I Understand The Need For Airport Security, But Really! by Earl B Morris

I am writing my blog this time around a little late, because until 4:30 this morning I was held in a correctional facility outside Atlanta, Ga. It’s a long story, and I’m exhausted, but I will briefly go over the situation for those of my fans that are curious, and for my great aunt, who is a regular reader of our columns here at BBT: The Blog.

I was on my way to Williamsburg, Virginia to attend the annual Marscon, a Science Fiction & Fantasy convention that is now in it’s 17th year. I was to be a surprise guest Filker there. Nobody booked me, but my jazz harp teacher suggested I dress up as my favorite hero and surprise the staff with a few songs. At least that’s what I think she said, she has a very thick German accent & a slight harelip so sometimes communication is rather difficult. (We were once almost to the point of fisticuffs when I mistook her kind offer for a scone as an insult to my little Cairn terrier.) For those of you that are out of the loop, and unaware of what filk is – think folk music sung by Ray Bradbury or J.R.R. Tolkien.

I prepared the night before the flight by fasting and meditation, and preparing a wonderful set-list, which began with my rather well known ballad “Do Androids Dream Of Electric Me?” The following morning I donned my costume and lit off for the airport, excited at the prospect of getting my filk on as it were. I was dressed as my favorite Argentine super hero – Supervolador. (I have always preferred to fly in costume as the spandex is wonderfully comfortable, and it’s a great conversation starter.) I arrived at the airport and was a few minutes early for my flight, so I loosened up with a few drinks at the local sports bar. (I’m not a big sports fan, but I met a delightful fellow who said the Dodgers and the Rams may possibly meet one another at Wimbledon this year or something, but only if Tyson or someone gets to play goalie. So if you’re a “Sporty” you may want to keep your eyes peeled for that game.) I heard my flight being announced over the P.A, so I headed at a breakneck pace down the terminal announcing (probably rather rudely) that I had a plane to catch. I made my way to the security checkpoint and was told I would have to remove my mask and take off my shoes. I told the security guard, a rather large angry looking woman, that I would be happy to remove the mask (as long as she didn’t reveal my identity, I joked), but I could not remove my shoes without taking off my pants, as the boots were integrated into the spandex leggings. She demanded I did so, and began waving a metal wand in my “quiet areas”. I asked her to stop, and becoming rather annoyed I said, “Listen mama! Do you think I have a bomb there?” She must have been very offended by my rather (admittedly) sexist referencing of her as “Mama”, because no sooner had the words escaped my mouth, than twelve large fellows escorted me to a distant office. When I noticed they were man-handling my harp, I became rather agitated again, and that did not seem to help matters much.

I have to return to court on the 23 of Feb.

Needless to say, I missed my filking show.