Just a quick note. My run as temporary host of Thursday Night Jazz has been extended a week.

I'm on-air tonight, 7-10pm Mountain Time (9pm-12am Eastern/6-9pm Pacific). If you're that bored you'd want to tune in, set your dial to 89.3 in Denver, or go to kuvo.org and hit, "Tune In Now".

I'm now not going to be hosting the jazz/blues crossover show tomorrow night as previously believed, which is fine with me, but means I could end up being home to contend with trick-or-treaters.

On a recent flight from Denver I got talking to an Air Stewardess, whilst the plane was on the ground. Whilst we were talking, a fellow passenger interrupted, to say he reckonised my voice from the radio. That was nice. It's started to happen more and more lately.

Later on, the conversation turned to airline stories. I told her about my abhorance of people with ludicrously selfish amounts of hand luggage, and agreed with me. She then went on to tell me about a flight she was working on the previous week.

A fifty-something lady marched onto the plane, with a very large handbag over her shoulder, and a very big pull-along case behind her. She stopped at her seat, and looked around expectantly for assistance.

Eventually, the stewardess - a short lady, also in her early fifties - came over and asked what help she needed. When she told the passenger that the vast crate on wheels would have to be checked into the cargo hold, as there was no way she'd be able to lift it, the woman seemed annoyed. She stated that there was no way she wanted to check it into the baggage hold as it was far too valuable.

Before the stewardess could respond, a gentleman passenger stood up and offered to help. He began to hoist the case up towards the overhead locker. He heaved, and struggled, huffed and puffed, and eventually managed to lift the case above his head and squeeze it into the locker. He exclaimed how the case was incredibly heavy for its size.

"So, what the heck is in that case, that weighs so much and is so valuable?", the stewardess asked.

"Oh...", the passenger replied, "It's my sewing machine.".

On a recent domestic flight, flying back to Denver, the pilot came on the PA system and made the usual safety announcements. Obviously he was as bored reading it as regular passengers are bored hearing it. He started adding bits to the script. He started off subtly...

"Flight time will be approximately one hour, forty two minutes and sixty three seconds."

Then descended to the obvious...

"Should the pressure in the cabin drop, masks will fall down from the panel overhead. If you are travelling with a baby, a small child, or someone who acts like a small child, please adjust your mask before helping them."

"In the event that we have to land on water, your seat cushion can be used as a floatation device. Put your arms through the loops, clutch it to your chest, and swim baby swim!"

"In preparation for take-off, please make sure that your seat-belt is fastened, your tray table stowed, and your seat-back returned to its full upright and most uncomfortable position."

Shortly before landing, he came on again, giving the standard end-of-flight speech, and ended with (in cod-Elvis style), "Thank you. Thank you very much.".

At the end of the flight, as he was about to switch off the Fasten Seat-belts sign, he announced, "On your mark... Get ready... Go!". Ping went the sign, as the usual mad dash to be the first off the plane ensued.

As over-quoted, and as bleedin' obvious as it is, Jerry Seinfeld was right when he asked, "Just what is it with these little bags of peanuts they give you on airplanes?". I'm still not certain of the actual reason for giving them out, I mean, they hardly constitute a meal. My current theory is that they are some kind of distraction, to wile away the time spent on the flight.

Having neatly trimmed fingernails, and thus no built-in cutting devices, it took me an inordinate amount of time to open the bag. This was prolonged because the bag they give you, is so small, adults have almost no hope of being able to hold it comfortably. For that matter, you'd need an electron microscope to be able to read the ingredients list.

Still, it passed some, and allowed me to stop thinking about the great galumping tosser in the seat behind me, who apparently was incapable of making any movement, without first grabbing the headrest of my seat, and yanking it towards him violently. He was also the sort of person, who has to repeatedly cross and uncross his legs, each time kicking the back of my seat. To his credit, he apologised the first couple of times. However, this then begs the question, why continue to do it?

This guy, however, was an angel compared to the mother and daughter team across the aisle. They arrived late, pulling behind them, enough "hand luggage" to exhaust a pack of huskies, and then proceeded to enlist the help of male passengers in getting these steamer truck sized cases into the overhead lockers.

When oh when are the male populace going to make a stand and say, "No! If you can't lift it up there yourself, then you shouldn't be claiming it as hand baggage."

I'm all in favour of helping those who are frail and/or disabled, but these two over-tanned, badly died blonde harpies deserved no sympathy. Especially, whilst they were holding up the remaining passengers trying to board, the mother exclaims of one of their cases, "It's that last inch, oh I just couldn't stop shopping!". My how we all had a good laugh about that.

I've written in the past about the rules of my airline, and I think the rule that most bears repeating is, "If you can't carry it around the airport, unaided, for an hour before the flight, then it's not hand luggage.". I think we could add to this, with a second clause, namely:

If it weighs more than you do, then it's not hand luggage, unless you're prepared to leave it in your seat, and ride in the overhead compartment yourself.

At the end of the day, it's all about selfishness. These dickheads, with their so-called hand luggage, block the aisles, whilst they wrestle with their gargantuan cases, taking up more than their fair share of locker-space, all because they think they're too important to wander over over to Baggage Claim at the end of the flight, and wait with us mere mortals considerate folk.

I got some feedback from a new DMfM reader the other day. It was very positive, and the criticsm was constructive.

I emailed her back, taking my time to respond to all her points.

The e-mail was returned, as undeliverable. I sent it again. Tonight it was returned again.

So, SW, I want to respond to your email but don't seem to be able to with the email address provided. Feel free to contact me with the right address, if you want me to reply.

This evening, I passed up an opportunity to be a witty bastard.

I'm sat on the porch, with my laptop, writing, and an Audi pulled up outside the house. The driver, a woman spent ages to-ing and fro-ing with her parking (in a space you could have parked the Space Shuttle in. Eventually, she got out and asked me if it was OK if she parked there.

I was on the verge of saying, "Only if you decide which of the two spaces you're taking up that you're going to have, and leave the other one for someone else to use." when I had a sudden moment of kindess, and just said, "Yeah, sure."

If I had time, I'd give you a tirade about people who can't park properly. Luckily for you, my social life has saved your eyes, and requires me to get off this porch, walk Miles and then go drink a some beers with friends.

You might not get off so lightly next time.

DMfM's Senior European correspondent, and Vice-President Of Wacky Links, Tim, has reported in with news of a burger, so big, that they call an ambulance as it arrives on your table.

Check out the Six Pound Burger.

But enough of that American silliness. At least the Europeans have their technological research heading in the right direction, namely, a self-refrigerating beer glass :)

A couple of Friday nights ago, I met up with a friend for some beers. We met downtown, and after a couple of beers and dinner, he - a professional photographer - suggested going to some art galleries. I - a professional cynic, suggested that if it was free, then what the heck.

The intention was to go to the Santa Fe area of town, where there is an entire artistic community, despite the fact that we're in -thought-police-controlled Colorado.

Whilst still downtown, and on the way back to our cars, we wandered into a gallery that was open. The place was very busy, and packed with the sort of people you would politely describe as real characters, but for the fact that none of them seemed particularly real.

All the same, it was a delight to be there, and meet all sorts of people. Most of the staff were cross-dressing men, who whilst enjoying the feel of skirt around their legs, didn't feel the need to go so far as shaving them. The female attendees were equally colourful but with a whole lot less leg-hair.

In fact, at this first gallery, the people attending were far more interesting and attractive than any of the art there. One series of pictures, for example, resembled some badly colorized/colourised Athena greetings cards from about 1984. I'm sorry, that's not art, that's crap.

Not all of the men attending were cross-dressing. One chap for example, had come as Philip Marlowe. Well, it was either that, or Inspector Gadget.

After soaking up the atmosphere downtown, we headed over to the Santa Fe area. There's a block or two of commercial premises that house a number of art galleries. The same deal as downtown was going on here. I later found out, from a young lady wearing pink saran wrap instead of clothes, that it's an event called First Friday, and such heady, artsy indulgence occurs once a month.

We wandered around about five or six galleries, sampling the free beer and food, and people-watching. Every cliché of arts-graduate fashion and lifestyle was there. This ranged from skinny arts students, to the Male Mid-Life Crisis Ponytail Brigade. In the middle, were the arts nerds.

By "arts nerds" I mean the sort of people who are, or think they are, so fashionable, that they wear really ugly, unattractive clothes, in the belief that more people will look at them. You know the sort. They mostly hang out in Old Navy commercials.

The high(or low)light of one gallery was a "fashion show". I put that phrase in quotes because frankly, you'd have to be pretty naive to think that the purpose of having half a dozen gorgeous young 20 year-olds, parading about in nothing but a few carefully tied scarves and woolly hats, was to sell clothing. Even the free beer they were handing out, couldn't cloud my judgment (it was after all only Pabst Blue Ribbon, but hey, it was free!). This was all very obviously an attempt to get as many people into the gallery as possible.

The rest of the evening was spent, wandering from gallery to gallery, soaking up the artwork, and people-watching. Frankly, the people were more interesting than a lot of the art. Some of the art was good (IMO), and some of it, just brought out my Eric Morecambe side.

Penelope Keith: What do you think of my perfume Eric: (sniffs her neck) I like it. What is it? Penelope Keith: It's Chanel No. 5. £20 an ounce Eric: Really? Smell this. (points to neck) Penelope Keith: That's wonderful! What is it? Eric: Gravy. 20p a gallon.

You get the idea... the more the pretension, the more I want to knock it down. I might be a Latté aficionado, but that's just coffee. That isn't drawing a stripe on a canvas, and claiming it's art.

Paul: What do you think of this Max? Max: It's a red stripe on a dirty canvas. Paul: Is that all? Max: It'll be nice when it's finished.

Just when I think Denver and/or Colorado is a pretty conservative little cow town, where nothing untoward ever happens, life throws me a curve ball.

So, I'm out walking Miles, late on a Sunday night, in the leafy streets of the Platte Park neighbourhood, minding my own business, when what's best described as "an incident" occurred.

I stopped at the kerb, and waited for the small red Honda Civic nearby, to make its move, before I crossed the road. It was by my side, going in the same direction as me. It sped off, continuing along the same path.

At the end of the next block, as I neared the crossroads, the same car appeared again, now from the road to my right. It did a quick turn to its right (so it was again going in the direction I was, but was on the other side of the intersection to me.

The driver got out. She was a tall brunette, with very long legs, and a very short skirt. She walked around the car once, stood in the middle of the road, next to her car, raised her skirt, and showed me her ass, running her hands over it. She was wearing a thong, and stockings, so there was little left to the imagination.

She then pulled her skirt back down, got in the car and sped off to the south.

Those of you who know me personally will know that it's not often anyone can shut me up, but right then I was speechless. After a few seconds, I shook it off as "one of those things", and turned the corner down a side road, heading west.

Seconds later, the same small red Honda drove by, coming now from the east. It turned to the south at the next intersection. At the same intersection, I turned north, heading back towards home. Halfway down the block, yet again, the same car passed by, now heading north.

It was definitely the same car in all occurrences. Apart from getting out to flash me, the driver never stopped again, or even slowed down to walking speed. The lady concerned was alone in her vehicle, so wasn't being egged on by friends, to do something outrageous.

So, if that was you, showing my your butt, or you know who this mystery lady was, contact DMfM headquarters, if only to explain WTF that was all about.

I went out on Friday night, for what seems like the first time in months. I'll be giving a full report on the bizarre evening shortly (headline: "Titian & Ass") but for now, I will tell you that whilst I was out - with an incredibly talented photographer friend of mine (is that enough of a plug Pauly?) - I got another call from the boss at the radio station, wanting me to add tomorrow lunchtime to my list of shows I'm doing.

I'm on-air from 12 noon until 3pm MDT. That's 7-10pm UK time. The usual host of that show has lost her voice - which could be seen as a bit of a disadvantage when you're doing radio.

The rest of my on-air schedule remains the same, and is available here. I might be doing an extra show at the end of the month, but that's not confirmed.

The big deal is that the next two Thursday night shows I'm doing, are during the Fall pledge drive, so call in with a pledge of financial support for this excellent public radio station - KUVO on (303) 480-9272, or 1-800-574-5886, or do an online pledge via their website.