(Written July 9, 2007, 11:50 AM)

I am sitting in the T Concourse of the Atlanta airport. I made it through check-in and security without incident; I am now 'in the system,' and will be for the next seventeen hours. Twelve hours in the air, ten on the ground.

Of course, the hard thing about being in any closed system is that, after you have signed the papers and given them your money, you are at their mercy, and will have to pay whatever extortionary price for whatever service they see fit. Ten dollars for a sandwich and a coke, eight for wireless access. That is why this will not be posted until later.

Airports are a lot like theme parks: expensive food, and fun rides. Except these rides last for hours and are a lot more fun, I think. How often are you five miles in the air, and how often do you get that sort of view? I love it. I love the lands and the seas and the skies, and I love being able to see their big picture. The Moon Shot is comparable, though I don't know of one near the coast. Probably Atlantic City.

The moment my feet touch Argentine soil is getting closer every minute now, where before it only came closer in days. Still, it seems impossible. I doubt I will be aware of the possibility before it is actually realized.

I am sitting on a bench with an Asian man, and he will not stop pounding on it. Please stop pounding on this bench, Asian man. I love percussion, but not necessarily percussions.

Speaking of music, did you know that the airport in Brussels plays Brian Eno's "Music For Airports" 24/7? Already I love airports, but that is one I must visit.

Enough ruminations, soon I will board my first flight, and be on my way to strange lands.