Having a wonderful time reminiscing about all my past travel (and other) adventures. Hope you’ll share them with me in my blog, “All Roads Led to Russia.”
Language is a beautiful thing. It is incorporated in your genetic makeup, almost as though it were a part of your DNA. It defines who your parents and grandparents were, where you were born and raised, and how you view the world.
Most countries — all but a handful — have an official language. But not the United States, likely because of our multi-ethnic makeup. Around 75-80% of Americans speak only English at home; the other 20-25% speak their native language amongst people of their own original nationality.
And we’ve gotten by just fine for the past 250 years. ESL classes — English as a Second Language — are taught in public schools and community colleges throughout the country to make it easier for recent arrivals to acclimate to their new home.
There needs to be a prevalent language in any country in order for people to be able to communicate. And — with Americans coming from countries where as many as 350 different languages are spoken — it is essential that there be one common language to bring us together. That language is English. And I am frankly surprised to learn that it has never been designated as “official” — though it really hasn’t been an issue in the past.
The Many Faces of America
Yesterday, Donald Trump signed an executive order addressing that very subject, and designating — for the first time ever — English as the official language of the United States. The order reads:
“From the founding of our Republic, English has been used as our national language. It is therefore long past time that English is declared as the official language of the United States.” [Gabe Gutierrez and Rebecca Shabad, NBC News, March 1, 2025.]
Okay, fine. There is absolutely nothing inherently wrong with that. Except for the timing.
Why — with all of the major issues and imminent crises currently facing our country and the entire world — would it even have occurred to a sitting president of the United States to worry about the fact that, for a quarter of a millennium, we have gotten by without an “official” language designation?
Quite simply, because it is another piece of his obsessively nationalistic, ethnocentric, xenophobic outlook — a moral defect that has led to his recent, outrageously excessive attacks on immigrants. It is ethnic profiling under the clever guise of patriotism.
In Nazi Germany, if you were not of Hitler’s imaginary “Arian” race, you were inferior, not quite human, and therefore disposable. He managed to dispose of more than six million so-called sub-humans. But how would that work here in the U.S., where everyone who isn’t 100% descended from Native American tribes would fail Hitler’s “Arian” test?
We Americans are all, to a greater or lesser degree, of some “foreign” ethnicity. If our ancestors hadn’t come here on a ship from somewhere else, there wouldn’t be a United States of America. We “foreigners” — or our forebears — built this country.
Donald Trump’s father was the son of German immigrants from Bavaria. His mother was a Scottish immigrant. If we allow him to eliminate the birther right that was granted to their children, perhaps he would also have to “go back where he came from” . . . to Germany or Scotland . . . if they’d even have him.
Another week with no hostage news, which I suppose is more good news than bad. So, to keep this reminder going as promised, I will fill these quiet weeks with photos of some of the prisoners still being held hostage in Russian and Belarusian penal colonies.
Lest we forget . . .
*. *. *
But we need to continue working on bringing back all of those remaining in prison:
David Barnes Ales Bialiatski (in Belarus) Gordon Black Andrei Chapiuk (in Belarus) Robert Gilman Stephen James Hubbard Ksenia Karelina Ihar Karney (in Belarus) Vadim Kobzev Uladzimir Labkovich (in Belarus) Michael Travis Leake Aleksei Liptser Ihar Losik (in Belarus) Daniel Martindale Farid Mehralizada (in Azerbaijan) Marfa Rabkova (in Belarus) Igor Sergunin Dmitry Shatresov Robert Shonov Eugene Spector Valiantsin Stafanovic (in Belarus) Siarhei Tsikhanouski (in Belarus) Laurent Vinatier Robert Romanov Woodland Vladislav Yesypenko (in Crimea) Yuras Zyankovich (in Belarus)
*. *. *
And once more — though you may call me a cockeyed optimist — I reiterate my message to Donald Trump:
“Amidst all of the hubbub of your new administration, it is imperative that these innocent men and women not be forgotten. Negotiations for their safe release have been underway for some time. President Joe Biden succeeded in bringing home 16 innocent people on August 1st of last year, and you have added two others to that list. But you should be trying to do even more. Whatever else you do, this should be high on your list of priorities. The people you promised to represent are counting on you.”
Well, that should come as no surprise to anyone . . . anyone other than Donald Trump, Elon Musk, JD Vance, and Tulsi Gabbard, that is.
I have to wonder: is there a single functioning brain among the four of them? Did no one think that, gee, maybe a disaffected employee — suddenly with no job, a family to support, a mortgage or rent payment coming due, and little or no savings — might be, oh, say, desperate enough to be vulnerable to an offer they might otherwise never have considered?
Did any one of the four even imagine that there might now be thousands of people fitting that description searching for jobs online? Or that there could be — oh, I don’t know — possibly some intelligence officers in other countries, like maybe Russia or China, able and all too willing to help out those people with offers of ready-made jobs? Jobs that probably pay way better than the ones from which they were just terminated?
Anyone? Like, say, Director of National Intelligence and Genius-of-the-Year Tulsi Gabbard, who — when cautioned by career CIA officers that there might be risk involved — had this to say to . . . who else? . . . Fox News:
“I am curious about how they [the CIA officers who issued the warning] think this is a good tactic to keep their job. They’re exposing themselves essentially by making this indirect threat using their propaganda arm through CNN that they’ve used over and over and over again to reveal their hand, that their loyalty is not at all to America. It is not to the American people or the Constitution. It is to themselves. And these are exactly the kind of people that we need to root out, get rid of so that the patriots who do work in this area, who are committed to our core mission can actually focus on that.” [Natasha Bertrand, Katie Bo Lillis and Zachary Cohen, CNN, March 1, 2025.]
Tulsi Gabbard
In other words, she thinks they’ve invented a threatening scenario in order to justify their own jobs.
How, in the name of all that is holy, was that woman ever judged to be qualified as national intelligence director? Who in their right mind takes a risk assessment from career intelligence officers and not only ignores it, but twists it into a threat against the country?
Tulsi Gabbard . . . that’s who.
Has she never heard of Aldrich Ames, Robert Hanssen, John Walker, or any of the others who sold out to our enemies for cold, hard cash? And they hadn’t lost their jobs when they found the temptation too hard to resist.
*. *. *
Those ex-employees who have been recently fired were not all lower-GS-level clerks and maintenance workers; many were people with security clearances and access to valuable information about U.S. critical infrastructure and government bureaucracy.
And the threat assessments have come, not only from the CIA, but also the Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS), which has stated with “high confidence” that foreign adversaries are trying to “capitalize” on the mass layoffs by recruiting federal employees, and that foreign intelligence officers are searching for potential recruits on LinkedIn, TikTok, RedNote and Reddit. [Id.]
One CNN source said: “It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to see that these cast aside federal workers with a wealth of institutional knowledge represent staggeringly attractive targets to the intelligence services of our competitors and adversaries.” [Id.]
Apparently, it takes more imagination than that possessed by the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse in Washington.
*. *. *
What we have here is a massive dung heap of screw-up piled on top of screw-up on top of screw-up that has, in just over a month, placed this country in peril of being so deeply mired in incompetence, inefficiency, and outright corruption that we may never recover.
Remember Murphy’s Law? That was an adage — much repeated in the 1950s and ‘60s, as I recall — that said that, in all probability, anything that can go wrong . . . will.
Well, guess what. It just did. Again.
The Body Language Says It All
The whole world was privy to yesterday’s boxing match at the White House between Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky on one side of the ring, and the double-team of Donald Trump and JD Vance on the other. (I cannot bring myself to address the last two by their assigned titles because I just don’t believe they deserve them . . . but let’s not go there right now.)
To say that it was a complete debacle is a gross understatement. I had read various reports of the meeting, but did not want to rely on the viewpoint of any particular news source. So I watched the video, which I urge everyone to do in order to form your own opinion as to who disrespected whom. And if this were a high school debate, and I were the moderator . . .
*. *. *
First, let me say that I have been trying to wean myself from further discussions of U.S. politics. But this White House meeting involved more than just Trump’s decimation of the U.S. government; it was truly a matter of the greatest international significance.
Am I somewhat prejudiced in favor of Ukraine . . . a sovereign nation that has been invaded by the Russian tyrant Vladimir Putin in an undisguised effort to reclaim former Soviet territories? Absolutely.
Am I naturally inclined to distrust an American autocrat who lies, cheats, and openly sides with Putin? You’re damned right, I am.
But in watching yesterday’s White House melee, I tried to see it from a more personal vantage point, rather than purely political. So you’re not supposed to raise your voice to the American president in his home . . . or so they say. And I say, why not, when you too are president of your country? Would Trump hesitate to argue with Zelensky if they were in Kyiv? Of course, he wouldn’t. He’s a bully, no matter where he is.
And what ever happened to mutual respect? Both Trump and Vance treated Zelensky as though he were a pauper begging in the street for alms. They talked down to him, they berated him, they ridiculed him, they accused him of being “unappreciative” . . . and they gave no consideration to the fact that this man has fought valiantly for three years to defend his country against a hostile takeover (a term that should be more than familiar to a rapacious businessman like Trump).
Was Zelensky emotional? How could he not be? He is physically and mentally exhausted. He is battling for the lives of his people. And he is, in effect, now being told that he has no right to speak up, to negotiate the terms of a peace treaty that will determine the future of his own nation, and that he himself is responsible for the devastation of his country because he will not unconditionally surrender.
I tried to put myself in Volodymyr Zelensky’s place at that meeting, and — knowing myself and the limits of my patience — I concluded that I probably would have thrown the nearest water glass at Trump and stormed out on my own, uttering a few obscenities along the way.
But I’m not a diplomat. Instead, Zelensky — swallowing his pride — is seeking a way to repair the damage because he knows it is in the best interests of his country to do so. And in that, as in all things, I wish him Godspeed.
*. *. *
As for the Killer in the Kremlin . . . well, I can only imagine his reaction to this latest gift from his friend in Washington.
And it was as though that writer from 400 years ago was talking about me. Because that’s exactly what yesterday — and a lot of other days — turned out to be like. It was just one more of those days in a week of “spuddling.”
You know how, when you get up in the morning (or, in my case, around noon-ish), having made a to-do list before turning in last night, you think you’re raring to go. You’ve got the whole day to yourself. You’re going to toss a load of laundry into the washing machine, clean out the fridge, and — time permitting — get those boxes of clothes you haven’t worn for the past two years over to Goodwill. So you head for the bathroom, do whatever it is you do first thing in the a.m., and go to the kitchen for a bit of breakfast.
While you’re eating, you have time to check the 122 email messages that have popped up overnight, deleting all the ones from companies you once bought something from eight years ago who want you back as a customer; the pleas for political contributions that may or may not be from the actual candidates; the reminder from your dentist that you’re six months past due for a cleaning; the offers that start out “Congratulations, you have been chosen …”; Amazon telling you they’ve found something you absolutely, positively must have or you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life; and the extra special ones about medical conditions you probably don’t have, like irritable bowel syndrome, psoriasis, or — my personal favorite — erectile dysfunction. (I’m female . . . okay?)
So, what’s first? Oh, yeah . . . the laundry. But wait a second. What was that news flash about Ukraine, or China, or the White House? Maybe you should take a few minutes to catch up on the day’s news.
Finally, you make it to the laundry room and get the washer going, when you hear the dog whining and you see her standing by the door with her hind legs crossed. So out you go for a little fresh air while the princess sniffs out the only spot in the entire county that is worthy of receiving her poop. Ten minutes ago she couldn’t hold it for another second, but now she has time to check every tree and bush and grassy spot between here and Guam.
And by the time you get back home, you’re hungry again, so you pop into the kitchen to make a sandwich . . . which, of course, you eat while again checking and deleting the 47 new emails that arrived while you were out on poop patrol. As you’re putting the rest of the lunch meat back into the fridge, you remember that you were supposed to be cleaning it out today, but you can’t do it right now because you just have to write something for your blog about that news item you spotted.
However, on your way back to your desk, you realize you’ve snagged a fingernail on something, so you detour to the bathroom to fetch your nail file, and decide you may as well go for the full manicure while you’re at it since your nails have gotten too long to type anyway. That’s kind of annoying, so you turn on the TV to take your mind off the boredom of clipping and filing your nails, and you get involved in this movie you know you’ve seen before but can’t remember how it ends.
Two hours later, as you’re watching the credits roll to try and catch the name of that one actor who looked so familiar, it’s time to fix dinner. What . . . already?!! The fridge hasn’t been cleaned out, the article for your blog isn’t written, the boxes of clothes are still in the corner, the dog is whining again . . . and you realize that you’ve spent the past six hours doing this . . .
. . . and accomplishing next to nothing. So you vow at least to get the blog taken care of after dinner tonight, and tend to the fridge tomorrow. What you need — after cleaning up the dinner dishes and posting a few well-turned paragraphs for your very small handful of readers — is a nice hot shower and a good night’s sleep.
And as you lie back in bed and pull the blankets up to your chin, your eyelids begin to feel heavy, and you’re thinking happy thoughts about all you’re going to accomplish tomorrow, and . . .
OH, SHIT!!! . . . the laundry! It’s still in the washing machine!
But what the hell . . . it will still be there tomorrow. I can give it another rinse before putting it into the dryer . . . right after I clean out the fridge.
*. *. *
Let’s face it: some days are just like that. We all have them. There’s no use agonizing over it; better to go with the flow.
In the words of the immortal Scarlett O’Hara: Tomorrow is another day.
With my luck, there probably isn’t . . . but that’s all right. There will be considerable satisfaction in simply having led Interpol to the perpetrator.
This was a crime committed, not here in the U.S., but in the U.K., in 2019. The thieves were actually apprehended, and just this week went on trial for having purloined a priceless potty from 18th-century Blenheim Palace. The item in question: a 200-pound solid gold toilet, insured for $6 million, which has never been recovered.
And I think I know where it is.
The Golden Throne
But first, a little background.
This ultimate luxury was created as a humorous statement piece by Italian artist Maurizio Cattelan in 2016. He titled it “America” — which tells you what he thought of us Americans (or at least the wealthiest of us). It debuted at the Guggenheim Museum in New York, where — fully functional — it replaced a porcelain toilet in a museum restroom. The Guggenheim’s website explains its purpose as follows:
“For ‘America’ Cattelan replaced the toilet in this restroom with a fully functional replica cast in 18-karat gold, making available to the public an extravagant luxury product seemingly intended for the 1 percent. Its participatory nature, in which viewers are invited to make use of the fixture individually and privately, allows for an experience of unprecedented intimacy with a work of art. Cattelan’s toilet offers a wink to the excesses of the art market but also evokes the American dream of opportunity for all — its utility ultimately reminding us of the inescapable physical realities of our shared humanity.”
When the exhibit closed in 2019, the comely commode was moved to Blenheim Palace near Oxford, U.K., “the traditional seat of the Dukes of Marlborough where Winston Churchill was born.” [1440 Daily Digest, February 26, 2025.]
Get it? . . . “the traditional seat of the Dukes of Marlborough . . .”
Sir Winston Churchill
Mr. Churchill was well known for his droll sense of humor, but I’m not sure what he would have thought of an 18K gold toilet in his ancestral home . . . though I’m reasonably certain he would have found something appropriately caustic to say about it. He might even have asked why there wasn’t a matching bidet.
*. *. *
But what about my having solved the mystery of the missing treasure? It is generally thought to have been melted down and sold for the value of the gold, rather than as an artwork. But I don’t think so. I think it’s very much in one piece, here on the other side of the Pond, which is where Interpol enters the picture.
I wonder if they’ve checked the throne room in the West Wing at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, D.C. Truthfully . . . isn’t it just the sort of thing that might have been installed for the royal ass-in-residence?
The six-hour meeting between Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov and U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio, held yesterday in Istanbul, Turkiye, focused on rebuilding diplomatic relations between the two countries, with particular emphasis on resolving disputes concerning their respective missions in Washington and Moscow.
Marco Rubio and Sergei Lavrov
And, much like their get-together in Saudi Arabia nine days earlier, it ended with . . . well, not much, really. Vladimir Putin’s comments at a meeting in Moscow with the Federal Security Service (FSB) included the following:
“I note that the first contacts with the new American administration inspire certain hopes. There is a reciprocal mood to work to restore intergovernmental ties and to gradually resolve the huge number of systemic and strategic problems that have built up in the world’s security architecture.” [RFE/RL, February 27, 2025.]
And Maria Zakharova, Russia’s Foreign Ministry spokesperson, added that Moscow hopes the meeting will be just the first of a series of discussions “to bring the U.S. side and us closer to settling differences, building confidence.” [Id.]
So, basically, we’ll sling the spaghetti against the wall and see what sticks . . . right?
Well, not quite. After all, even a personal relationship that’s been on the rocks for three years isn’t likely to be all sweetness and light again after just a few hours of counseling. It sure as hell is going to take more than a couple of half-day meetings to mend something as complex as U.S.-Russian relations.
And in order to mend any serious rift, there has to be a measure of trust between the parties. If one spouse, for example, has been a lying, cheating, abusive s.o.b., it’s going to take some time before he or she can earn the trust of the other spouse. And if they’ve both been lying, cheating . . .
Well, never mind. Suffice it to say that diplomacy-speak is, by design, the very definition of ambiguity. Every word counts . . . and in the case of the U.S. and Russia, both sides know it. In fact, following the Riyadh meeting on February 18th, which focused on the war in Ukraine, Secretary Rubio said:
“We need to know, and the president wants to know early in his presidency, are the Russians interested in ending this war or are they not. President Trump has made deals his entire life. He’s not going to get suckered into a bad deal.” [Id.]
Well, let’s hope not!
And dear old Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov had this to say about Russia’s consistent demand that Ukraine cede its territories of Donetsk, Lukhansk, Zaporizhzhya and Kherson in their entirety:
“The territories which have become subjects of the Russian Federation, which are inscribed in our country’s constitution, are an inseparable part of our country. This is undeniable and non-negotiable.” [Id.]
Well, Dima, I have this to say about that: You’re full of crap.
*. *. *
But entirely aside from the issues involved in international diplomacy, let us not overlook one major question:
Should we be talking to Russia at all?
The U.S. and our Western allies have spent the past three years, and hundreds of billions of dollars, defending Ukraine against the illegal, immoral, and unforgivable invasion of its sovereign territory by Vladimir Putin. Trade restrictions and other sanctions against Russia and countless responsible individuals have made life difficult for Putin and his minions. He has been ostracized by virtually the entire free world, unable to travel freely as he might wish because of the outstanding warrant issued by the International Criminal Court.
But with one phone call, all of that effort to rein in Putin’s brutal assault on Ukraine has been flushed down the toilet by his good friend in the White House. And the continuing meetings will only serve to play further into Putin’s hands, bringing him back to his former seat of world power.
That’s far worse than diplomacy by ambiguity; it’s diplomacy by betrayal . . . betrayal, not of one’s adversaries, but of one’s own friends and allies.
And after that, who can ever hope to be trusted again?
To the Honorable Chief Justice Roberts and Associate Justices Thomas, Alito, Sotomayor, Kagan, Gorsuch, Kavanaugh, Barrett, and Jackson:
I spent more than half of my life working in the legal field. From the very first, the members of the Supreme Court were my idols, my professional role models: the likes of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., Earl Warren, Felix Frankfurter, and William Rehnquist. They were men (no women on the Court yet) who were devoted to the honest, objective, non-partisan, completely apolitical dispensation of justice for all.
So, with all due respect . . . what the hell has happened? Where did the road to Justice take a 180-degree turn from Capitol Hill back downtown to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue? When did partisan politics begin to enter into the U.S. judicial system?
And, most puzzling to me: What are you afraid of? Your jobs are for life. You can’t be fired. What hold does the current administration have over each and every one of you?
You, who are addressed as “Honorables,” are the last hope of this great nation of ours. When are you going to stand up and do whatever is necessary to save us from disaster . . . to uphold our Constitution as you have sworn to do? Or are we, after all, truly lost?
In memory of this great woman, and for the sake of all Americans, I beg you to come to your senses, stand tall, and do the right thing, as she would have done.
To begin with, let me assure you that I don’t think there is anything funny about a person dying in midair on a Qatar Airways flight from Melbourne, Australia, to Doha, Qatar. And in no way do I mean to make light of the woman’s misfortune, or her family’s loss. But what followed her collapse — the way the situation was handled — and the unsuspecting passenger who . . . well, that’s a whole other story.
And that is where . . . I’m sorry, really, but I just can’t stop laughing . . . the whole episode becomes so . . . oh my God! . . . I keep imagining myself in this poor man’s place, and . . . no, sorry, but I just can’t help it.
Okay . . . under control now.
*. *. *
I’ve never flown on Qatar Air, so I can’t speak from personal experience. But I’ve never heard anything negative about it, and I’d guess that Mitchell Ring and Jennifer Colin hadn’t either, or they might have booked on Qantas instead. But whatever the reason for their choice, there they were — en route to their ultimate destination of Venice, Italy, via Doha, for their dream vacation — when this lady’s life came to a sudden end, with some four hours of flying time left before they were to reach Doha. [Maia Davies, BBC News, February 26, 2025.]
Now, the unnamed woman — let’s call her Mary — certainly did not choose to collapse in the aisle next to Mitchell and Jennifer; that is just where her life happened to come to an end. The crew is said to have done their best to revive her, but to no avail. Her time had simply run out.
Airlines have protocols for dealing with all sorts of emergencies, of course . . . including sudden deaths. But there were extra problems in Mary’s case. Apparently, she was a very large woman. Add to that the fact that she was now, quite literally, dead weight, and moving her proved next to impossible. In fact, Mitchell later said in an interview on Current Affair that “they couldn’t get her through the aisle.” [Id.]
It seems they were trying to move her toward business class . . . I guess you get an automatic upgrade if you die on a Qatar Air flight. That’s a nice thought . . . though I can only imagine how the passengers who had paid for business class seats would have felt. But never mind; they were unable to get her there in any event.
Somehow, while all of this was going on, Mitchell’s travel companion, Jennifer, had been moved to another seat. I’m not sure whether she had to climb over Mary’s rather sizable body, or if she was air-lifted by the crew; but in any case, she was out of the line of fire.
It’s also not clear why they didn’t ask Mitchell to move as well, since there were other empty seats. Frankly, I think Mitch and Jen (I feel I know them pretty well by this time) should have been the ones upgraded to business class; but that is now a moot point.
Anyway, Mitch says they asked him, “Can you move over please?” and, having no idea what their plan was, he replied, “Yes, no problem.” My guess is that he thought they just wanted him to be out of the way in case Mary fell over as they were trying to lift her.
But . . . no. What they wanted was his seat, because then, in Mitchell’s own words, “they placed the lady in the chair I was in.” And poor Mitch — having accommodatingly moved over — found himself seated next to Mary’s corpse. Fortunately, someone had thought to cover her with blankets. [Id.]
Well, probably not that well-wrapped . . . but covered.
Now, here is where the story gets a little fuzzy. The report doesn’t mention whether Mitch and Jen were in a row of two seats or three across. Presumably, Mitch, when asked to move over, had to move away from the aisle and into a window seat. Since Jen had been relocated, either Mitch moved into Jen’s vacated seat and Mary took Mitch’s place, or (if three seats across) the crew then plopped Mary’s oversized corpse into the two seats previously occupied by the once happy couple. Either way, Mitch and Jen were now separated and couldn’t even hold each other’s hands in consolation. And Mitch was totally, impenetrably blocked in by an unmoving, unmovablecadaver.
So, there sat Mitch with Mary, obviously in silence, for the duration of the flight. And when the plane landed in Doha four hours later, the already difficult situation inexplicably got even worse. The passengers were instructed to stay in their seats while the medical staff and police came on board . . . as though Mitch would have been able to get out in any event, being blocked in by Mount Mary.
And when the ambulance staff arrived, they immediately pulled the blankets off of the blissfully-unaware Mary, thus exposing her dead face to the world . . . and, most closely, to Mitch.
*. *. *
Now, by this time you’re probably wondering why I find this tragedy to be so hilarious. There are actually a couple of reasons. One is that I have an innately twisted sense of humor. Always have. Can’t help it.
The second reason is that, when I mentally put myself in Mitch’s place, the bizarre way in which the situation was handled just becomes more and more like a slapstick comedy routine. I mean, think about it . . .
First, if Mary was too large to be moved through the aisle to business class, how was she managing to maneuver from her seat(s) to wherever she was headed? Presumably, the only place she had to go would be to the rest room. And — again, I’ve never flown Qatar Air so I don’t know —but would she even have fit into the notoriously cramped airline facilities? The mental images conjured up by my fevered brain at this point are not something I want to be forever stuck in my mind.
Second, Mitch had also indicated there were other empty seats in their section. When they moved Jen, why didn’t they also move Mitch out of the way? Could they not lift him over the obstruction then lying in the aisle? Wasn’t that gender discrimination?
So I have this picture of the hapless Mitch looking on as he is hemmed in by Mary for four hours. What if he had had to use the rest room? Were the crew able to serve him a meal, snack, beverages . . . maybe oxygen . . . during the remainder of the flight? And if they had, would he even have felt like eating . . . or breathing? Did they even think to toss him a couple of bottles of booze from the mini-bar?
And when they finally landed and the medics uncovered Mary’s body — likely already in the early stages of rigor mortis — did Mitch just sit there and stare out the window, or did he watch the proceedings in grisly fascination?
I mean . . . what the hell were these people thinking??!!!!
*. *. *
I have seen dead people. (No, not like the movie — I don’t have visitations from spirits.) But I have attended far too many funerals with open caskets, and I have had to say goodbye to my mother and sister. In fact, when I was just eight years old, my great-grandmother died while I was sitting by her bed holding her hand. I don’t freak out. So the idea of being on a plane — an enclosed space — with a recently-deceased person, while sad, would not have been overly traumatic for me.
But would I have chosen dead Mary as my seat mate for four long hours? Uh . . . nope. I’m not squeamish; but I’m also not ghoulish. I might, however, in a mischievous moment, have tried interacting with her . . . just to see the reactions of the other passengers, and hopefully to lighten the general atmosphere a bit:
“Hey, Mary, are you feeling any better? Were you on vacation? Seen any good movies lately? You didn’t have Covid, did you?”
But everyone is different. Mitch, who sounds far more reasonable than I, apparently found this incident traumatic, telling Current Affair:
“We should be contacted to make sure, do you need some support, do you need some counselling [sic]? We totally understand that we can’t hold the airline responsible for the poor lady’s death, but there has to be a protocol to look after the customers on board.” [Id.]
And he makes a good point. So, I have a few suggestions for the folks at Qatar Airlines.
First, perhaps you could seat all extra-large passengers next to the rest rooms, so they don’t have to block the aisle on their way to use the facilities. (It’s not body-shaming . . . just common sense.) And maybe they could be instructed to remain in their seats and not walk about for any other reason, just in case. Of course, there will be an immediate reaction from all of those people who are so hung up on political correctness and equal rights; but I presume you have a Legal Department to deal with that.
Second, when relocating a corpse on a flight, you might want to check with the adjacent person or people before assuming they can deal with being in such close proximity. I mean . . . really?!!
Third, in the event — as in Mary’s case — you might have an obstruction in the aisle (human or otherwise) that is too large and too heavy to move, perhaps you could keep some sort of portable ramp onboard . . . Nah, forget that one. The flight attendants would never be able to get the service carts over it without losing a few ice cubes.
And finally, let’s remember that Mary was dead. She was in no hurry to meet the emergency medical crew. Maybe it would have been better to off-load the passengers first — even to a holding area where the police could conduct any necessary interviews — before exposing her to all and sundry.
I’m sure Mitch would have found some way to get out of his seat.
Why do I keep saying I’m going to take a day off to do absolutely nothing? I know it’s not going to happen.
This lasted for about an hour
Today’s restus interruptus was not actually breaking news . . . for which I am very grateful, because that kind of news is almost always bad. But I happened to see a video (yes, I did peek at my phone once or twice) of on-the-street interviews by a reporter from RadioFreeEurope/RadioLiberty (RFE/RL) with people in three cities in northwestern Russia: Moscow, Pskov and Vologda. The question they were being asked was what they thought about the war in Ukraine . . . or, in Kremlin-speak, Putin’s “special military operation” . . . and the answers, while guarded, were revealing of the propaganda they’re being fed by state-run media.
I took some screen shots showing the English translations of their comments to share with you. So, without further ado, I present to you . . . improvisational Russia.
THE PEACEMAKERS FROM PSKOV:
*. *. *
THE MOSCOW OPTIMISTS:
*. *. *
THE MOSCOW WARRIOR (WITH A FUTURE AS A STAND-UP COMIC)
*. *. *
AND TO SUM IT UP, THE WISE MAN FROM VOLOGDA:
*. *. *
And I can’t think of a single thing to add to that.
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