Things are settling nicely in the tiki office. I moved the birds in.
Shortly afterward, the cat moved herself in.
Meanwhile, at a sidewalk sale I found a travel guide to the South Pacific that fills me with rage.
There’s no date on this gorgeous item, but it was printed in Australia through a joint effort of the tourism boards of Australia, New Zealand, and Fiji. These all appear to be excellent places to go.
Also, it comes with a beautiful fold-out map!
So why does this book fill me with rage? Because of the section on airline travel.
Look at these midcentury rat bastards, enjoying delicious meals in spacious accommodations! These people have never had to take their shoes off to go through a magic scanner that turns them naked.
Nobody’s reclining their seat back into this little girl’s plate! Everyone’s knees are comfortable and unbruised!
THEY HAVE BEDS! HOW DO THEY EVEN HAVE BEDS AAAARGH
And Don Draper here can shove his complimentary sherry in an inappropriate opening.
What the hell happened, airlines? Why am I now afforded less dignity than a feedlot chicken when I get on a plane? Where’s my sherry, dammit?
If I wasn’t surrounded by soothing bamboo and rattan as I write this, I’d be rampaging up the street.