What’s In Your Carry-on?

I’d really like to travel to Europe someday—as soon as I can figure out how to drive there. Not because I’m afraid my plane will be blown to bits over the Atlantic, but because I’m pretty sure my moisturizer will be lost in translation between O’Hare and Heathrow.

Oh, that al-Qaeda is scary smart. The latest TSA restrictions banning carry-on items of a liquid nature is just the sort of terrorism that leaves a gal like me quaking in her flip flops. I obsess over my carry-on bag. Because, people, lost luggage is not an urban legend. It happened to my friend Amy’s sister Angie on a vacation to Hawaii. It happened to my brother and sister-in-law on their honeymoon to Greece. And it happened to my pal Vince on a business trip to Germany. Granted, Europeans are more lax about changing clothes and underwear on a daily basis, but still, it sucks to have your wardrobe options limited to the travel outfit you deemed worthy of rumpling.

So whenever I fly, I am extremely strategic about what I place in my carry-on. Basically, I toss in anything I’m not prepared to do without for the coming week or the rest of my life: underwear (natch), jewelry, toiletries, pajamas, a pair each of dress and casual shoes, a couple of days’ worth of clothing, casual and dress, and all articles of favored attire--like my American Eagle khaki ripstop Capri cargo pants--that I couldn’t bear to have wind up on the black market in Istanbul or Phoenix. Yes, my bag is just this side of illegally large, but it will fit in the overhead bin.

Dave finds this practice idiotic, or at minimum a nuisance. But who do you suppose had the last laugh when we arrived at the Fresno airport and our luggage decided to sojourn elsewhere? Would that be Mr. I Checked All My Luggage, who would have to survive with the little black bag of sample-sized hand lotions tossed at him by the oh-so-helpful customer service agent at the baggage claim counter? Or Moi, who had enough gear to go hiking the next morning or out to a fancy dinner that night? Correct answer: Not Dave.

With the latest TSA regulations, more passengers are checking more bags, which only decreases the likelihood that these pairs will be reunited at the end of a flight. I heard that directly from a cable news pundit. For the purpose of this diatribe, I’m not even going to mention the only slightly less-worse-case scenario of my bag getting jostled in the cargo hold, causing my shampoo to explode all over my Cookie Monster T-shirt, which come to think of it, should have been in the carry-on.

I know some people subscribe to the if-it’s-lost-replace-it theory. But some things, like my cargo pants, are irreplaceable. I’ve tried to find substitutes (let’s not kid ourselves, no pair of pants lives forever), but they’re never quite the same color, never have quite the same fit, never stretch in quite the same way at the waist. Until I can clone the khakis, they’re boarding the plane with me.

You could argue that the same does not hold true for moisturizer. And I would respond by inquiring as to whether you’ve ever spent a week in the remote southern reaches of Utah, where the nearest Walgreens is in another state and it’s doubtful that the local general store has heard of Luminous Color Glaze.

Assuming I could find the one-to-one equivalent of each tube of toothpaste, each can of hairspray, each bottle of age-defying elixir, at what cost? I priced out the complete array of TSA no-no’s I packed on a recent road trip to Ohio.

Secret deodorant: $4.60
Refresh Liquigel lubricant eye drops: $8.49
Colgate whitening toothpaste: $3.65
John Frieda Brilliant Brunette shampoo: $5.99
John Frieda Luminous Color Glaze: $8.99
Redken Body Full Plump Treat gel thickening gel for fine hair: $11.43
Sebastian Shaper Plus hairspray: $14.99
Dove Energy Glow skin brightening facial cleanser: $5.99
Nivea age-defying skin moisturizer: $8.99
L’Oreal active daily moisture (night): $7.39
Dove Energy Glow brightening eye cream: $9.99
Neutrogena Healthy Skin anti-wrinkle cream (day): $11.99
L’Oreal wrinkle de-crease collagen filler: $19.99
Assorted L’Oreal/Maybelline lipsticks (TSA: OK, not OK?): $5.49
Coppertone Sport ultra-sweatproof sunblock, SPF 30: $9.99
Dfi extreme hold styling cream: $9.95
Maybelline wet shine lip gloss: $4.99
Revlon age defying light makeup: $12.29
L’Oreal Lash Out mascara: $6.99

TOTAL: $172.18 (only one lipstick; prices from drugstore.com, walgreens.com, msn shopping)

I have no idea what that amounts to in Euros or British Pounds, but in any monetary system it translates as “more than I can afford.” So until TSA eases its restrictions or starts cutting checks at the boarding gate, you’ll know where to find me. Digging the Churro Tunnel from Chicago to Europe.

Stop the Mayhem

Say what you will about reality TV, but last I checked nothing more than the boundaries of good taste had been assaulted on “Project Runway.” As opposed to “scripted” programming, that gold standard of critics, where murder and mayhem rule the airwaves.

Because it’s summer and we don’t have cable and there are only so many shows I’m willing to purchase on iTunes, we found ourselves watching “CSI: Miami” the other night. These procedural programs are all the rage and I can see why—the whodunit aspect grabs the viewer’s interest and won’t let go until the case is solved, which it always is in an hour flat.

But these shows give me nightmares. Once I tuned into “Without a Trace” and was treated to a storyline featuring a pervert in night vision goggles who kidnapped women, stripped them, set them loose in the forest and then hunted them like prey. It was sickening. I couldn’t sleep that night.

Over on “CSI: Miami” we had a serial killer whose methods became increasingly brutal, progressing from baseball bat to knifing to hatchet. I used to debate which would be worse—drowning or burning in a fire. I’m now going with being hatcheted to death. It was gruesome. That is, I assume it was gruesome because I couldn’t stand to watch.

Dave asked, “When did TV get so gory?” I know we all tend to hearken back to the good old days, but really I don’t recall The Hatchet Man being sandwiched in between “Happy Days” and “The Love Boat.”

I’m guessing we can lay the blame on cable, and its anything-goes policy. The broadcast networks are competing the only way they know how—they can’t drop “F” bombs, they can’t show full-on nudity, so they give us the hatchet.

And to that I say, bring on “Dancing with the Stars.”

Luminous Sightings

Aug. 21 edition of The New Yorker, “Measure for Measure,” by Justin Davidson, pg. 67: “Many of the concerts Masur led were sluggish, but he conjured some luminous Mendelssohn and fierce Shostakovich.”

Again with The New Yorker, "What Next?" by Alex Ross, pg. 89: "The very fabric of the score--its luminous orchestration, its pearly vocal lines, its gently pulsing rhythms, its celestially circling song of young love--evokes the mundane beauty that we overlook.

Aug. 25 edition of Entertainment Weekly, review of “House” Season 2 DVD by Ken Tucker, pg. 69: “The only false note this season was the use of the luminous Sela Ward as an old House flame.”

Product placement—Olay’s new Definity anti-aging products. Jackpot!
“Begin a luminous skin transformation today. Instantly reveal more luminous skin while visibly diminishing the appearance of fine lines and wrinkles. Fight the look of discoloration, dullness and wrinkles for highly defined luminosity. New Olay Definity transforms the look of brown spots, dullness and uneven skin tone. The result? A look that’s high defined. Luminous. More flawless.”

Really, “more flawless?” Isn’t something that’s flawless already, by definition, completely lacking in imperfections? But did I send away for a free sample? You betchya.

He Said It

In case you missed the president’s press conference this morning, and your cable news network of choice doesn’t re-run the exchange in its entirety during prime time, the following might escape your notice:

George W.: “What did Iraq have to do with 9/11? Nothing.”

Thank you. Although I suppose that “off message” comment will earn a time-out from Dick Cheney.

On the subject of the upcoming mid-term elections, Bush noted that if he were a candidate, he’d run on the economy and tell voters that Democrats want to raise taxes and “spend your money for you,” while Republics want to lower taxes and let the good citizens of this country spend their money as they darn well please.

The logic of this escapes me. Aren’t the Republic congress and Republic White House spending billions and billions of dollars on a war and weaponry that nobody seems to want? I know another “smart” bomb is not on my wish list. But truly, if we were to take the president at his word, I’m pretty sure people wouldn’t voluntarily offer up their income to fund silly little things like interstate highways, public schools or health care. Oops, did I say health care?

“Suiciders.”

Somebody—Tony Snow, Karl Rove, anyone?—has got to scrub this from W.’s lexicon. It’s not a word, it sounds stupid and it makes me laugh every time I hear it at a topic that’s not the slightest bit funny.

"Peroration."

Now, this is a word and Bush did use it correctly in a sentence. He just refused to explain to reporters what the hell he meant. "Look it up," he told the press corps. Perorate: 1) To conclue a speech, esp. with a formal recapitulation. 2)To speak at great length.

The Boob Tube

If you’ve ever wondered whether the money you spend on cable TV is worth it, I’m here to tell you yes, yes it is. Over on the broadcast network side, which is what cheapskates live Dave and I are reduced to watching, things get particularly ugly during the summer.

So many “talent” shows abound, I can’t believe there’s a yodeler left in America who hasn’t embarrassed him or herself before a panel of D-list judges. And if it’s not Regis threatening us with a “singing” performance by David Hasselhoff, it’s a CSI/Without a Trace/Law & Order rerun offering tips on how to murder someone in a really unique and disgusting, but ultimately detectable, way.

Last night, we inexplicably became engrossed in an episode of “Medical Mysteries” on ABC. Among the featured cases: a family in Mexico stricken by a mutant gene that causes uncontrollable hair growth. The resulting syndrome has an actual scientific name, but “Werewolf-itis” suffices as a description. There is no treatment—short of daily waxing. Ironically, researchers interviewed for the program said that if they can figure out why the hair won’t stop growing, this might also lead them to a cure for baldness. Thank heavens! All I have to say is that if at some point a prescription drug becomes available to treat baldness, and insurance companies actually cover this vanity pill, I want Botox injections covered for women.

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Enough with the Mel Gibson DUI arrest. The women from “The View” have weighed in with their opinions and really that should be the last word. Remember the summer of the shark attack? No? Let me refresh. News in August 2001 was so slow, shark attacks were the talk of the country. Gotta feed that 24/7 media beast. Turns out we should have been paying a little less attention to Jaws and a whole lot more to Al Qaeda. Now that media outlets have spilled an oceanful of ink over Gibson, I wonder what we’re ignoring this time around.

Oh, right, the Defense Department’s budget. Luckily, the New Yorker never takes its eye off the prize. In his weekly “Financial Page” column, James Surowiecki writes: “More than half the federal government’s discretionary spending goes to the military, and, while a sizable chunk goes toward the fight against terrorism and the Iraq war, too much has nothing to do with the demands of a post-9/11 world.” Wait, there’s more. Read the rest at http://www.newyorker.com/talk/content/articles/060807ta_talk_surowiecki.

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At this point, the commercials have actually become more intriguing than the programs they interrupt. My personal favorites:

A pitch for PlumSmart juice from Sunsweet. Nice try. This is nothing but prune juice, gussied up with a new name and prettier labeling. I’m not that dumb.

ComEd. Where to begin. Our friendly neighborhood utility has been bombarding the airwaves with no fewer than three separate ads. All of which have nothing to do with how much the company cares about its customers and everything to do with lulling us into believing they are completely justified in jacking up our rates. They’ve even devised a goddawful clunky acronym just to spell out CARE—Customer’s Affordable Reliable Energy—and have set up a web site designed to shift the blame when people can’t afford to heat their homes next winter. ComEd would like us to know that they don’t own the electricity, they just provide it, and they are being forced at gunpoint to charge us more for the commodity because they are having the screws put to them by the electricity makers. Or some such bullshit. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard this before. I believe from Enron.

This would all seem less insidious had we not just suffered through an excessive heat wave with nary a power outage. Coincidence? I think not. People, do not fall for this act. ComEd is not our friend, the CEO is not our kindly uncle. They don’t want our respect, they want our money. We can’t stop them from taking the latter, but we can refuse to give them the former.