Winning at Airport Security Bingo

This post was completed a few weeks back on a lonely business trip. Time clearly got away from me because I forgot to post it.

I had a plan. It was a good plan.

Today I flew for the first time since the infamous backscatter x-ray machines began working their way through our nation's airports. I had a speech prepared; one pulled from a website equally outraged at this silly attempt at security theater.

And then, for not the first time in my life, procrastination ruined my best laid plans.

Forty minutes to my flight. Security line snaked far past the ropes meant to contain it. Pre-prepared indignation put on hold.

I got to the front of the Phase One line. My friendly neighborhood TSA agent waved me over. I handed him my license and boarding pass. He was a younger short with one of those haircuts made popular by George Clooney and Matt Damon. I guess Jack Bauer had one too. Kinda.

He inspected my license. "Hey Ginger. How you doin'?" Like Joey from Friends. I want to call bullshit: he gets to crack jokes and I don't? Hardly seems fair. I made with my best "aren't you precious?" smile. That must have been what assured him I wasn't a terrorist. I wish he had told his co-workers.

I guess this is as a good a time as any to mention airports make me sweat. Not like Chris Farley or Kevin Smith sweat, but with all those bodies packed together, my natural inclination is to get a bit clammy. I've never had an out-of-body experience right at one of these special moments, but I have to imagine I don't look terribly comfortable.

Maybe that's why within a couple warm bodies of getting my laptop bag onto the security conveyer belt (Freedom--thar be up ahead!), one of Joey's TSA comrades set his eyes on me.

"Ma'am, you've been selected for additional screening."

"Excuse me?"

"Your hands. I need to swab your hands."

"Why?"

He looked nonplussed. I had deviated from the routine. For a brief second, my pre-prepared indignation did a happy dance.

"To ensure you have no materials on your person."

Let me translate: We need to make sure that between eating your bowl of Wheaties and driving to the airport this morning, you didn't decide to venture into a terrorist safe house to build a bomb.

Swabbing done. It was my turn at the backscatter. Yippee!

For those who haven't had the pleasure: you stand with your legs hip width apart holding your hands over your head with your thumbs and forefingers touching in a circle. Hold for eight seconds. TSA Yoga. DVD coming soon.

Completed with my dose of radiation, I was told to go two steps forward where a rather large woman had a surprise for me. Turns out I had won at Airport Security Bingo.

"Ma'am, you've been selected for additional screening."

I'd like to take a moment here to discuss use of the word "selected." I know that some of the greatest PR and branding minds the U.S. Government can afford probably sat around a table coming up with appropriate "soft" language; the kind of non-threatening verbiage that will put even a passenger with, say, a metric ton of explosives strapped to their genitals at ease. This word though drives me nuts though. It's too soft; too familiar. The TSA ain't Ed McMahon and a pat down isn't a really big check. I think we can all use a little honesty within this process.

I have to say--the pat down wasn't that bad. I won't be paying for the pleasure of Broomhilda (not her real name) anytime soon, but she was, shall we say, exceedingly gentle. She was almost clinical running her hands over me explaining her actions every step of the way. I was wearing a skirt and there wasn't even a hint of awkwardness there: she never went up, just lifted it slightly. Nice job, Sea-Tac.

The first leg of my journey was to Atlanta. My first single-serving friend (obligatory BILM movie reference) was a very nice man who looked and sounded a lot like Bill Engvall. I learned during our journey together that he was an airline pilot (so no "here's your sign" jokes then?) who had once flown commercial, but was now living and working in Japan flying private tours to Hawaii. A few minutes into the flight he fell asleep. Best single serving friend I've had in a while.

Things I've learned while traveling today:

• Delta Airlines has the least leg room of any carrier I have ever flown. On the upside, their flight attendants actually seem to give a shit. 
• I'm susceptible to suggestive sneezing. 
• Attendants cannot take garbage while serving beverages. 
• Delta's coffee: not bad. 
• Sea-Tac airport has this freakish mural on the large windows next to main C gates. It includes a couple in bed flanked by what looked like a unicorn and the cowardly lion. 

Dinner and a Couple of Movies: Pasta Al Pomodoro, The King's Speech, and Dogma

The Meal
On tonight's menu: Pasta Al Pomodoro, a slight variation from the cover recipe featured in this month's Bon Appetit. This is an insanely easy "scratch" sauce to make, but has enough flavor to make it seem like you spent hours slaving away in the kitchen. This recipe makes four servings. My husband and I were able to go back for seconds and had a bit left over for next-day lunch.

This paired nicely with bread sticks and a strong red wine.

3 tablespoons + 1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 minced medium onion
2 minced garlic cloves (this might make some cooks shudder, but I used a garlic press)
A pinch of crushed red pepper flakes
One 28 oz. can tomatoes, pureed in a food processor or blender
1 Italian chicken sausage (skin intact)
1 tablespoon dried basil (or 2 spring of fresh)
12 oz. dried spaghetti
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
kosher salt


Heat 1 tablespoon EVOO in a small skillet on medium-low heat. Brown both sides of the sausage. Add 3 tablespoons of water, cover and let cook for 20 minutes, adding extra water as needed. Remove from heat. Slice sausage into bite-sized pieces.

Meanwhile, heat 3 tablespoons EVOO in large skillet or dutch oven over medium-low heat. Add onion and cook, stirring, until soft, about 10-12 minutes. Add the garlic and cook an additional 2-4 minutes. Add red pepper flakes and cook until combined, about 1 minute. Increase heat to medium, add pureed tomatoes, sliced sausage and season with kosher salt and basil; cook, stirring occasionally, until sauce thickens and flavors meld, about 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, cook spaghetti until al dente. Drain, reserving a 1/4 cup pasta cooking water. Stir in as much cooking water as needed to loosen sauce; bring to a boil. Add pasta and cook until sauce coats pasta. Remove pan from heat; add butter and Parmesan cheese. Toss until cheese melts. Add more cheese if desired.


The Movies

The King's Speech (2010)
Directed by Tom Hooper
Starring Colin Firth, Geoffrey Rush, Helena Bonham Carter
Rating: 9.5 out of 10

I've been slacking on my Academy Award nominees. I saw so little in the theater last year...thank goodness for Netflix and AppleTV!

But, alas, even then I seem to drag my feet getting to films I know I'll like. It's as if I'm taking them for granted: they become my go-to movies for when I need something that won't disappoint. Of course, occasionally, these cinematic "sure things" are anything but.

The King's Speech was a "sure thing."

If you're like me and are late to the party that's been draping accolades on this fine film, The King's Speech is a historical drama about King George VI's (Colin Firth) struggle to overcome his stammer using the methods of an unorthodox speech therapist, Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush). Yeah, it's a movie about speech therapy, but it focuses on the unlikely bond between two men from different walks of life. Before he becomes King, Prince Albert, Duke of York is the perfect austere picture of the monarchy save for his stammer, which is a constant source of humiliation and despair. His father (King George V) and his boorish brother don't understand why he can't just snap out of it. The only sympathetic figure in Prince Albert's life is his wife, Elizabeth (Helena Bonham Carter), who finds Logue after the traditional treatments, which are more like torture than medicine, fail to work. Prince Albert is trapped, terrified and alone in his suffering; Lionel eventually gives him the tools to find his way out.

All the performances are top-notch, but Colin Firth is mesmerizing as Prince Albert/King George VI.  Prince Albert is caught between a world that teaches him that by birth he's better than others and having to rely on a "commoner" to help him become who he was meant to be. It's not an easy role to play and in the hands of a lesser actor, Prince Albert might have been wholly unlikeable, a prig unable to step down from his gilded cage. But even in moments of angry outburst, Firth  manages to show Prince Albert for the sad, scared man he is--a man who has accepted who he was born to be, but desperately yearns to be better than he is.

I remember reading some time back that Queen Elizabeth claimed to have never seen The Queen--the excellent movie where Dame Helen Mirren plays Her Highness in the days after the death of Princess Diana. I never quite believed that; if someone plays you in a movie, I can't imagine that your curiosity wouldn't eventually get the best of you. While The Queen was sympathetic in its portrayal, it wasn't always kind.

The King's Speech, however, is a love letter to King George VI's--Queen Elizabeth's father--courage and tenacity.  The Queen apparently has seen it and said she was "moved." Apparently, Queen Elizabeth's mother had requested screenwriter David Seidel not make the film until after her death because she felt it would be too painful to watch. In these days of tell-alls and the tearing down of popular figures, the respect shown the family and the film's subjects makes me love The King's Speech all the more.

Dogma (1999)
Directed by Kevin Smith
Starring Ben Affleck, Matt Damon, George Carlin, Alan Rickman, Linda Fiorentino
Rating: 8 out of 10

We decided to celebrate the non-Rapture with another viewing of Kevin Smith's controversial Dogma.

I first heard about Dogma on release because of the protests it raised around the country. The film was distributed by Lions Gate, who purchased the film after Disney and Smith supporter Miramax succumbed to pressure by groups like The Catholic League. The filmmakers received over 300,000 pieces of hate mail, including several death threats.

So was all the hoopla justified? As is often the case, no. This isn't to say the film isn't good--it remains one of my favorites in the Smith cannon--but there's nothing in it that should so easily rankle the ire of the religious. Smith is a Catholic, grew up going to Sunday school and has clearly spent a fair amount of time reading The Bible. With Dogma, he takes this knowledge and turns it into a raucous fantasy about a possible scenario for the end of the existence.

The thing is Smith is exceedingly respectful to the source material. Dogma could have been an exercise in questioning the morality and intelligence of those who believe in God (as so many films with pious characters do), but that's far from the case here.  Where he does takes some pokes is at the Church, which is a creation of Man, rather than God directly. Smith's beef, if he has one, is with Man's interpretation of God's word and ideas, rather than in whether The Big Guy (or Girl) actually exists.

Smith, with Chasing Amy and the recent and excellent Red State, has shown the ability to take high level concepts and distill them down--sometimes too far down for many viewers' tastes. While every Smith film has its share of sex jokes and swear words, there's always an emotional intelligence to the characters and the story that can be tough for those fixated on the profanity to see. Dogma follows in this vein: Loki, The Angel of Death did God's bidding until his friend and fellow angel Bartleby questioned the morality of killing humans. In a drunken stupor, Loki, quits his job causing God to banish both angels out of Heaven to spend all of eternity in Wisconsin (another side effect: angels can no longer imbibe in alcohol). We join Loki and Bartleby as they discover a loop hole in dogmatic law: a church in New Jersey is celebrating a rebranding campaign with plenary indulgence, an idea in Catholic theology that acquits the punished for sins already forgiven. If they can get to the church and become mortal (which for an angel means removing their wings), they can pass into Heaven. One problem: all of existence relies on God being infallible. If these two are able to defy His decree, existence will be negated.

With me so far?

Because apparently God likes Skeet Ball and travels out of Heaven once a month to play, He isn't around to take care of the Loki/Bartleby problem. The Voice of God, aka the Metatron, asks for the help of The Last Scion, a Planned Parenthood employee who has been questioning the existence of God since her husband left  because she couldn't bear his children. Reluctantly she agrees to travel to New Jersey and is given aid in the form of two bumbling prophets (Jay and Silent Bob) and the 13th Apostle, who claims he was left out of The Bible because he's black.

Dogma looks like a typical Smith film, which is to say it's pretty unremarkable. Where it shines--as all Smith movies shine--is in the story and dialog. It would have been easy to get mired down in minute details to try and prove a connection to God and faith or go so far to the other end of the spectrum making it near impossible to take seriously. Dogma strikes a delicate balance between using components of the Catholic religion to tell the story without being the story. Smith respects the mythology, but isn't afraid to bend it to suit the purposes of where he wants to go. In some ways Dogma could be seen as a parable for how Man uses religion, melding it and the message to suit specific purposes.

Dogma is a harmless and fun film. It doesn't aspire to uplift or inform, but it also isn't anything the religiously righteous should run from. Religion through the eyes of Kevin Smith is simply a path that one can choose to follow or not. He understands the big questions of faith and existence, but doesn't try to answer them--this isn't the movie for it and he realizes that those aren't his questions to answer.

Bad News: No Rapture

It doesn't look like The Rapture is going to happen. It's like the news of a fourth Spiderman movie: all that build-up and then...nothing.

What I still can't wrap my mind around is why so much faith (excuse the pun) and airtime was given over to an 89-year-old ex-engineer turned "family" (read "Christian") radio station owner who used a series of convoluted calculations to predict the end of the world. If you read his "proof" (it's on his website and I don't care to promote him more in providing a link), it's based around random dates during biblical times and the number 23. You remember the number 23, don't you? Yes, a terrible movie in which Jim Carrey goes emo, but also a number doomsday whack-a-doos have been hanging their hats on for decades.

I wonder about the people who bought in to this "prophecy." Sadly I'm even loosely connected to someone who quit his job in preparation. On the front page of Reddit this morning, one of the top stories is a personal account of someone saving a German Shepard puppy from owners who wanted it put down before Jesus showed up. I wonder how many others quit their jobs, left their families, gave away their possessions for the coming of something that logic says isn't likely...even if you believe that the Rapture at some point is even a possibility.

I wish there was some real-world punishment that could be wrought on on our doomsday soothsayer. If he really believed his own hooey, one might think that would be punishment enough. No Jesus on a chariot to bring the believers to Heaven; he as the right-hand given his prediction to humanity. No fire and brimstone for the heathens.

But our non-hero has been here before making a similar end-of-times prediction in 1994. The sad truth is he'll do it again if given the chance. He may be concerned about his own salvation, but clearly he likes the attention too. The fact we gave so much to him when there's real news happening says more about us than it does about him and his followers. I heard more this week about the coming Rapture than I did about either President Obama's speech in Egypt or Queen's Elizabeth's visit to Ireland and those events are, you know. real.

I suppose the Rapture is an easier story though. People understand The End of Days. After all there's a movie with Arnold Schwarzenegger (the subject of an equally silly, heavily reported Baby Mama story from this week) for easy reference. Besides despair breeds despair and there's nothing like God and his power to smite the non-believers as the ultimate Magic Bullet to life's problems.

I fear this won't be the last we hear about the Rapture coming to a neighborhood near you. The only good news is the centerpiece of this failed attempt is 89 years old. Time isn't on his side. He may not get another shot at scaring the shit out of us. That's okay--we're pretty good at doing it to ourselves.