every time the intercom at the airport comes on, the guy signs off with "have a nice flight." i always think he says "have a nice life." no, you have a nice life, guy.

i am on my way home. actually i am not on my way anywhere. i am sitting on my ass in the airport because i was wholly warned of the perils of midtown traffic TODAY OF ALL DAYS. exactly. today of all days i did not need to haul ass to leave work in "plenty of time." i made it to the airport in 20 minutes flat and am currently ready to drive screws under my fingernails.

"this must be the place" by the talking heads is on my mental radio though, so i am maintaining. i'm rehearsing for the music video that will play out when i arrive.

did i find you or you find me?

people watching in the airport is even more entertaining than usual. everyone on cell phones/ipods/blackberries. everyone is so fucking technologically in tune. including me, i guess, as i hammer away on my laptop. but #1: laptops are so 5 years ago and #2: i am an intruder. i only pretend to have something better to do than sit here and pick my nose and stare at people. it's sort of like reading on the train. i hate reading on the train. i only do it because staring at the crazy homeless man and wondering what that woman with the coiffed hair and shifty eyes got up to last night is socially frowned upon. i've heard that you can get your ass handed to you for that kind of thing. but believeyoume, i would prefer to stare in wonderment at that guy with tourets.

there is a woman, 2 down from me, who looks like she got into a major row with a bottle of self tanner. the self tanner definitely won. her boobs are big and fake and weird.

i particularly enjoy the people that get off the plane in this super incognito traveling getup. we don't care who you are.

i always feel like they are feeling sorry for me when they exit the plane and see me sitting here waiting

waiting
waiting

waiting for my flight. oh yeah, well where i'm going is 10 times cooler than where you've been.

i think i am secretly a fan of feeling sorry for them for looking so walleyed as they arrive.

my pocket knife was "seized" today. sad. it was a leatherman that could technically rewire an engine, carve a canoe, and make fabulous eggs benedict in one fell swoop. well..now the wigger that stole it from me can have it to make pot pie for his fat crunchy blonde girlfriend.

are boys blond and girls blonde?

there is a lot of hairgel in this airport, LGA, on males and females alike.


they flash the standby list on the screen like we are at the off track betting center.

gambling.

it is a gamble.

i am trying to decide if the people around me are reading over my shoulder. i would be. i am terribly guilty of doing that to people. one day i got really lucky. the girl next to me was editing erotica. i wanted to ask her what class it was for.