Touch & Go

I love the Internet. I love that I can log on and two hours later, forget why I logged on. And I especially love that I can Google “Denver” and eventually find not one, but two, eHow descriptions about joining the Mile High Club. I’m not much of a club person, but it’s good to know “darkness is the preferred medium for membership.” Also that I should "Brag about having sex on an airplane to [my] friends" as Step 7 states, if I get lucky at 30,000 feet. Here’s the thing: I feel pretty confident anyone Googling this matter probably won’t be a card carrying member of this exclusive group anytime soon. In fact, anyone seeking out advice on this topic is probably more likely to be this guy -- who was much more interested in a Mile High rub. The saddest part? Poor “Nookie” is the happiest anyone’s been in coach since 9/11.

Pain in the Ash

Dear Eyjafjallajokull: I know you haven’t blown off steam since 1821, but your timing here -- really not good. It’s Earth Day week and you’re sittin’ there venting, spewing carbons into our atmosphere, disrupting air travel. You’re crashing the party, man -- and from Iceland nonetheless -- a country, I think. Tens of thousands of flights have been delayed. It’s the worst disturbance to air travel since 9/11. And all because of you. Happy now? You even displaced John Cleese who had to take a 943-mile taxi ride from Oslo to Brussels. The cost? $5,100. Cleese let the volcano off easy saying, “I’m not in a hurry.” I will do no such thing. So not cool.