14 May 2010

Fly me to the moon

I love airports. As much as I don't love flying, I love airports. Airports are filled with potential and promise. And yeah, they're filled with tired people sleeping in unlikely places, and horrible security lines, and horrible security people bent on molestation (no, I haven't gotten over that experience at Schiphol), and wretched airport food, and Starbucks and uncomfortable seats, but I love them.

The potential overrides just about everything.

I know airport codes by heart, and I used to keep lists of major airports I'd been in: Heathrow, Sheremetyevo, Helsinki-Vantaa, Frankfurt, Kennedy, La Guardia, Stapleton (now gone), Dulles, National...you get the idea. I've spent so much time in LAX, SNA and PHX that they seem like home.

(Heathrow is abominable. Sheremetyevo is a bit sinister. I've always been fond of the look of Dulles. La Guardia looked exactly as I expected a New York airport to look. It's possible I've spent more time in LAX than any other airport in the world. And yes, I've been to the restaurant in the Theme Building. Kansas City might possibly have the weirdest design.)

Tonight, I had to pick up the daughter from her Grand Canyon sojourn. I'm rarely in this airport at night; more often, I am sitting on a plane at 6:45 am, first flight out. While I waited in baggage claim, I read the boards over the baggage carousels. Flights had just come in from Albuquerque, Toronto, and Phoenix (via Reno, which didn't make too much sense, but these days...). I felt a little chill feather up my spine as I thought Soon! Soon! Soon! you can fly me to the moon.

Go listen to some music: "Fly Me To the Moon" from the album It Might as Well Be Swing by Frank Sinatra. I have actual tickets in hand. When I actually have airline tickets, I'm mostly unstoppable.

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