airports

nothing entertains me like spending time in the airport. from the overpriced sweatshirts, to the way people climb over each other to be the first in line when they begin boarding the B section, it all makes me want to break into hysterical laughter. Most of the time, however, I simply glance around myself and wait, munching on (only slightly less overpriced) food, store bought in none other than the hub of health, home to an active minority of righteous and unassailable peace Nazis: Berkeley, CA, for the next spectacle of hilarity i get to giggle about. I wait with the same unyielding anticipation people must feel when their favorite soapy hoke HBO series, leaves them at the end of the season with some critical unknown, and I get to hear about for the next endless stretch of the offseason. And then, with a dollop of sweet luck, I may chance upon a lot of miserable business travelers, drowning themselves in Martinis at a lifeless and extortionate airport bar. A bar whose nearest non-aviatory counterpart, would need to square their distance from the airport, and multiply it by their, still somewhat overpriced rates in order to begin to rank in relative egregiousness. And then, in the midst of their merriment, each become simultaneously ensnared in the aesthetic trap, set by some scantily-clad 16 year old, off to see her sickly grandmother in Pittsburg. For a brief moment in perfectly shameless awe, transfixed on the young Mata Hari. Rare is the opportunity to be blessed by moments such as these. Then, as soon as I thought the fun might be in danger of tapering off, something magic happens, I start losing it, and pining for the one thing they wouldn't admit at security check: liquid-filled containers in excess of 6 oz. I can't get enough of them, sealed bottles of water, coffee, an endless list Should I buy an Oprah list paperback for 25 bucks? Maybe an eight and a half dollar candy cane filled with chocolate raisins? Maybe I'll drive a cement truck off a bridge and into the ocean first. Leave it up to the establishment to tell you what you want. It's drivel, dry and empty concepts, hungry for substance and clamoring about in a pool of concepts. run for the hills, or run for office, no matter if it doesn't matter to you. follow the tracks, and take a train, everyone is headed somewhere, might as well let yourself be taken, instead of crawling there on your hands and knees. on the way there, to the next moment, take a look around you, feel decent, let that happen, the answer is that you're both in control. i will feel empty and delivered from this position, but it will have to come to pass, it won't do otherwise.