Play Spy at the Airport

I have just got back from the Chicago trip. It was a good meeting, and I’m glad I went. I schmoozed with members of the trade association I work for as best I can and schmoozed with a few coworkers as well. Six of us took a train into the city and ate Chinese last night at a trendy little joint called “Opera.” I had the prawns.

I left the hotel right after the noon meeting. I didn’t need to, as it turns out. One of my colleagues at the D.C. office had overnighted me the replacement driver’s license I’d ordered after I lost my wallet, so the full cavity search I received at Dulles (okay, so it wasn’t that severe) was not a concern. And, as it turns out, my plane was delayed. But I got to snoop around at O’Hare. Ate lunch at the Chili’s, which seems to be the only reasonable place at O’Hair where a man can get a beer and lunch and sit down and enjoy it. Then I wandered around to the usual suspects, book stores, gadget stores. Picked up a Rolling Stone and a Computer Shopper. There’s some good stuff in RS about the atmospheric C02 that’s ravaging the planet and such.

I flew one of them new-fangled big-ass planes. That was nice. Each seat had a little screen in front of it, and you could call up a map to show you where your plane was and how long it was before you’d get there and such. Very good for the little kid inside of you going, “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”

So I’m home and I’m glad and I haven’t yet seen my cat, who I assume is upstairs snoogling with the housemate who’s been taking care of her. Time to catch up on e-mail and Tivo. Good to be home.

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