heck I'm talking about? Chris Brown beat his (at the time) girlfriend Rihanna so badly, she was nearly unrecognizable and then denied it. She refused to admit it was Brown who did it too...at first. Ultimately Rihanna told the truth, forcing Brown to admit what he'd done. I have to wonder now after all that's happened this week, whether Brown would have admitted it had Rihanna let him off the hook - if he'd received treatment for his "issues", gone to court, done his time...wait...he didn't do any time.

Now Brown says he's paid for what he did and we should all move on and let him focus on his career. He appeared on Good Morning America a few days ago and his behavior was...well...the usual. The segment began with a short interview with Robin Roberts. The discussion was mainly about the album but she tossed in a few questions about the past and Brown did not respond well. At the time it seemed he was laughing it off and basically refused to answer Roberts' questions. It was the typical famous person avoiding the subject interview and turning the conversation to their own selfish advantage. I rolled my eyes. He performed. Show over.

Not so fast, an hour later it was reported Brown went ballistic after the interview, threw a chair at a window facing times square, yelled and screamed like the spoiled ass he is and then stormed out with his entourage. For days now, everyone with press credentials has been bandying the topic about, including Robin Roberts and I am disappointed in her response. Not only am I incensed with Brown and his behavior, but Robin Roberts is on my list too. I have watched her for the past few mornings, reporting on this event in a manner that makes me angry at and embarrassed for Robin. She is not handling it well.

First of all, I want to know why Brown wasn't arrested for his violent behavior? Maybe I'm missing something, but he could have seriously hurt someone with all that glass falling to the street below. Is this another case of the star treatment we are all so used to? Now, a journalist whom I usually respect, is letting him off the hook too. Robin Roberts has repeatedly said she forgives Brown, let's not make a big deal about it, come on back and we'll interview you again. Seriously? You sound like an abuse victim, Robin, and it is disgusting to me. Brown's behavior was unacceptable and evidence that he clearly has not "recovered." I don't care that you had an interview with him a year ago where you really connected and felt like you were friends. Brown treated you like crap on national television, trashed your studio and is now telling anyone who will listen that Good Morning America set him up and lied about the "talking points." You should be going after him like a piranha, Robin. He deserves it.

The only other option that makes sense to me is that Robin Roberts is pandering to get the interview. Barbara Walters is fast approaching retirement and Roberts has picked up many of her responsibilities in the Hollywood interview arena. This year the ABC Oscar special was hosted by Roberts, not Walters. Roberts has also hosted several specials in the past year ala Barbara Walters. See where this is headed? I do. For years, Walters has pandered to the rich and famous to get interviews and now Roberts is doing it. It makes me sick. I have loved Robin Roberts for years. She was the only female sportscaster I could stomach for quite a long time and I was thrilled when she joined Good Morning America, but she is changing...and it seems like it's for the fame. Maybe I got sucked into believing Robin Roberts was different because I wanted to believe she was better than most reporters. Maybe she was and then fame bit her just like it did Barbara Walters. I hope not.

So, shame on Chris Brown for his behavior. Shame on Robin Roberts for refusing to admonish it. Shame on me for believing a member of the media was different than any of the rest of them.

"I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue!"

Ever seen the movie Airplane? I know I saw it as a kid, just can't remember when... Having watched it again as an adult I cannot believe my parents let us watch it. Hearing Mrs. Cleaver drop the s-bomb changed my life, but I digress. Lloyd Bridges has one of the funniest scenes in the movie: as he's freaking out the plane will crash into the air traffic control tower he shouts (with an airplane glue bottle firmly shoved up his nose), "I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue!" - his response to what he assumes to be impending doom.

I have felt plenty of impending doom this quarter - lots and lots of deadlines with no end in sight. Guess what I decided would be a super great idea? I set a goal for myself. Gasp. It seemed like such a good idea at the time, a way to get myself back on track, start the new year off right, refresh. I gave up alcohol for roughly 90 days. Yes, I said it; I gave up alcohol between New Year's Day and my 40th birthday - roughly 90 days. I rose above Mr. Bridges' panic and did something smart for myself.

And then the quarter blew up in my face. I am by no means a heavy drinker; I really only enjoy beer and wine (and yes, Jen...margaritas!), and it is nice to come home after a stressful day and crack open a cold one. Except for the last 62 days (damn straight I'm counting) of stress, lack of sleep, deadlines, and dammit, I want a beer! But I set a goal and I will stick to it because that's what I do. In the end the airplane didn't knock out the tower and Mr. Bridges was fine. I will be too. Until then I'll just keep smelling Jim's glass of wine before he drinks it. It's just that...I picked the wrong quarter to...well...you know.