After all, I don’t need to spend several long hours being interrogated by Homeland Security. And I don’t need to be strip searched, and, most likely, cavity searched as well.

Still, these decals are just about the funniest way I’ve seen to make your suitcase distinguishable from the countless others that come sliding down the conveyor belt in baggage claim. It’s only $25 for a set of four decals: cocaine, piles of money, sex toys, and kidnapped flight attendant (which is my least favorite – I find it too disturbing). But while the price is probably more than worth a laugh, I suspect that these stickers are bound to get you into some serious trouble …

I can hear the latex gloves squeaking in anticipation. (Photo courtesy of TheCheeky.com)

It’s not that I think that TSA-holes can’t distinguish between two dimensional stickers and an actual tear in a suitcase that reveals massive quantities of cash or other suspicious or illegal items. But I do think that having a sticker like that on your suitcase is going to garner a lot of attention, and some of it will likely come from Homeland Security.

I can just see this conversation happening between two TSA-holes:

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Agent 1: Ha ha ha ha ha ha. Dude, check out that suitcase! It makes it look like it’s full of cocaine!

Agent 2: We should probably do a manual search of that bag.

Agent 1: What? Dude, it’s just a sticker.

Agent 2: Yeah, but what better way to fool us than to put a cocaine sticker on a suitcase that’s actually full of cocaine.

Agent 1: Whoa. That’s heavy, dude.

Agent 2: Like, it exceeds 50 pounds?

Agent 1: What?

Agent 2: Huh?

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——– End scene ———

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I can’t tell if these particular suitcase decals are more or less likely to get you in trouble than the x-ray bags I mentioned in a previous STINK. But they have inspired me to write a one-act play featuring the patriotic antics of two well-meaning but moronic TSA agents. Stay tuned.

Don't leave home without it.

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I was stuck this morning. Absolutely stuck. It’s yet another sunny day in San Francisco, my cold is almost gone, and I’m not letting myself enjoy this crazy city until I get a post up. Ill-advised, perhaps, but also noble. Which just my be my personal motto. Second only to, “If it’s fried, I’ll eat it.”

But I digress (when don’t I?). Rand had to tear out of here quickly this morning, and since my  blog post simply wasn’t coming to fruition, I decided to give him a hand. Rinsing out the berries we had crammed into the hotel fridge so he could have some breakfast, ironing his shirt … trying to figure out exactly what that nearly imperceptible but still definitely there stain was on his left shoulder (I think it might be a detergent stain. Figure that one out). And when I was done ironing, I dabbed a tiny bit of talcum powder on the stain … and it hit me: I would be lost without this stuff.

I’m not sure if it’s a by-product of my Italian up-bringing, or just weirdness inherent to my family, but I always use talcum powder before putting on my shoes. I sprinkle it into my flats or sandals, or, if I’m wearing socks, right onto my toes. It keeps my feet dry and smelling nice, and prevents my shoes from sticking to my feet.

I remember once a co-worker lamenting a pair of ballet flats she had just bought.

“They fit fine at the store … and they’re okay with stockings, but they feel too tight with bare feet,” she said, frustrated.

“Did you try talcum powder?” I asked.

She hadn’t. In fact, she hadn’t even known that was something you could do. The next day, she came to work in her new shoes, acting as though I had discovered America.

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “They’re so comfy, now!”

Besides making what is arguably one of the most horrifying parts of our body less putrescent (yeah … I have issues about feet. But that’s another post), I’ve found other uses for talcum powder in my travels.

Dry shampoo: I keep swearing I’ll buy some dry shampoo for those days when I just don’t have time to wash my hair, but it’s yet to happen. In the meantime, I just sprinkle a bit of talcum powder on my roots and brush it in. This works far better if you have lighter colored hair, because it can make darker locks look a dull grey (and use only a little at a time, because if you sprinkle on too much, it will be an absolute mess). It absorbs the extra oils in your hair, making it seem less greasy, and it smells great.

Oil stain pre-treatment: I often wonder whether my husband and I should just resort to wearing bibs, because we so frequently manage to stain our clothes with oil. I’m not sure how it happens. A tiny speck or two might fly onto our shirts as we cook, and it will magically grow as it sits in the hamper, usually eliciting a WHAT-THE-HELL-IS-THAT? sort of response from me when I finally do laundry. Oil stains while traveling are even worse, because you probably won’t be washing your shirt until you get home. My pre-treatment is pretty simple:

• Lay the piece of clothing flat, stain facing up.
• Dab the stain with a bit of water.
• Sprinkle a ton of talcum powder on top and pat it down.
• Let dry and shake it off. Repeat if necessary.
• Later, launder as usual.

Usually, as it dries, the talcum powder will suck the grease up. I’m not kidding. You’ll actually see the outline of your stain in the talcum powder. It’s awesome. Yes, cornstarch works better (but who travels with cornstarch?), and sometimes the stain won’t budge no matter what. But it’s always worth a shot.

Untie a knot. Have your shoelaces woven themselves into a untenable mess in your suitcase? Or perhaps the necklaces you shoved into a plastic baggie for your trip are now tangled beyond comprehension? Relax. Sprinkle some talcum powder on the offending knot. It will help loosen the mess and you should be able to unravel it without wanting to pull your hair out. And at the very least, your hands will smell nice.

So, that’s it. My indispensable, absolutely fantastic, inexpensive Superfluous Travel Item I Need (Kinda Definitely). Shoe powder, dry shampoo, grease stain pre-treater, knot detangler. All available in a convenient travel size, and often for less than a buck.

Now, please excuse me while I sprinkle some on my toes and venture off into the city.

What’s that you say? Your local mega-mart doesn’t carry food bloggers in stock? That is indeed a tragedy. I suggest you get online and try to find one that way. And no, you can’t have mine. But I don’t blame you for trying. Because holy crap, is she awesome.

I met the effervescent Gastrognome on New Year’s Eve, at my friend (and fellow blogger) Rachel‘s house. When I found out she would be in San Diego for the same conference that Rand was attending, which was en route to Rachel’s wedding in New Orleans, which we were all attending, I was thrilled. We were going to be more than internet friends! Hooray!

And, holy cats, the Gastrognome did not disappoint in the friendship department. For a goody-goody like me, she’s a great foil – the girl who makes you try new things, like mooning cars or calling up the boy you like before immediately hanging up. Only, you know, with food. She went with us to Pho King, a trip which we had arranged months ago, after she found out that the hole-in-the-wall in San Diego had stolen her future restaurant name (I understand entirely. If someone ever starts a bakery called “Much Ado About Frosting”, heads will roll).

So much Pho King ...

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And, rather than be creeped out by the somewhat sticky tables and weird guy roaming around the parking lot with his belly exposed, she was totally at ease with everything: picking through the menu, ordering appetizers for the table, sampling unusual soft drinks, and testing the heat of each of the three hot sauces at the table. No snobbery. No elitism. No “I-know-more-than-you-so-do-as-I-say” attitude.

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The adorable Gastrognome and my almost-equally-adorable husband: immediately prior to the impromptu jalapeno-eating contest that took place at our table.

In short? A great person with whom to share a meal, or even a trip.

A scandalously short time later, we went out again to eat (what? Don’t judge me. Pre-meal meals are awesome), and as we shared a plate of oysters, she once again showed her chops, explaining what each of the oysters were, the accompaniments, and telling me tales of a place in New Orleans with 25 cent oysters. Fairy tales for foodies.

Like I said before, you absolutely must find yourself a food blogger. And once again, no – you can’t have mine.

But, holy crap, is she awesome.

You can tell he's an ad man.

I nearly peed from laughing and from sheer joy. Because “F*ck it, I give up” very often becomes my fashion motto roughly halfway through a trip. I start out hopeful. Delusional even. I bring three-inch heels and convince myself that I will wear them all over <insert foreign city here>. A few hours later, I have given up almost entirely on looking presentable, and find myself licking the stain on my sweater to determine what it was (jam, in case you were wondering).

This happens again and again.

And now there are pajama jeans. For those who want the ill-fitting, droopy-ass look of pajamas, with the glamour of denim!

I can’t get these, right? Because then I might actually wear them, and that would be very, very wrong. Hygienically, the idea of sleeping in something, wearing it out and about, and then sleeping in it, again, is kind of horrifying.

And yet, isn’t that what happens with any item of clothing I wear on flights?

Besides, if I’m going to give up on looking fashionable and not care at all what I look like on a trip, shouldn’t I at least be comfortable?

Honestly, I think these are a revelation. They’re the sort of thing that could only exist in the great, great nation that is America. We’re the home of chocolate-covered bacon, Cop Rock, and now sleepwear pretending to be pants.

The last time I was this impressed with a piece of clothing disguised as yet another piece of clothing was when those t-shirts that look like tuxedos first came out. Remember?

Photo courtesy of vintagecotton.com

Maybe I’ll pair one with my jean-jamas.

Then I thought I disliked Doctorow because he named his daughter Poesy Emmeline Fibonacci Nautilus Taylor Doctorow (Note: in the original draft of this post, which exists only in my head, I had composed some fictitious name for his daughter that was something like “Frenchie Spaghetti Tyro Brahe Doctorow,” and changed it after realizing her real name is far, far better). But then, the more I considered it, I realized how unfair that was, because how can you hate a man for the name he gave his daughter? Really, that will be her job when she’s 13. Besides, Emmeline sounds quite lovely.

But I still hate Cory Doctorow … right? I mean, even though he seems kind of interesting and accomplished and volunteered for Greenpeace and is probably a cool guy. I’m sure I have my reasons, whatever they are.

And it was those clearly thought-out and not-at-all forgotten reasons that had me conflicted about blogging about this STINK.  Because, frankly it seems weird to cover something that  Cory Doctorow already wrote about. Oh, and I was also conflicted about the fact that I have to suggest you all go out and buy guns. And travel with them.

Hello? Are you still there?

Because this is insane. And I don’t actually advocate it, but it is pretty damn fascinating. Doctorow’s advice, gleaned from this blog entry, is that if you want to make sure the airline doesn’t lose your checked luggage, you can always pack a gun in your bag. When you notify the airline (during check-in) that you are carry a weapon (legally, of course), they are required to take extra steps to secure your bag, lock it, and track it like hawks. So not only is your bag less likely to be lost altogether, but the odds of someone reaching in and helping themselves to your valuables becomes pretty much nil.

If you’re like me (god help you), you’ve probably managed to injure yourself while opening the mail. Consequently, the idea of not only owning, but packing and traveling with a weapon sounds horrifying. Besides that, wouldn’t acquiring and registering a weapon actually be a ton of work? Apparently not. The TSA considers starter pistols (as in those little pistols that fire blanks and make a loud noise to signal the start of a track meet) to meet their gun criteria – as in, they’ll track your bag if you’ve got one in there. But according to U.S. laws, you don’t actually need to register starter pistols anywhere.

Of course, I’m not saying that you absolutely must travel with a starter pistol – truth be told, the whole idea sounds insane to me, and potentially disastrous. But given the course of the TSA as of late, and how you basically can’t sneeze or even pray on a plane without getting yourself into trouble, it’s kind of comforting to think that there are things you can do to make sure the TSA works for you.

It just involves carrying a gun.

Of course, the closest we've ever come to packing heat was the time Rand has a menorah in his suitcase. Ba-dum-dum!

But none of this changes the fact Threadless has some absolutely adorable t-shirts out there. And since they’re now not as en vogue as they were, say, 4 or 5 years ago, it is now officially cool to wear their clothing again. Hell, one could probably get away with wearing their tees even if she’s pushing 30 … or pulling 25, as it were.

So even those these aren’t technically travel items, they are tangentially related to travel. And let’s face it: so is my blog.

I particularly love the design that won their Threadless Loves Travel II design competition. It’s entitled Globetrotter, and it features a woman riding a HORSE THAT’S ACTUALLY A GLOBE.

As the kids would say, “ZOMG”. Which, I believe, is an expression of excitement. Either that, I just proposed to you in Klingon.

Oh, and then there’s this:

If there is a god (and if there is one, I’m pretty sure he lives in Italy), I would already own this. Hell, everyone in Italy should own this shirt.

Sigh. I miss John Paul.

Yeah. Well, maybe not everyone. But still, it’s cute.

No, really.

Okay, fine – but they’ve changed the way I pack, and that’s a big part of my life. So there.

I first became aware of packing cubes when I went to Italy with the lovely Pinguina in 2008. I had seen them before at luggage stores, but the price kept me away. I figured they fell into the vast category of entirely unnecessary and potentially satanic products: like peep-toe Ugg boots (designed for getting pedicures in cold weather), a yodeling pickle, and anything from the Paris Hilton “clothing” line.  These things were just invented to make you spend your money and question the existence of god, right?

Pinguina had a few packing cubes in which she carried smaller articles of clothing (socks, bras, t-shirts, etc.). And they while they first seemed totally unnecessary, the ease with which she unpacked and repacked her bags, and was able to find exactly what she was looking for without leaving her hotel room and suitcase in shambles had me convinced that I needed them, too.

I bought three of them for a subsequent trip, and I have used them ever since. It was glorious. For a hyper-organizer like myself, there’s nothing better than putting things in little bags BEFORE putting them in your bag. It’s like the Russian nesting dolls for your luggage. Plus, everything fits into your suitcase so easily and symmetrically, you’ll find yourself humming the theme to “Tetris”.

Also, I just realized I managed to squeeze two references to Russian pop culture into one paragraph. Which is bizarre, but nevertheless makes me proud (after all, I’m half Russian. It was bound to come out somewhere).

Of course, the downside to all this is the price. I have three of Eagle Creek’s Pack-It Cube Organizers (because that’s the brand they carried in the store I went to), and they ran me about $12 each. You can find them a little cheaper on  Amazon.com, but not by much. There are also less-expensive options made by ebags and (sigh) Rick Steves. I don’t think there’s a big difference between the brands, so I’d go with cheaper if possible (as long as it’s not Rick Steves).

Okay, fine. So Rick Steves' Packing Cubes don't actually have his face on them. I don't know if that's a selling point or not.

Of course, the true test of the awesomeness of the packing cube came from Rand. Every time he leaves for a trip, I ask him if he wants to use one of the cubes, and he emphatically refuses, saying he doesn’t see the point. So for his trip down to California last week, I didn’t even bother offering him use of the cubes. But I found he had taken one, anyway. When I commented on it, he immediately got defensive (for the record, defensive Rand is adorable):

“What? You said I could use them if I wanted to!”

You may not realize it, but this is actually a glowing endorsement, masqueraded as a whine, from someone who travels far more than I do. If Rand can admit he needs a packing cube, you might need one, too.

RoundTrip’s line of vintage “upcycled” suitcases and bags (available through Etsy) sort of fall into that same category. I really want one, but then I would own a piece of luggage that just might be too hip for me.  I don’t know if my tender ego could handle that. Check them out:

Okay, so I don't actually wear enough hats to necessitate a hat box, BUT STILL. Desire knows no logic.

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You must love the little birdies so to give them THAT to perch on ...

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They use a variety of vintage bags and luggage, including hard-shelled Samsonite and American Tourister suitcases that remind me of the ones we had when I was little. Suitcases that were dragged to Italy and back many times by my mom and grandparents. RoundTrip’s designer has made them distinctly her own with silhouettes and images hand-drawn in waterproof, heat-set paint. The result is unique and whimsical.

No silhouette Godzilla? Ah, well. Still pretty neat.

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I saw some cute little hipster gal carrying on of these sans decal. She'd have probably given her right arm tattoo for this.

Still, I’m sure if I bought one, it would hang out in the closet with all the other items I own that are just too cool to fit my dork aesthetic: The sailor pants from Anthropologie that are waiting for me to lose 10 pounds, my Harvey’s Treecycle seatbelt bag, and those 4-inch grey suede heels I only wore once. They’d probably get together and have parties and not invite me. Damn them all.

Plus, I’d be absolutely petrified of checking one of RoundTrip’s bags, for the additional fear of losing it. Fortunately, though, they dabble in carry-ons as well:

Mmm ... vintage upcycled handbag carry-on (drools).

I mean, come on – I’m almost cool enough to pull that off, right? RIGHT?

P.S. – all photos used with the generous permission of the folks at RoundTrip. As per usual, no goods, services, or snack cakes were exchanged in the making of this post. I just like their stuff.

I probably should be more flexible. It certainly would help me a lot in my travels. Life would be easier. Because as it stands, I’m not great at improvising. Luke would have froze to death on Hoth because of me.

I am rambling, aren’t I? I blame it on the 104-degree-please-don’t-barf-on-the-carpet-and-it- smells-like-a-hobo-in-here yoga class I took. It might have cooked my brain.

But the point is, I like things to be precise, and “just so.” I need things to feel right (right angles are good, too). Make-shift doesn’t really work for me. And so, those easily trashed Ziploc bags that we’re forced to put our liquids in? I hate them. I feel wasteful using them. They break after one trip, they offer no support to anything I put inside, and they always looks kind of sad when I place them in the plastic bin. I mean, if your finances and options are limited, then I say go for it. But if you can, it seems like you should go for something durable and reusable, right? And, apparently, Flybags makes what I’m looking for.

I couldn't find a good picture of the Flybag product, so here's one of a tauntaun.

Here’s the issue, though: They want sixteen effing dollars for them. SIXTEEN DOLLARS. That’s eight times the amount for which the crazed paperboy chased Lane down a mountain. On principle, there is no way I could justify spending that much on something that probably cost $0.15 to make. What’s worse, they try to justify the price by adding a bunch of crappy bottles that I will likely throw out. Sigh.

So I keep using Ziploc bags. $2.50 for a box of 100. And I guess I’ll try and do something good with the change. Perhaps donate it to a wild tauntaun reserve or something. Those things exist, right?

Sigh. My brain really is cooked.

Oh, and p.s. – check out the Flybags website. The copy is TERRIBLE. It’s paranoid, hateful, and unintentionally-hilarious all at once. Oh, and this is their headquarters, proving that they really do operate out of someone’s garage.

photo courtesy of gama-go.com

The cover flap of Gama-go’s Getaway messenger bag features a gun, multiple passports, and a toothbrush (for the hijacker with hygiene!). I actually tried it on and found the buckle to be a bit heavy. So that’s why I didn’t get it (and not because my husband said I’d get arrested). Meanwhile, ThinkGeek has their own X-Ray bag, which is slightly less likely to get you dragged away in handcuffs. Remember: I said slightly.

photo courtesy of ThinkGeek.com

Since both of these have been vetoed because somebody hates getting strip-searched (cause he’s a big baby), I think the most I can get away with are these:

photo courtesy of gama-go.com

What do you say, honey?