no sleep til…

Brain, brain, where is my brain?

Sorry for the radio silence recently. I spent most of the last week wandering around San Francisco in the usual daze. It was a pretty laid-back trip: no clown strippers this time, just beautiful weather and some long-overdue visitations with dear friends.

I flew back in on Wednesday evening, and was viscerally reminded of just how desperately NYC needs to finish the JFK renovations and the express train service to it. As many flaws as SFO has, it’s still a mere 15m unobstructed freeway ride from just about anywhere in San Francisco, and once you get there, the buildings are clean, airy and well-lit. American Airlines’ baggage claim in JFK, in contrast, is almost but not quite as clean and pretty as Philadelphia’s Greyhound station…and things go from bad to worse once you step outside: the cab ride over Conduit Ave to Eastern Parkway is a long vista of abandoned factories and burnt-out warehouses, which was not helped at all by the pissing rain.

Who was it who said “You used to arrive in New York like a king; now you slink in like a rat?” They said it about Penn Station, but it goes double for basically all of our airports.

Anyway, I’ve just had enough time on the ground to catch my breath and reintroduce myself to my cats, and now I’m turning around to head into the heart of darkness Delaware to attend a wedding of one of Miranda’s cousins. Trapped for 2.5 days with a gaggle of Dupont executives and their familes. I can’t wait!

SF pictures and some non-suckass writing when I get back, I promise.

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