BLOBBY'S BLOG

The Art of Flight

I do love Washington DC. I always have.

Not so much for the politics - though to a degree it is intriguing. Not even for the history, necessarily. Though both those things kind of tie into it all.

There is something about watching, from just about any angle in the city, planes flying overhead. Barely overhead. Seeing these graceful silver birds low on the skyline, looking like they are barely missing the top of the Jefferson or Lincoln Memorials as they start to land at Reagan National Airport (I refuse to call it by that name!).

It is never a scary feeling. It always just seems so natural to me. Ditto when you see an army helicopter flying over the ellipse. Maybe it's Marine One - maybe not. I always assume it is. I can watch that shit all day long. I used to love going to see airplanes take off and land when I was younger....back when airports had observation decks. I don't think those still exist.

It's not nearly as fun being IN the planes. People in those planes make the art of flying mundane, pedestrian and just downright ungraceful. Take the guy who got on late and there was no room in the overhead, but he made room by smashing my laptop and suit coat. The same guy who sat next to me who was Blackberrying as we were rushing down the runway at take-off, even though portable electronic devices were to be turned off a long time before - and after two warnings from the flight attendant to him specifically. The same guy who immediately fell asleep upon take-off and spread his legs faster and farther then the high school slut under the bleachers - pushing against my leg in a creepy icky kind of way for the hour and ten minute flight. The person who has no regard for anyone but himself.

I never want to be that guy.