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by Michael E. Campana
(being a semi-fictional account of my sabbatical adventures, designed to amuse; to be read with a dose of skepticism)
18 October 2002
I should probably entitle this "The Utah Report" since I spent almost a week in Snowbird at a conference convened by the Utton Transboundary Resources Center of UNM's School of Law. Come to think of it, "The Delta Report" might be more apropos, considering my adventures on the USA's #3 airline.
The conference in Utah was interesting - it was a multidisciplinary (attorneys, hydrologists, engineers, economists, political scientists, psychologists, climatologists, biologists, etc.) gathering to address the issue of fair and equitable (what novel concepts!) allocation of transboundary waters and fast-food franchises. Over half the attendees were lawyers, which makes sense, because allocation agreements are legal documents and you can't have people like me authoring them (Hey, what if….Nahhhh).
It would be easy for me to now segue into lawyer jokes but I won't. The reason I won't is a serious one. During the usual round of lawyer jokes (some told by lawyers) in Utah, I was reminded of an article I read in the Christian Science Monitor last year. It described a region in Europe called Sub-Carpathia (roughly the area where Poland, Hungary, Ukraine, the Slovak Republic and Romania come together). What's unusual about this region is that for many years, it has been a relative island of tranquility despite the fact that its 1,000,000+ residents represent different ethnic and religious groups who live together. It comes as no surprise that groups such as the UN are studying Sub-Carpathia trying to learn why harmony exists here and not in other places. So why do I mention this? One thing is apparent: in this region, there is no history of ethnic or religious jokes.
On the first leg (Salt Lake City to Cincinnati) of my return to Austria I sat next to the human model for the "Chatty Cathy" doll. After explaining her plans for world peace, poverty alleviation and the joys of growing up in Whynot, Mississippi, she inquired as to my ultimate destination. I told her "Austria", which seemed to perplex her. When she asked if it wouldn't be easier to fly west from SLC, I correctly deduced that she thought I meant "Australia", so the imp in me decided to take this as far as it would go - all the way to Cincinnati, if possible. I told her that most people would assume that to be true, but that because of the rotation of the earth, it was quicker to fly east because then Australia was coming towards you, not moving away, so the flight time was actually halved. That seemed to mystify her, and it shut her up for most of the rest of the flight (finally, the law of unintended consequences worked to my advantage). Fortunately, she wasn't on the flight to Paris. Right before landing she did pipe up again to say that the Cincinnati airport would be her first foray into Ohio. I should have told her that the Cincinnati airport is actually in Kentucky but I didn't want to rock her world too much. For all you fellow garbage-brainers out there, Cincinnati's three-letter airport code "CVG" does not stand for "Cincinnati, Very Good" but for "Covington", as in Covington, Kentucky. Next letter, I will tell you why the code for O'Hare is "ORD". Again, more proof that I spend too much time in airports and need to get a life. Anyone who knows three-letter airport codes and all his frequent-flyer program ID numbers is…well, what can I say?
The second leg, from CVG to Charles de Gaulle airport outside Paris, was uneventful. The available movies were the same as on the way over, but in reverse order: Reign of Fire, starring a buff Matthew McConaughey as a tough guy from Kentucky (flew in from CVG) trying to save the world from fire-breathing dragons and English cuisine; and Divine Secrets of the Ya(wn) Ya(wn) Sisterhood, an action film about alcoholic Southern women who make excuses for Sandra Bullock's mother's pathetic parenting skills. The best part was Stephen Seagal's out-of-character portrayal as a talented actor in Sandra's play. The final flick was the first offering from acclaimed Aussie animal-harasser and "croc (or perhaps 'crock' is more apropos) hunter" Steve Irwin, in which he, spouse Terri and a pet funnel-web spider thwart the CIA from stealing a crocodile that has swallowed some top-secret gizmo, or something like that. Steve was actually slated to star in Reign of Fire, but the producers feared the reaction of the animatronic flame-throwing dragon when Steve yanked its tail or stuck his mug in its face, screaming about how we need to treat these creatures nicely and not abuse them. Makes me long for Paul Hogan. G'day, mate.
While in Snowbird I had occasion to do some channel-surfing and discovered that, much to my surprise and disappointment, Dick Clark no longer hosts the game show "Pyramid" (formerly "The $10,000 Pyramid" - they changed the name so that if they had only $100 to disburse, that'd be fine), where erstwhile TV/movie stars are partnered with regular people in an effort to win money. Anyway, I digress. What's significant is that Utah's favorite son (what - one of 12?), Donny Osmond, has supplanted America's Oldest Living Teenager as the host. Apparently medical science finally reached its limit with Dick and it became necessary to replace him. Donny actually is a natural, since despite his age (he's gotta be around 45), he still looks like a teenager, and has that smarmy demeanor so necessary for a game-show host. Poor Donny has endured many slings and arrows over the years. I remember one critic saying that the 1980s were "eminently forgettable", because any decade that began with John Lennon's murder and ended with Donny Osmond's return to the Top 10 record charts deserved to be forgotten.
Since Donny's success, sister Marie Osmond has announced plans to host her own daily talk show on which she'll discuss "serious" topics with "well-known" persons. The producers were swayed by her promise to use all her family members and the Jacksons as guests, guaranteeing at least a two-year run. For Marie, it was that or a permanent place on "Hollywood Squares".
Dick Clark has a restaurant chain called "Dick Clark's American Bandstand Grill" - the SLC airport has the only one I've ever seen. I ate breakfast there and viewed videos (kinescopes?) of Dick hosting 1950s- and 1960s-era "AB" shows, where well-scrubbed white teenagers from a simpler, sweeter era gyrated to the sounds of musicians like Sam Cooke (shot to death at a motel, ruled justifiable homicide), Little Richard (aka "The King and Queen of Rock 'n Roll"), Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers (Frankie overdosed on heroin), Del Shannon (committed suicide), David Ruffin (overdosed on crack cocaine) and The Bobby Fuller Four (Bobby committed suicide). Boy, those were the good ol' days, before all the violence and decadence crept into rock 'n roll.
Speaking of (what passes for) music, my apologies to Britney Spears, whom I disparaged in an earlier missive by saying that she didn't sell Pepsi here. Well, the other day, while wandering through the local market, I noticed that the Pepsi 6-pack had a card extolling a free Britney Spears CD if you purchased the Pepsi. No picture or anything, so she still has a ways to go to match Anna Kournikova.
Speaking of cool - this next item may seem unbelievable, but it is from the International Herald Tribune - Long Island City, in Queens County, New York City, is fast becoming an art Mecca, helped along by MoMA's relocation to LIC from Manhattan while its home is being expanded. Yes, the home of Archie Bunker, George Costanza, LaGuardia Airport, the New York Mets, and the King of Queens is becoming even better than cool. Whaddayaknow, even the cognoscenti (and literati, too) from Orange County know this. Queens is one of NYC's five boroughs and has long suffered from an inferiority complex when compared to Manhattan, Brooklyn, the Bronx, and yes, even Staten Island, which has one of the world's largest landfills (the world's largest landfill is actually the Bronx). When I was growing up, Queens was a place where you: 1) parked the car to catch the subway into Manhattan; 2) went to LaGuardia Airport to watch Lockheed Electras fail to negotiate the short runway and plunge into Flushing (guess the origin of that name) Bay; and 3) had to drive through to get to New England.
Speaking of planes, I just read that guards aboard a Saudi airliner en route from Khartoum to Jedda subdued a man with a handgun who was attempting to hijack the plane. The spokesman at the Khartoum airport expressed surprise that the man could have gotten past airport security with a firearm (an assault rifle, yes; a handgun, no). You, too, may be surprised, until you recall that this is the place where a Sudanese airline pilot mistook the White Nile for the runway at the Khartoum airport and plunked his Boeing 727 right down on the "runway".
Speaking of Saudis (okay, this is the last "Speaking of…") I just learned that right after September 11, 2001, the Saudi embassy quickly rounded up Osama bin Laden's U.S. relatives and whisked them off to Saudi Arabia on a private jet before the FBI could question them. What's that saying about "With friends like that…"
I'm glad my discussion of why Orange County is "cool" didn't seem to offend too many of you. A few OC natives emailed to thank me for clarifying things and capturing the essence of OC; many more emailed asking for the address of the Laguna Beach Taco Bell. I am now working on pieces about the San Fernando Valley, then Fresno (the latter will require a great deal of imagination).
I will be taking a break from my sabbatical duties (I can hear the guffaws from here) for 10 days. Mary Frances, who has graciously allowed me time off while she holds down the fort, will be joining me on 19 October and we will take the train to Venice, Verona, Bergamo and Lake Como for a vacation. Should produce more fodder for the next Vienna Report.
Hasta la wiedersehen….
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