aboutshanghai.com » Perplexed in Shanghai

Photo ID Troubling, Adorable

Brendan Alexander — Sat, 12 Apr 2008 11:00:40 +0000

If you’re like me I’m sure you have picture identification. Why? Because you wish to drive (legally), cash checks or cheques (also legally) or get into bars (hopefully legally, but let’s not kid each other).

I’m forbidden from all these things, yet I still have picture ID. Odd, wouldn’t you say? I certainly thought so. So what’s it all about?

One clear possibility is that it’s so I can cross national borders. Of course I could be a threat to the security of any nation. I mean, I’m a radical, a journalist, not to mention embarrassingly incontinent. You have to keep an eye on sorts like me.

Another possibility is that I’m an international spy, but that doesn’t add up either since I don’t have a cool accent nor an Astin Martin.

Perhaps I’m going somewhere. Hey man, stranger things have happened to me. I have traveled as far as 50 miles before, so you could say I travel well.

Whatever it is, I’ll just have to wait and see. It’s a bummer because if people at my height are not commonly known for their terrorism or spying, we’re certainly not known for our patience. At least I look good in my picture, that’s a consolation to me.

(Article appears courtesy of www.PerplexingTimes.com)

Packing No Fun… Wait, Why Am I Packing?

Brendan Alexander — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 11:00:38 +0000

Earlier today, during an impromptu packing session, I witnessed much of what I own being folded into suitcases. That’s when it occurred to me, hang on a second, I’m hungry.

I know what you’re thinking, the red flag shouldn’t have been a craving for Cheerios, but I can’t help myself sometimes. Right, I know, my thoughts should have been with the suitcase.

So anyhow, there it was, all packed up. I can tell we’re not moving or anything, but I’m still pretty lost as to what is going on. From stealing a glance at the corporate day planner I can see it says something about “Pearl.” I don’t have an Aunt Pearl, do I?

Well, I have to go to sleep. Apparently there’s something going on in the morning that I have to get up early for. Don’t know what it is, but as soon as I find out, you’ll be in the know… you are going to tune in tomorrow, aren’t you?

(Article appears courtesy of www.PerplexingTimes.com)

Airline Offers ‘Peanuts for Pay’ Program

Brendan Alexander — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 11:00:55 +0000

As a longstanding, if not highstanding entrepreneur, I’m always looking for a way to make a nut. Northwest Airlines has embraced me and my philosophy.

Cell phones are a great way to turn idle time into business time, even if you don’t crash your car. What about the unending time spent on airplanes? No more must you resign yourself to crossword puzzles, inaudible showings of Miss Congeniality and awkward conversation with strangers. Now you too can earn your way to a high protein, high oil diet while flying to O’Hare or JFK.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the mind-numbing time spent on flights as much as anyone, but there’s only so much Sky Mall magazine I can stomach. If you’ve always wanted more from your transit time, here’s your chance to go nuts, quite literally.

What’s this new program? Hold on to your Huggies, you serve passengers along your own row by “please pass[ing] this down.” For this service the airline will pay you with a sealed baggie containing not one or two, but as many as three nuts. Seriously, actual nuts. Isn’t that great?

While some may view this as laziness, a cost-cutting measure, or just common courtesy, I see it as a chance to supplement any vocation without having to take the risk of unfastening your safety belt.

“Was it you that ordered the coke?

(Article appears courtesy of www.PerplexingTimes.com)

Plane Sandwich Plain Delicious

Brendan Alexander — Sat, 26 Jan 2008 08:00:38 +0000

Northwest Airlines, long been renowned for their nuts and airplanes, has moved to the forefront in placating passengers with their latest potentially risky move. Sure, they have newspapers and beverages, but when you’re flying this close to heaven, now they give you a little taste of it.

Most people have never heard of the ice cream sandwich, I think, so I’ll describe it. Unlike its counterpart, the regular sandwich, it lacks mustard, mayonnaise, balogna or even peanut butter. What it has instead is a fat slab of vanilla ice cream. Instead of spongy, room temperature bread, it has a denser, chocolate cookie type thing for bread.

I can’t pretend to know if they offer ice cream sandwiches decked out with fixin’s like cheese or pickles, but if they do you can sign me up for a whole box of them right now. As I figure, it can only get better from here.

I said the move was risky and you’re right to ponder how. Go on, ponder. Okay, now stop contemplating because I’m just going to tell you. The sandwich is very sensitive to environmental conditions and begins to decompose as soon as it’s exposed to room temperature air. Also, it isn’t served with a fork, spoon or bowl, so it’s basically a brick of melting finger food. While they certainly could chill the cabin down to below freezing to prevent this mess, they do not.

As you can see, even eating as frantically as I was, it still became a real mess in a real hurry.

As other airlines catch on to this brave and wonderful move they will be sure to follow. The supply will diminish and costs will sadly soar until only the super rich can afford them. The smart thing to do would be to travel internationally on Northwest Airlines as soon as possible to insure you get to experience one of these delightful disasters of dessert genius.

Flight Promises Never to End

Brendan Alexander — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 08:00:43 +0000

Stratosphere, Earth – Many of you have seen airplanes before, either on the ground of curiously suspended high in the air. I had a chance to experience one of these miraculous rattle-traptions myself, so I crawled all over it.

What I signed up for was an adventure, what I got was a lifestyle. If you have ever been to the store, you know it takes forever, like maybe an hour. If you’ve been able to sit through a whole movie you know it takes about half a day. I don’t know where this thing plans on landing, but I’ve been airborne for, I’d swear, probably about three days.

Let me tell you how it went: We lifted off; I slept; woke up; still flying. Went about my day; slept some more; woke up; still flying. I tell you , I’ve done this same routine a bunch of times now and this mammoth aluminum bird is still going strong.

The halflings keep asking if “we [are] there yet?” and the answer has been permanently fixed at “no”. I’m not sure where this “there” place is, but based on the hype it’s got to be a real bang-up sort of destination.

The experience of flying itself is quite singular and backwards. Quiet is still very loud and clouds are down when they clearly should be up. Even food, while normally quite palatable, has an odd inedibility about it. And don’t even get me started on the paradox of what little excitement there is still being exceptionally dull.

The real highlight so far was when this gorgeous Russian lady who works here found out it was my first flight she got me a certificate to commemorate this momentous occasion, signed by the captain and all. It’s probably special treatment because of my celebrity status, though. Now I know what you’re thinking, but there’s no future between me and her. Embarrassingly, our introduction came mere moments after a most pungent mishap. Besides, I doubt an international flight attendant could keep up with my jet set lifestyle.

The First Flight Certificate is odd to me since based on my experience, flights take so long that no one could possibly hope to take more than one or two in a lifetime. Isn’t this pretty much everybody’s first flight? Again I suggest, it’s my celebrity status.

So how does my tale end? Where does my own metaphorical flight land? I thought only time would tell, but so far time has only kept me waiting. If this plane ever does decide to land and set us free, I’ll let you know. Until then, my only conclusion is that there is nowhere on earth I’ve ever been that takes this long to get to, and this is the first time I’ve gone over 400 miles per hour. In that I can only conclude that all of aeronautics is little more than an elaborate scam. A flight of fancy and fantasy, if you will.

As you can see here, it’s all totally official like.

(Article appears courtesy of www.PerplexingTimes.com)