Well Michigan. There's a state huh?
I love airports, for those who didn't know. There's something liberating about standing in line to be blasted by radiation and knowing that, even though he probably makes more in a year than you will in 30, that son of a bitch next to you has to take off his shoes too, even if they are leather Gucci.
That bit aside, I love walking in my socks. Barefoot is nice, and a good pair of shoes is hard to find, but walking in your socks is heavenly. So what better way to take the edge off air travel than in one's stocking feet. Because really, is there any way to take your situation seriously in socks? Worried about catching your plane? Terrorists? Not enough water? Forgot to charge your cell phone? Do you have a ride when you arrive? So what! You're Walking Around in YOUR SOCKS! Be Happy!
Anyway, once that's over we board the plane, which is always a hoot. I swear, I am always in the last boarding group. Those other groups have to be for like Freemasons or something, because I always board last. And it's not like It has to do with seating arrangement, because that really cute chick that was sitting across from you boarded with group one, and now she's sitting next to you on the plane, (by some glorious intervention of god. Thank You.) even though you waited an extra 15 minutes to get on.
So we fly to Chicago. I love O'Hare International Airport. It's huge, it has dinosaurs, and It's futuristic. So much so that when I was a sophomore in high school, I used photography of O'Hare Intl. as an example of design of Space Stations in the future.
Long story short I spent a lot of time with my family, drank a lot of great coffee, a little bad wine, played a lot of pool, inhaled what I'm sure was a ridiculous amount of second hand pot smoke, partied with people I love, and met people who love my parents from all over the state.
Christmas morning was odd, because, around 2am, my father and I were sitting around in immense laughter-induced pain as a result of the Pee-Wee's Playhouse Christmas Special, and mom started a-bringin out the presents. I mean who does that? I get that I'm 21 now, but you dont bring them out while im in the room! There's got to be some obscure turn-of-the-century law about that or SOEMTHING.
Anyway, I got my Brother a World War 1 compass and a bitchin' traveler's hat. I got my mom two beautiful imported scarves and a maraca, and I got my dad the complete first season of Saturday Night Live. (The 'Good' Years, apparently)
I got a cool vibrating massage gamer chair with speakers in it from Zac, a bunch of awesome toys that allow me to extend my already overdue childhood that much longer from my father, and a 'Baja' (one of those hippy sweaters) from my mom. I got a bunch of other stuff obviously, like a cool Sears Shopping Spree (for clothes, which I specifically asked for) psychedelic candles, etc. There's a ton here I'm sure im not listing.
Then I flew home. Rinse, Repeat.
Love to All,
Mith
I love airports, for those who didn't know. There's something liberating about standing in line to be blasted by radiation and knowing that, even though he probably makes more in a year than you will in 30, that son of a bitch next to you has to take off his shoes too, even if they are leather Gucci.
That bit aside, I love walking in my socks. Barefoot is nice, and a good pair of shoes is hard to find, but walking in your socks is heavenly. So what better way to take the edge off air travel than in one's stocking feet. Because really, is there any way to take your situation seriously in socks? Worried about catching your plane? Terrorists? Not enough water? Forgot to charge your cell phone? Do you have a ride when you arrive? So what! You're Walking Around in YOUR SOCKS! Be Happy!
Anyway, once that's over we board the plane, which is always a hoot. I swear, I am always in the last boarding group. Those other groups have to be for like Freemasons or something, because I always board last. And it's not like It has to do with seating arrangement, because that really cute chick that was sitting across from you boarded with group one, and now she's sitting next to you on the plane, (by some glorious intervention of god. Thank You.) even though you waited an extra 15 minutes to get on.
So we fly to Chicago. I love O'Hare International Airport. It's huge, it has dinosaurs, and It's futuristic. So much so that when I was a sophomore in high school, I used photography of O'Hare Intl. as an example of design of Space Stations in the future.
Long story short I spent a lot of time with my family, drank a lot of great coffee, a little bad wine, played a lot of pool, inhaled what I'm sure was a ridiculous amount of second hand pot smoke, partied with people I love, and met people who love my parents from all over the state.
Christmas morning was odd, because, around 2am, my father and I were sitting around in immense laughter-induced pain as a result of the Pee-Wee's Playhouse Christmas Special, and mom started a-bringin out the presents. I mean who does that? I get that I'm 21 now, but you dont bring them out while im in the room! There's got to be some obscure turn-of-the-century law about that or SOEMTHING.
Anyway, I got my Brother a World War 1 compass and a bitchin' traveler's hat. I got my mom two beautiful imported scarves and a maraca, and I got my dad the complete first season of Saturday Night Live. (The 'Good' Years, apparently)
I got a cool vibrating massage gamer chair with speakers in it from Zac, a bunch of awesome toys that allow me to extend my already overdue childhood that much longer from my father, and a 'Baja' (one of those hippy sweaters) from my mom. I got a bunch of other stuff obviously, like a cool Sears Shopping Spree (for clothes, which I specifically asked for) psychedelic candles, etc. There's a ton here I'm sure im not listing.
Then I flew home. Rinse, Repeat.
Love to All,
Mith
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