One of the stewardesses on my connecting flight from Dallas/Ft. Worth to Salt Lake was kind enough to change my seat. As I walked down the aisle, she noticed my long legs (they go all the way to the ground, don'cha know) and suggested I sit in one of the seats on the emergency exit row over the wings where there is a bit more leg room. Had it not been for this random act of kindness, I would not be battling a technological inferiority complex right now.
From where I sit, I see eight people using laptops, just as many listening to mp3 players or iPods, and four more watching movies on mp3 players or iPods. One woman is watching a movie on a portable DVD player. She would look positively archaic were it not for me (happy to oblige). Me? I was reading a book (Memoirs by William Tecumseh Sherman) until a few minutes ago. Not an eBook, not an online document; just a book, complete with front and back cover and paper for pages. Now, I'm writing this blog in my notebook using a pen. The guy next to me (one of the movie watchers) keeps glancing over, and the expression on his face gives me to know what I am doing is roughly on par with attempting differential calculus using an abacus.
I console myself with the fact that my own laptop died about five hours ago, and that this really just proves how skilled and diverse I am. I can rise to the demands of extenuating circumstances and continue to dispense my soap-box wit to the masses. The pen has toppled governments, ended wars, and preserved nations, and I alone on this red-eye flight hold its power in my hand...
Author's note: the foregoing post could not be completed, since somewhere between the word hand and whatever was to come next the redoubtable pen ran out of ink. I considered finishing the rant this afternoon, but, alas, the moment was lost. After rereading the foregoing, that is probably for the best.
mw
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