I'm Bob Griese Fly Me

I have a confession to make. I am kinda of obsessed with air travel. Today I saw an ad for Qatar Airways, and I had to check out their web site. Had to.

I fly fairly frequently (call me Golden), and while the flying part can be hideous I still get a spiritual woody from the idea of flying To Kewl Places. It started whilst growing up in the flight path of JFK Airport (Idlewild in a previous lifetime). During peak periods a jet would pass over every 6-10 minutes; 6 times a day we got Concorde (always sub-sonic). How close were we? They had to stop Mass the jets were so loud. In summer we, the extended Clan, would be lolling about on the (Rockaway) Beach. Beachside we’d see who could identify the airline by tailfin first (me! I win!). Braniff (RIP) had kewl sorbet-coloured jets. Aer Lingus was always a hit, since the odds were someone related to us was onboard (Eire is rather inbred, go maith leisceál). Airlines like KLM and Lufthansa were mysterious; Japan Air Lines was downright scary (do you think the pilot's a kamikaze?).

Don't judge us too harshly: we were ignorant white trash Oirish Americans. Several times each summer there were trips to JFK to pick up relatives--ours coming back from Over Dere, them coming Over Here for a visit. Or a stint as “undocumented workers”. I always volunteered to go to the airport for such missions, gathering timetables, looking out for incredibly kewl little vinyl....thingies that unfolded into Handy Carry-on Bags, admiring the stylish ladies in their airline uniforms. Usually we’d park, go in and do the “kiss and cry” at the International Arrivals Terminal.

Unless Da was driving. Da hates anything that requires patience--I mean, there’s always some really important golf tourny to watch on Golf TV, right? He'd pull up at the curb. And we'd wait. And we'd get chased by the rent-a-copsparking police. Sometimes Da's tin (NYPD badge) would buy us more time curbside--often it wouldn’t. So we’d drive around the airport ring road, which was about 10 miles in circumference, in hideous traffic. Sometimes 2 or 3 times. Eventually our poor kinfolk would lunge out into traffic with their luggage to enter Da’s field of vision--"Jaysus Padraic didn't ya see me? I wuz jumpin up an' down!" And Da’d be cranky with them, like their desire to be picked up was wholly unfair to himi--welcome home. Indeed.

The only time we (Ma, Da, us 4 kids) all flew together, when I was 8, was when we all went Over Dere on a charter--something hideous like ATA or Bubba’s Fried Airline. Back then the 5.5 hour JFK-Shannon (SNN) hop seemed interminably long--now less than 10 hours seems like no big deal). We had to wear suits (Ma and Da's rule, not the airline's), we stayed in our seats and we didn't annoy the other passengers--if only parents on planes were similarly considerate today (not of babies, babies are different. We were 8-11 years old). For my parents’ generation, flying was only one of dozens of novel experiences. For my generation it’s much less amazing.

For me, though, it’s still a buzz, though the longer flights are only now reasonably bearable. I still get all Gidgety when it’s time to go the airport. I still love wander the terminals “just to see”. And lounge access, something new from the past few years, makes me feel nearly regal. The only part of air travel I don’t love is arriving. I have this powerful impulse to get off the plane, out of the terminal and into a moving vehicle. Vancouver friends marvel at how quickly I’m curbside (I also avoid checking bags). I always try to get a seat towards the front of the plane so I can make my quick escape. Most of my friends know to let me buzz ahead, get bags etc. The first thing I do after booking flights is to go to the airline's web site, download seat maps and call to book The Best Seat Possible. "I want 21-25C or H, or 32-25 C or H. No, not the bulkhead (arms don't go up). If there's a bassinet in 20 make it 31." Earplugs, a bottle of water, my iPod, 2 sleep tablets (anyone know why rhovane/zopliclone isn't available in the States?): strap me in (upright unless I can get 4 seats across. Or an upgrade), unbutton my jeans, pop off my shoes and climb over me if you need to get out. Are we there already?

Airlines flown: American, People Express, Alaska (excellent, ‘cept for the Bible quotes in the meals), Air Canada, Aer Lingus, KLM, Lufthansa, British Midlands, Pan Am, TWA, United, Canadian Airlines (they were great. Wah), Delta, Northworst, Continental, Midwest Express (excellent), All Nippon (excellent), Thai, Cathay Pacific (excellent), Singapore, Qantas, Air New Zealand (excellent and best 35k foot tea), Air Rarotonga, Air Pacific, Virgin Blue, South African Airways, Royal Jordanian...oh, and British Caledonia (swallowed up by BA)--they were great, even if their flight attendants looked like linebackers. The gals, not the guys . . . Favourite airlines? Air NZ, Cathay, KLM. Worst? Northworst, Contirental. Longest flight: Washington-Tokyo (17 hours?), though 14 hours (Vancouver-HKG, LA or SF-Sydney) are pretty normal now. I won't do a red-eye (overnight) of less than 9 hours if possible; unless i can get at least 5 solid hours of sleep, it's better for me to do a daylight flight.

I don’t suspect I’ll be on Qatar Airways anytime soon. No plans to fly to Doha, and they’re not a member of my global airline consortium. Plus they don’t fly to Australia or Canada. But somehow my life feels richer, just knowing their there if I need them.

A two-spirited commitment

Two-Spirited & Proud [pinched from here]

With his chiselled cheekbones, thick hair and magnificent moustache, he looks like a Métis trapper of old – one who has just stepped out of the bush after a winter spent on the trapline. His Cree/Métis blood flows strong in his features. The reality is, however, that he's more likely to have just stepped out of his living room after having watched Queer As Folk, which he explains gleefully is a gay soap opera with explicit sex.

Richard Jenkins, a 42-year-old from Alberta, formally committed himself to his long-time partner, Pierre, last month. According to my invitation, it wasn't marriage, but a "commitment ceremony" between the men. And not your run-of-the-mill commitment ceremony either, but a traditional Cree ceremony, conducted by an elder instead of a clergy member or justice of the peace. The couple and all the guests wore the usual wedding attire of suits and bright dresses. But eagle feathers were exchanged instead of rings and the elder spoke in Cree, uttering the same pledges that have been spoken for generations. No allowances or changes to Cree legislation had to be made in this case.

"It's a commitment ceremony, it doesn't matter whether it's a man or a woman," explains Jenkins. "It was a very culturally appropriate ceremony for a Cree man." Apparently, it didn't matter if one of the couple wasn't even Cree; in this case, he was a francophone male.

According to Jenkins, aboriginal people traditionally were quite accepting of gay people. In Cree culture, they were called "Whetigokan" (whee-ti-go-i-kwan), and had a definite role in the community and in spiritual ceremonies. Many acted as counsellors, resolving disputes and giving advice to couples. "Who better to counsel you than someone who can see it from both angles?" says Jenkins. There are stories (which are really cultural teachings) from other aboriginal cultures as well. Jenkins says that according to Navajo culture, there was a time when women lived on one side of a lake, and the men lived on the other, and so the Creator sent gay people to integrate them - a tale that reinforces their role as counsellor.

Yet another story has helped gay aboriginal people define themselves. According to the story, there was a child about to be born, but instead of one spirit, two-spirits jumped into his body. (Implicit in this story is that the two spirits were masculine and feminine spirits.) Everybody in the community recognized him as being different – he was two-spirited.

It was this story and a 1990 gathering of elders and aboriginal people in Winnipeg that led to greater usage of the term "two-spirited" to refer to the wide range of aboriginal people who do not fit the heterosexual mould, namely gay, bisexual, transgendered, transsexual and intersexed people. A lot of aboriginal people now call themselves two-spirited, as they believe it better defines their cultural role and significance. There are local and national two-spirit organizations across Canada, with Jenkins being the volunteer executive director of the Two-Spirit Circle of Edmonton. In fact, even non-aboriginal people sometimes prefer to call themselves two-spirited, believing that the term fits better for them too.

Of course, there are a fair number of those who don't accept two-spirited people in aboriginal cultures. Some elders dispute the cultural teachings that recognize two-spirited people. Instead, they regard two-spirited people as "sick and against God," says Jenkins. He chalks such beliefs up to the Christian influence of residential schools, noting that the elder who conducted his commitment ceremony, Leonard Saddleback, did not attend residential schools.

Jenkins himself is willing to admit that the term "two-spirited" is not perfect, as it suggests that a spirit has a gender, when he believes that spirit is sexless. "The only time we need sex or sexual organs is when we're in the body. It's more connected to our physical nature, like I'm physically drawn to other men," he says. In the meantime, he says he's going to continue learning the cultural teachings, and of course, tuning in to Queer As Folk when he gets the chance.