Flying the Grope-ly Skies

I guess I have neglected my duty. It seems that, in light of the new and improved security measures following a lunatic trying to set his own underpants on fire, everyone who has been fortunate to fly into the United States in the last couple of weeks has to tell everyone about the new security procedures. This behavior is compulsory, much like those visiting Italy must take a picture of themselves pushing the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

In any case, I'm happy to report that when I flew back into the U.S. a few days ago, I only went 1 for 2 in "times inappropriately groped by security personnel." This happened in the airport in Mexico. I've never had my ass grabbed in public at 8 in the morning, so thank you, Mexican TSA, for giving me a new, if lame, never have I ever.

Of course, I'll question the wisdom of setting up two "rummage through your suitcase" stations ten feet apart from each other. Sure, I feel safer, but that plane you see taxiing onto the runway was mine. Like Homer said when debating the wisdom of lowering the speed limit, "Sure, lives will be saved, but millions will be late!"

I am convinced that, eventually, we'll all willingly strap ourselves into straitjackets before we get on a plane.