Trains Not Planes

No more flying for me, thank you. That’s why I posted:

Before someone’s five-year-old energy blasts me with your “flights are statistically safer than travel by car”, relax. I don’t even own a car. Which bewilders many of my fellow Angelenos. Still.

Long a casual champion of the “air travel is safer” narrative have been I. Fear of flying was never really one of my issues. I actually enjoy it. Ever since my first flight in kindergarten from Sacramento to relatives in Minnesota. Before sneakers and bottles of shampoo were terror threats. Before TSA lines. Back when kids could visit the cockpit. When pilots rewarded young curiosity with an airline-branded toy plane. Moments before taxiing down the runway.

But Mayor Pete ain’t Secretary of Transportation anymore. Then the purge of government workers. Because DEI is the greatest threat to the republic. Not foreign adversaries with nukes and spies. Not a South African who overstayed his visa poking through our personal and financial records. Not children losing parents to Guantanamo without due process. Not humans who happen to be LGBTQ wondering if they are next. Not women living The Handmaid's Tail as reality TV. Not the price of eggs.

Then that military helicopter crashed into that plane full of ice skaters from the Midwest. Then that medevac jet crashed into a Philly neighborhood like a Scud missile. Then I learn that “285 of 313 Air Traffic Control Facilities Are Understaffed”.

Maybe it’s that I’m just a dude of a certain age. I’m not in my twenties anymore. My superpower of suffering fools diminishes by the day. Call me grumpy. While Clint Eastwood has devolved from childhood hero to performance art political lunatic in my lifetime, he’s still a Hollywood legend. I cherish my time working on those two films he directed. One take was the norm. It’s why my Lt. Frank busking character will joke with folks who need a second take “They can’t all be Clint Eastwood productions”. Clint’s character growled “Get off my lawn!” He wasn’t entirely wrong.

Maybe it’s that after the pandemic, the strikes (the writers and actors), and the LA Fires (I had to mandatory evacuate from the Sunset Fire), my bandwidth for potential bullshit is at an all-time low. A non-celebrity performing artist, I am so over predatory productions weaponizing my poverty against me. It’s why I started LoveTheArtist.org and am becoming an Artist Basic Income crowdfunding evangelist. If someone wants to hire me, I demand certain terms for my financial and emotional health. That includes travel that doesn’t add further trauma to my life.

Maybe I’m becoming Joe Biden. Remember that guy? Seems like decades ago, right? He likes trains too. As a carless Angeleno in Hollywood, I ride the Metro train almost daily. Every time I get to ride Amtrak, I’m filled with child-like joy. Wonderful getting to explore the fruited plain that way. Nice not having a death grip on a steering wheel. Refreshing how I can get up and walk around. While still speeding to my destination. Maybe get a snack or meal or beverage. Without having to pull off the road.

Sure, travel without planes takes more time. Often it’s more expensive. But last year when a high school buddy noticed my skills with my eBay store, he hired me to help him sell some business and personal items collecting dust. Given the last-minute nature, the train ticket was about the same price as a flight from Los Angeles to the Bay Area. I truly enjoyed traveling like that. So less stressful than flying commercial. Even before flying got so much worse the last few years. Fantasies brewed in my skull of how I might do more train travel. And often.

Do I even need to have a reason? Days into this idiocracy, it seems my government is hellbent on killing us or making life hell. For me and everyone I love. And I’m a six-foot-tall white dude born in Northern California. My problems pale in comparison to way too many of my fellow humans. Still, it’s not easy being a non-celebrity performing artist in this idiocracy. I think we’ve all earned the right to establish some new boundaries. Just to survive the fucking day. For me, one of those is avoiding air travel. Like the plague. At least for the next four years.

This is my first post on the Beehiiv. Thanks to David Bauder at the AP for reminding me of Marisa Kabas of The Handbasket. Beehiiv seems to work for her, so I lean on her expertise. Thank you, Marisa! And as someone who has cosplayed and busked as Captain America, I cannot remain on Substack. Suppose I now gotta migrate that stuff over, right? Thanks for your patience! If you’d like to support what I do, please subscribe for FREE. If you have the means and wish to do more, paid subscriptions here are not yet activated. But you can subscribe to my Artist Basic Income Patreon. Or send me some Venmo or Cash App love. Or purchase a book or collectible on my eBay. (I’m a non-celebrity SAG-AFTRA actor. Of course I sell used wares on eBay!) After the fires, I proudly remain in Los Angeles and Hollywood. I’m part of the better we Angelenos are building. Any support of any size is all appreciated. Thanks!