About a year back, I discovered that a flask of rum makes in-flight coke, and in-flight experiences in general, far more pleasant. Which is why, with six flights on my horizon in the next two weeks, I’m particularly displeased to discover TSA’s newest terrorist-thwarting rule:

NO LIQUIDS OR GELS OF ANY KIND CAN BE CARRIED ON THE AIRCRAFT [Ed. note: capitalization theirs.]

The unfortunate sobriety leaves me doubly exposed to my recent and ever-growing flight anxiety, which I previously described thusly:

Having logged enough miles to know first-hand the odds of safely reaching my destination, I should be a calm, collected flier. Instead, I’m increasingly phobic, knowing too well each expected whirr and beep: altitude markers, well-adjusted ailerons, fully-engaged landing gear. During a flight, at least a quarter of my brain is consumed with monitoring such sounds. Was that clang right? And, if not, have the flight attendants huddled in back for last tearful goodbyes?

And now, with bombs apparently ready to take (commercial) flight, at least another quarter of my brain will be spent rationalizing away this second in-air threat.

Bon voyage, indeed.