Random thoughts at LAX

It’s 11:34 a.m. here at the Los Angeles Airport (I have no idea what the “X” means in LAX. Maybe they used to have a deal with the XFL or perhaps the airport stands on the former grounds of a sacred porn theatre). That means that it’s 2:34 p.m. in Philly. Or possibly 8:34 a.m. That’s one of those things that I have to think long and hard about each and every time the thought comes into my head, and I never feel entirely comfortable with my deduction. I mean, time zones are stupid. Just ask the Chinese, who invented friggin math! They said the hell with it and now their enormous country has only one time zone. So that for some Chinese people, breakfast is served at 6 p.m. Maybe. I only slept for an hour last night, so I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around this concept. I fact, I wish I’d never brought it up

I just ate a Wolfgang Puck pizza and followed it up with a crumb cake that was topped with chocalate chip cookie dough. Yes, I’m serious. I’m sure I’m gonna look great in a bathing suit tommorrow. The seat I’m in at this crappy cafe like area overlooks the runway. It’s incredible how man’s most remarkable triumph over nature is so incredibly ugly. Nothing but steel and cement and giant trash bins and windowless vans and grey trucks with the words “Lavatory Services” written on the side. The people on the tarmac all wear neon orange or yellow vests. If some sci-fi writer had written Tron 100 years ago, I think he would have predicted it turning out sort of like a modern day airport.

There is a couple at the table next to me who look to be in their late 60s, perhaps. It’s not even noon, and they are both sucking down a Bud Light. God Bless America. I’m gonna go get a stiff drink and then sleep on the gate floor.