I thought the first performance was pretty good, but I found the second one somewhat lacking.

I’m not saying the second performance wasn’t any good; I’m just saying it was lacking.

To make an airplane safety instruction session special, it’s essential that the flight attendant truly commit to the part. I thought the attendant on the first leg of our trip did a fine job, while the attendant on the second leg sort of walked through the whole thing.

Not bad. Just not inspired.

I make it a point to pay attention to flight attendants when they give the safety instructions.

For one thing, the flight attendant is trying to impart important safety information that could save your life. Assuming, of course, that when the plane you’re on begins plummeting toward the earth, you’re going to remember how to put on the oxygen mask and then “breathe normally.”

This might just be me, but if I’m ever in a situation on a plane where an oxygen mask feels it needs to drop in front of my face, the last thing I’m going to do is breathe normally.

The other reason I pay attention to the flight attendant’s safety lesson is because I figure it’s the least I can do. It seems if a person is taking the time to show you where the exits are, where the lights are that will guide you to the exits and how to put on an oxygen mask AND a life jacket, the polite thing to do is pay attention.

It’s the way I was brought up.

I’m writing this column on Thursday afternoon in our hotel room near the Tucson International Airport in Arizona. We got into Tucson shortly after 10 a.m. local time, which to my wife and me was really shortly after noon, what with the time difference and all.

We spent part of our Thursday afternoon wandering around downtown Tucson, which was nice. When we visit places we haven’t been to before, my wife and I like to wander. Over the years, we’ve found that we have the most fun when we just wander. I mean, within reason. On Friday, my wife and I were going to a desert north of Tucson, but I don’t think we would have fun wandering around the desert.

The reason we were going to a desert north of Tucson was because my wife wanted to go to some sort of fancy resort there. It’s the sort of fancy resort that encourages its guests to do things like yoga, hiking, horseback riding, meditating, banging gongs and basically getting in touch with your feelings.

“But, Mike,” some of you are saying, “that doesn’t sound like something you would enjoy.”

To some of you who are saying that, I say, “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

But I’m going to do it anyway.

“Why?” you ask.

Because they serve beer at this resort. See, whenever my wife asks me to do something I really don’t want to do, I always ask if they serve beer. If the answer is yes, I do it. If the answer is no, I still do it. But not happily.

On Saturday morning, my wife and I were going out into the desert where someone would hook us to a long line, give us a push and send us hurtling to our deaths.

OK, technically what my wife and I were going to do is zipline across the desert, but as far as I’m concerned, it would be the same thing as hurtling to our deaths.

See, I’m not good with heights, and my wife knows that. I think that’s why she suggested we zipline across the desert.

But they serve beer at the resort, so I’m going to zipline anyway and I won’t complain.

But I will definitely pay attention to the safety instructions.