Los Camparias

I, Keith Kipple, and my good friend Campari and Soda, send you greetings from the United Airlines Club Lounge though the veil of ganja haze or is-it-smog? Los Angeles. Today is October 5th, 2019. The time is approximately I'm tired.

I've just made the run from Columbia through Chicago O'Hare and into the vast Godless wasteland of librul California here at LAX. The trip thus far has been peachy. I ran into an old friend in Columbia on the way to Chicago, or "Big Windy McWind-o" as the locals call it, and he turned me on to a very serviceable Cuban sandwich at some restaurant I forgot the name of. Soon, in about 2 more of these Amaro drinks, I'll shuffle onto a Boeing 777-300ER and take my seat in row 56 for the next 13 hours on the flight to Auckland. 56k will also probably be the approximate speed of my internet connection once I arrive on the Ice. Thanks for reminding me, universe.

When I arrive in Auckland I have to collect my wits and luggage, and go through customs and processing. This mainly involves a 22 minute video on the history of New Zealand, followed by a quiz on elementary sheep anatomy and something called "Know your Bogans." Assuming I pass, I'll obtain a complimentary kiwi (the fruit) and get on Yet Another Flight to Christchurch on the South Island. 80% of all flights to Antarctica go through Christchurch. Fortunately, the NZ hop is only 90 minutes of the entire 21 hour in-flight ordeal I'm being subjected to.

Two days of USAP processing and training on how to not die will follow, and after being issued my Extreme Winter Clothing (ECW)* I'll be able to board the final 5 hour / 2,300 mile flight to McMurdo station. This will likely be on a C-17 cargo plane or something similar, which is Pretty Cool.

I expect to have WiFi at my hotel in Christchurch and will update you all again on my progress, as such. I have a birthday on the 8th, and hope to engage some fresh friends in some sober and entirely uncharacteristic low-key celebration. My new IT boss shared a cautionary tale of some Ice bound individuals who got blotto whilst tearing up the soft underbelly of Christchurch their last night in town and missed their orientation and scheduled flight to Antarctica. This was not received well by their employer. It is true that my high luck roll usually saves me from suffering the consequences of my actions, but I'm not gonna push it.

Crumbs:
The man next to me on the flight to LAX watched about 20 minutes of the dreadful and maligned film "Homes & Watson" before switching it off. I thought to warn him, but no, the burned hand teaches best. An afternoon perusal of the universally negative reviews (although I'm sure Armond White gave it 4 stars from under his bridge) of this witless and vile film is a lunch hour well spent.

I highly recommend a United Club membership or one-day pass if you have a decently long layover. The food here is actually varied and decent (kimchi, ramen bar, coffee galore), while the inclusive alcohol list is practically paying for itself. The chairs are comfortable, the WiFi fast and the power plugs ample. You can also avail yourself of a hobo bath of sorts in the private bathroom, not that I'd ever be so gauche.

Virtually everyone on these flights is gazing into some kind of screen. Why you'd watch H***s & Wa**n when the view out the window is so majestic and wonderful raises troubling questions regarding human nature and our inherent disinterest in making virtuous decisions. But, on the (red, right) other hand I pay my mortgage by looking into screens, so perhaps I should not judge too much.

... Homes & Watson though... really speaks to the total depravity of man and indeed, makes a compelling case for the doctrine of Original Sin. I should probably review it.

*ECW includes the following official list:

•Parka (continental) or windbreaker jacket (peninsula)

•Boots

•Windpant with fleece pant liner or insulated Carhartt bib

•Fleece jacket

•Hat

•Gloves

•Neck gaiter

•Goggles

•Rain jacket and rain pants (peninsula only)

Sadly I do not get to keep this gear, it goes back into the Pile at the end of my contract. Not that I'll need it back in Sweat Carolina. Oh, I'm coming back alright.