This will be my last post from the Windy City for three months. Sammy, I am not ignoring your baton, but I am going to have to blog it from Boston. I'm trying to get all my stuff packed in a manner that will cause it all to reach my home, but whether or not that will work is up in the air. You know, I actually like flying. I just hate everything else. The packing, the hauling, the waiting... everything other than the actual transit is hateful to me. And airports. God do I hate airports. To once again quote the late, great Douglas Adams.
It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on Earth has ever produced the expression “as pretty as an airport”.
Airports are ugly. Some are very ugly. Some attain a degree of ugliness that can only be the result of a special effort. This ugliness arises because airports are full of people who are tired, cross, and have just discovered that their luggage has landed in Murmansk, and architects have on the whole tried to reflect this in their designs.
They have sought to highlight the tiredness and crossness motif with brutal shapes and nerve-jangling colours, to make effortless the business of separating the traveller for ever from his or her luggage or loved ones, to confuse the traveller with arrows that appear to point at the windows, distant tie racks, or the current position of Ursa Minor in the night sky, and wherever possible to expose the plumbing on the grounds that it is functional, and conceal the location of the departure gates, presumably on the grounds that they are not.
Ok, I'm packing up my laptop now. Later, all.