the reluctant michigander

Sitting in my aisle seat I soon discovered I was surrounded by a group of mortgage sales folk taking a trip. They were loud, and I gratefully changed seats with one of their companions who wanted to sit with the bunch. I settled in two rows back with a couple who seem nice, and speak occasionally to each other in what I think may be auf Deutsche. What music to listen to as the flight begins? Sufjan. If I die in a plane crash I want to die listening to Sufjan Stevens. It occurred to me that if the plane does crash, they may briefly have trouble identifying the bodies of me and the girl with whom I traded seats, just based on the plane's manifest, but I think we look differently enough that they can hopefully figure it out. I look about me and see a girl, maybe 3 or 4, staring out the window as we lift off the ground. She has a clear view. As we rise through the air I catch glimpses of clouds, and sky, and sunlight glinting off of the wing. The feeling of movement, then the wheels free the earth of their friction and we begin climbing. The feeling of movement in all directions, up mostly but also to the left and right and down and every which way in between as we are jostled by air flow. I feel like a baby in a carrier swinging at the end of a father's arm as he walks, tossed about and shaken. My ears pop. Sufjan sings repeatedly that we are all going to die. My ears pop. I close my book, lean my head against the seat, and look down the inner tube that is hurtling us together into the atmosphere. The movement visible in the cabin is not that of forward and upward, but of shimmying and shaking. My ears pop. I watch the clouds rush past through the slice of window visible to me. We head south west. Without a window seat I'm reminded of how much like a science fiction teleportation experience I will have today, albeit a slow one. I step aboard in Michigan, the remnants of the forested midwest. I'll step off into a desert environment unlike I have ever seen in person. When we drove to Florida I saw the transition from flat green fields, through rocky elevations and winding mountain roads to the shore of the ocean. Evergreens to palm trees. Here, my trip is shrouded in metal and mist. A baby cries, we near 20,000 feet, and the pilot tells of turbulence. My ears pop. We rise and the shimmying lessens, and the shaking eases off as the air thins. Below us a sea of clouds. The wings wiggle. The words written on the wing, admonishing workers to walk within the black lines only, remind me of the old television program where Will Shatner sees something on the wing. Some thing. I've changed albums now to Joanna and her harp. And now we've burned off enough fuel to hit 30,000 feet. And the baby sleeps nearby, and I'm jealous of his cozy perch on momma's lap. My seat is not cozy. Time passes. The complementary drink service cart, delayed by the turbulence, finally arrives. The coffee I am handed is warm and surprisingly good. Small is the portion so I savor it slowly. The sunlight slowly shifts from the top of the wing toward the front, casting the wingtop in shadow as the sun sinks. The clouds gain a red hue as we chase the setting sun west. Unable to catch up, or even keep up we are soon bathed in darkness from without, and only have the electric glow within our flying bus, though lights from remote hubs sporadically shine up from the darkness below. One of the mortgage sales folk has had too much to drink and gets into an uncomfortable verbal miscommunication with not one, but two flight attendants. The 4 year old is restless. A second cup of coffee wards off anxiety. Headphones on for a while. Headphones off. Mortgage salesboy with one too many vodka tonics in him looks at the lady next to me and comments on the death stare she keeps giving him. He looks to me and informs me that she hates him. I dont particularly care for him myslef, but i remain silent. Remembering the foreign language she has been speaking to her husband, and that the prior leg of our plane's journey had been a transatlantic jump, it is apparent to me that he was mistaking death stares for exhaustion as she must have been flying all day. Or perhaps her tolerance of stupidity was lowered due to exhaustion. More coffee for me and my European co-rowers. I strike up a conversation. They are from Holland on holiday and were on a plane all day. Finding them to be friendly, we chat for the rest of the flight. My ears pop, the baby cries. I grow jealous of the number of weeks of paid vacation Europeans have. Ears pop. Descent. We discuss our planned trips. Ears pop. We get jostled as we touch down. The engine noise swells as we slow. Hydraulics. Flaps. We stop moving. A chorus of metallic pops ring out as we release our safety belts. We stand and leave. Outside it is dark and cool.

WASHINGTON DC- Nationwide, citizens and patriots who appreciate good word play and a well-placed pun were shocked and disappointed by President Obama's immigration speech this evening.

In a speech from the White House, president Obama described the concept of prosecutorial discretion, saying that immigration enforcement would focus limited resources on deporting "Felons, not families. Criminals, not children. Gang members, not a mother who's working hard to provide for her kids."

This line no doubt resulted in huge sighs of disappointment from sea to shining sea.

"The President clearly missed an opportunity here, " said one Michigan resident. "It is obvious that the president should have made the bold statement, that we should be focusing on 'Felons, not families. Criminals, not children. Gang members, not GRANDMOTHERS.' Grandmothers ..." The man, visibly moved by his disappointment, fought back tears.

Another random citizen agreed:

"I mean, come on Obama. You got Felons and Families. F! You got Criminals and Children. C! You got Gang members and then... and then you just blew it!!! 'A mother who... blah blah blah.' Why didn't you just SAY GRANDMOTHERS! Or at least God Mothers... or something with matching letters. G - M mister president! Literary parallelism!!! "

In his response to the speech, Rand Paul seemingly agreed and was quoted as saying "We should take him to court." He was obviously talking about this as well.

The president was not available for comment on these accusations of poor word play.