Here we go

So here I sit.  In the airport once again.  It's the story of my life.  No, seriously.  It's the story of my life.  I got on my first flight when I was less than a year old, to fly from Virginia to my new home in Japan and it's been that way ever since.  Airports are like an old friend for me.  I love airports, I do.  They mean that I'm going somewhere new and exciting!  Or even if I'm going someplace old and dreadful, at least I'll have fun stories about my misery there to tell later. 

I know that a lot of people hate airports, especially with the new levels of inanity and ridiculousness that we have been driven to (liquids and gels can be used to make a bomb!  But not if they're in a Ziploc bag!) but I still like 'em.  I don't mind getting to the airport early or having a layover somewhere—it just means I have more time to enjoy a last-minute Starbucks and wander around the shops, poking through what each city deems must-have impulse buy material.   A particular favorite of mine is the AMERICA! store in Newark.  Newark – the center of American Pride, apparently.  On a separate note, it still surprises me every time I fly over New Jersey.  It's so green and pretty!  I know it's the Garden State and all, but in my mind's eye I always seem to picture NJ as a lot like NYC, only way dingier. 

I also enjoy seeing how each terminal is laid out.  Most follow the same general schematic, but there are a few who dare to buck the trend.  My favorite of these is the Kansas City airport (slogan -- Kansas City: There's Nothing Here!).  Once you go through the security checkpoint you are officially screwed.  There are no shops, no food spots and, unbelievably, no restrooms on the other side.  So if you decide that you would like to go powder your nose one last time before the flight, as opposed to doing a Cirque du Soleil routine at 40,000 feet in the spacious restrooms they provide, then you have to grab all your crap (remember kids—do not leave bags unattended or they may be destroyed) and exit to the restroom area only to have to go through the whole rubber glove security nonsense once again.  Sample dialogue:

"I understand your job, Officer Friendly, but as you've seen me come through here six times in the last 90 minutes is this really necessary?!  Yes, I understand maybe I shouldn't have downed two Iced Venti Quad Soy No-Whip Caramel Macchiatos in a row but I was thirsty since I couldn't bring my water to the other side of this gate!  I need to be hydrated!  And since you've examined me inside and out a half-dozen times now, exactly where am I supposed to have acquired the explosives that you keep scanning my same pair of Sketchers for?  Do they sell it next to the Entertainment Weekly's in that one piddly little shop over there?????"

Sigh.

But of course I wouldn't say that out loud.  My goal when moving through a security checkpoint is not to get tackled and perhaps tased by a half-dozen TSA agents with itchy trigger fingers.  I do try to convey my personal feelings on the whole matter through a combination of ESP, eyebrow raises and "Hi, it's me again!" comments, though.  But despite all that, I still enjoy the whole airplane/airport experience.  I don't mind being alone in airports, either.  Makes me feel kind of like an adventurer, forging off into the wilds of TSA on my own.  And because I have the opportunity to just pick up and go anywhere. Anywhere in the world.  Just on a whim.  Airports are the hub to the spokes of the world. Just like the internet, but cleaner.  Well, by a small margin, anyways. 

Ahem. 

So back to my point which, as usual, I have strayed unnecessarily from.  Which is to say that I enjoy the whole airport experience.  Which is a definite plus, since I love to travel. I've often said that if I ever won the lottery, I wouldn't buy a huge house or a ton of cars or anything like that.  I'd just pick up and travel the world.  See all that there is to see, experience all that there is to experience.  Although on second thought, I might want to toss a few euro towards a house somewhere or at least a decent sized storage unit just to keep all the crap I will assuredly acquire along the way.  Not that I'm a crazy shopper or anything.  So I….Alright, alright, that's enough from all of you!  HEY!  I can hear you all snorting and laughing---cut it out!  I DO SO have some shopping self control!  I just choose not to exercise it all that often.  It's a choice, not a compulsion, I swear. 

Anyways, it's lovely that I now have this job where instead of having to rely on my winning numbers coming up I actually get paid to satisfy my wanderlust.  And it's the greatest thing in the whole world and I don't want it to ever go away.  Because then I would be well and truly lost.  But I don't want to get all maudlin about it—suffice to say that life is grand and while it's common for people to chase their dreams, it's rare for someone to actually catch one.  Lucky me.  Sometimes it is possible to catch a falling star.