Answer #1: Because There are Invisible Aliens in the Air Vents

I woke up at the start of a century, bombs dropping all around me -
I woke up and I put my gas mask on in America, in America -
I woke up at the dawn of a new world - mug shots and rainblows for little girls -
I woke up and I think I need a drink in America, that's what I think.

I'm a singer/songwriter [hey, who isn't? you might ask]. Krista Detor is my name. I should be working, but instead I'm blogging. On January 5th, I should be starting whatever media blitz I can muster in order to launch a new album on March 15th. And I will start later, but for now, I'm going to log, daily, the next year of my life - what advances I manage to make in the business of music, and determine, at the end of the year, whether or not to continue on this path, or forge another that involves either saving the world or amassing weaponry.

Ah, Clever, I know. And not at all inspired by the caustic and witty woman who wrote the book about Julia Child. I however, in the traveling circus that is my life, have amassed answers to the questions we all have. So, in this blog, I'll kill two birds with one stone - I'll post my progress in the nebulous world of musicianhood - and will dispense definitive answers, with no regard for opinion to the contrary, so just relax.

I begin entry #1 musing on the plane ride to the Ontario Council of Folk Festivals* - which begged the question:

Why are people wearing surgical masks on airplanes?

The air pressure. Viscosity. Zicam increases snot viscosity. It's up my nose, even though people say I might lose my sense of smell. Plane air. Airborne viruses. A young Asian girl with a surgical mask. I keep seeing them. People wearing surgical masks. "It's funny," Hope said, "the way in which humans adapt to a new set of crises."

Air pressure. Drops and dips, as does the plane. SkyMall. I'm reading about the 'potty putter' - the golf enthusiast's bathroom pass-time. Practice your putt while you're on the potty. It can't be true, but it is. As true as the Me & Fifi Matching sweater set for you & your chihuahua. I reach for the vent above me. Recirculated air hisses, cool. hair in my eyes. The lady to my left has a chihuahua in a special bag with a little hole in the top. jittery chihuahua with watery eyes handbag. humans. funny.

pressure in my ears. ear plugs. where did I put them? Right. in the bag with the Emergen-C. Under the seat. 1,000 milligrams of vitamin C. artificial raspberry flavored. airborne viruses. I live in a funny human time. The viruses live in a funny human time. Funny invisible viruses. Probably just beings in a dimension we're unaware of. As ants are unaware of us. human game board. viral alien players. alien antennae up my nose and then I'm sick. but Zicam increases snot viscosity. Aliens don't like goopy zincy-snot on their buggy protrusions. funny aliens.

She's walking on air. Here comes the person who used to be the stewardess but has a different title now. flight attendant. no more ass-smacking shake that money maker sweetheart while you fetch me a screwdriver. No more 115 lb. weight limit. She's even a He sometimes. This is progress, I think. But neither of them is nice as they used to be.

Airborne. I'm airborne. I want to blow my nose, but the zicam needs to stay in place. snot viscosity is all that protects me now. invisible aliens with slick protrusions taunting the chihuhua. that's why he's so nervous. Must be. that's why the man in the row in front of me has the surgical mask on. the chihuhua has told him they're very near now. they're close now. just above him, invisible alien head sticking out of the twisty air vent. funny twisty vents. why don't we have them in our ceilings & walls at home? without the aliens, I mean. that would be funny. hundreds of twisty vents on every surface. "Hey! Who turned all the twisty vents off? You cheeky little scamps!"

Sitting in a chair, flying through the air. Like the 'everything's amazing and nobody's happy' video guy on YouTube says. So I'm reminding myself that this is amazing. I'm sitting in a chair, flying through the sky. The teenage girl in the seat to the right of me is increasingly worried, though, and less amazed. ‘The H1N1. it's here. what's going to happen?’ ‘2012, the Maya calendar ends. the end of the world, they're saying. are we going to die?' 'My friend says a meteor's coming..’ ‘I'm starting to lose faith in the human race.’ I can hear that she's swallowing hard, fighting emotion. funny tears. I never mastered control of them, not really.

I don't know what will come through the air. But I say, 'Yes, you're going to die. Eventually. You'll probably be 112, and you really won't mind then. Don't listen to those idiots who talk all that 2012 crap... it's just ONE of the Mayan calendars, and come on - those guys thought the world was only something like 50,000 years old. Oh, and that their ancestors were present when the whole thing was pooped out of the rear end of a snake or something. This makes her laugh.

And listen, kid - this has never been an easy place to be. Big blue ball - hurtling through space - no one knows why or where to - but what's important is that you decide what you want to make of it while you're here. It's an amazing place - it's unspeakably beautiful - it's anything you imagine it to be. And there are millions of amazing people like you. Have faith in them. Don't be afraid. just breathe... and then do what you love... and tell your friend I'm going to kick his ass if he keeps tossing this end of the world crap at you. Forget it, I’ll find him and tell him myself on facebook.

Just breathe. And the pressure... the air... the dips and drops - I'm flying through the air, sitting in a chair, armed only with zicam. viscosity. I don't know how I'm hurtling through the air or what will come through the air. I decide, though, that I'll speak something to her of possibility.. I'll show her something amazing on-line - I'll find some shred of the faith I lost, because she needs it. She really, really needs it. And I'm not going to be afraid of some alien scumbag with slicky protrusions. I twist the airvent off. His invisible slimy head lands in the lap of the chihuahua lady. must have, because that damn watery-eyed rat dog yaps all the way to Ottawa.

*Intrigue in hotel rooms and more!