Saturday, December 1, 2007

It Starts...

Hey Guys! These next two posts are outdated, as I didn't have internet access when I wrote them. But, look forward to new posts with current information shortly:

The familiar smells of sanitation, the sound of shuffling feet and jingling change, restless travelers nervously clutching their essential documents and double checking the gate number. Ah, yes. We are back in the airport; one of the few places on Earth where the international community gets along and respects each other. You know, it’s sort of like Mutually Assured Destruction (the idea that nobody will launch a nuke because then everybody else would launch their own). Here, the majority of people are on edge and only worried about themselves and their schedules. Nobody has time to worry about or really take into consideration the dilemmas of those “others” that abound. Therefore, we all get along! We’re in this together.

I like to sit back and quietly observe the rest of my fellow travelers as if they were the subjects in my giant lab experiment. I sit back with my last American beer in hand (Sam Lager) and ask: How do they interact? What do they sound like? To me, all I really hear above the hum of conversation are the percussive “s” and “t” (It kind of reminds me of those times in my youth when I used to go to church with my family. During the Lord’s Prayer, I always got a kick out of the repetitive “s” and “t” sounds in the following passage: “And forgive us our Lord, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and deliver us not into temptation but deliver us from evil.” I wonder if they did that on purpose? Mark, Luke, Paul, John… Ringo. You sly devils.)

Sitting down in the more comfortable-than-I-remember chairs next to my gate (faux-leather and all), I suddenly remember how I dearly hate wireless internet terminals that charge for the service. They are sadistic a-holes. I swear, these terminals are fed on pain, despair, and tears. Here’s why: I open up my laptop and am overwhelmed with joy to discover that I have a signal. Joyous cherubs alight! I have a friggin’ signal! I think I shall check my email and watch videos of Peter Frampton concerts from 1973 (Do You Feel Like We Do?). Double clicking the Internet Explorer, my toes are wiggling with anticipation. But to my disgust, the page asking for credit card information pops up. Immediately I ponder if I have the technical wherewithal to hack past this crap and give Boingo Wireless (no joke, that’s the name) a firm, erect middle finger. Then I remember that I broke my iPod by leaving it in the rain. Right. I think I’m going to be stumped by this one. You win Boingo. You always do.

By the time I post this, it will be moot as I will be in Vienna or Berlin, but I just wanted to vent.


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