We're leaving...

Thurs., Jan. 7, 2:00 p.m. We get the cab to Newark to catch our flight. We arrive there at about 2:45, way ahead of schedule. This is fortuitous since it we got dropped off at the wrong terminal. Take airport shuttle thing to correct terminal (we have four large suitcases, a guitar, uh... one small suitcase, a dufflebag full of books, two laptops, anyway, way too much stuff to be lugging around). Find Continental gate. Wait in line. Wait in line. Check in. "Can you double-check to make sure we're seated together?" "Sure... well, it looks like you're not. The flight is full so you'll just have to deal." "Great..."

Go to security. "Really? The line is going back down this enormously long hallway and around corner." "Yup." Wait on security line. There is a Frenchman standing behind us. He's attempting to get adopted by the wholesome family from Iowa or Minnesota by impressing them with his vulgarity. Frenchman, in a voice all are sure to hear: "My flight is an hour and a half. I'm sure F*&%$ed!, etc. etc." Mom from Iowa, who, about to mom the Frenchman, thinks better of it: "Well, why don't you ask one of the staff?" Frenchman: "OK but I bet they won't do anything." Lady in red coat comes near (TSA). Frenchman: "Excuse me. My flight is an hour and a half, etc. etc." Needless to say, the Frenchman stood in line with the rest of us for another half-hour or so, increasing his vulgarity in hopes of charming the Iowans.

Get through security. Go to gate. Sit for a while. I decide I'm going to track down a McDonald's and get a Big Mac. One last taste of America before heading out. It takes me about an hour to find the damn McDonald's. I also got an orange drink because, well, it's delicious. Consume Big Mac, which isn't as Big or as Mac as I remember them. Consume orange drink. Listen to ipod. Wait.

Flight is called. Get on line to get on flight. I butt in ahead of everyone and am one of the first ten people on the flight, after the Executive Top Class Select people or whatever they're called, not to mention first class or "Upper Class," as they say in England.

Get to seating area and negotiate with man to give up his seat so I can sit next to Anne. Now, this guy was with a young girl, maybe 14. I asked if they were traveling together and made sure to say something like, "If you guys are traveling together, it's fine" or whatever one says. I had an isle seat, which apparently has lots of capital in the world trans-atlantic flight. This guy had a middle seat, largely considered to be worthless. It nonetheless kind of surprised me when this guy, after a good two-second negotiation with his daughter (yeah--the guy's daughter), said, "yeah. sure. i'll take it." Now my former seat was right in front of the daughter, but still, it surprised how enthusiastic this guy was about, well, getting the hell away from her. Anyway. So, more importantly, I got a seat next to Anne.

Flight--about 7 hours. I watched an interesting film entitled "Cloudy with a chance of meatballs," which, as the title suggests, didn't make any sense, even for a CGI flick. I'll let you all netflix this fine achievement of American Cinema. I spent the rest of the flight sleeping in fits and starts. Mostly fits. It looked like it was still dark out at 8 a.m. when we arrive in Brussels.