In-flight entertainment

Just the video was enough to cure me of any desire to see “Mr. 3000.” I’d heard good things about Bernie Mac’s acting in it and had thought about seeing for myself, and of course I like baseball movies anyway, so I was thinking of giving it a shot, and lo and behold, it’s my in-flight entertainment (after an aborted attempt to show some Billy Bob Thornton football movie.) But I saw about 15 vivid product placements in the first five minutes and decided it probably wasn’t going to be the movie for me (and this is from a man who is not ashamed to admit he has found “Miss Congeniality” amusing, several times) (though that may be a Sandra Bullock thing). So I never plugged in the headphones. But I can tell, nothing I needed to see there. I am squeezed into the middle seat on an Airbus crossing from Chicago to Sacramento, tucked in between two people much larger than I; the fellow to my right has belly fat hanging over the armrest, and isn’t any too shy about pushing his leg over into my already constrained space. The glamour of air travel. But good tunes are ripping through the iPod. I wasted time this morning picking out a book to read (which I regretted when I got to the airport and was hit with the longest security line I’ve ever seen), but right now I could only reach said book through extreme contortions that I’m not up for. There’s a whole family of people in front of me whose countenances can only remind one of, well, pigs. They just look like pigs. I don’t mean that in a bad way. But I sure wish they’d pull their seats up half an inch so I could use my own lap. And there’s a poor little girl who has coughed approximately every other second since she got on the plane, and I’m ready to murder the parents, who have done not thing one about it.