Terminals and Shinny Tubes

Any given airport terminal in the world is a buffet of people watching. The multitude streams in and out from different directions, walks, eats mingles and leaves. A little micro-episode that parallels what the rest of our time here entails and essentially sums up the generations before as well. Genes and environments lining up in a trillion different combinations to lead us all to this moment of bumping shoulders with this one particular portion of the rest of humanity. Like some kind of epic piece of music, with a crescendo in this very odd facility.

Then we jam into tiny metal tubes (oh regional jet, how I fucking hate you) and climb up to ridiculous heights, in ridiculously uncomfortable seats. Throw in fascist-Mormon flight attendants who yell at you repeatedly when you try to use laptop after they approve the use of cell phones once you land (once was enough, you power-mad maniac), and you’ve pretty much encapsulated modern life.

Yup, I’m traveling again. Spent the day skimming the tops of thunderheads at thirty-nine thousand feet over the south, to Atlanta for the HOW conference to figure out what real designer’s do and how they do it. Professional Development and all that. We’ll see.