Role-play

I’m flying back to Old Lady Manhattan this morning. It generally takes me 24 hours door-to-door as I fly through South Korea. This 24 hours is fun, fun, fun. I like airplanes. No phone calls - you’re forced to do nothing but doze off and watch movies while beautiful girls serve you and you play “If I had to choose just one” and read the Financial Times. I pay tones of money for each flight, but it still thrills me to get a free newspaper on the plane.

When I used to live in Bermuda I had to write my occupation on the arrival card, so I used to write whatever I wanted to be, like opera singer, conductor or matador. Travelling is just a form of pseudo-suicide.

I think the people in the Cartier shops in HK, S Korea and NY probably know me by now, but apart from that I could be anybody. I’m very tempted to act like an asshole for the whole trip, to play that role, just to see.

Plane of fools

Back from Japan. Just quickly, everyone, seriously, is it really going to kill you to sit in you seat and wait till the captain turns the seatbelt sign off? Are those 25 seconds you jumped the gun really going to get you home any earlier? I’m not unfamiliar with an over-inflated sense of self-importance, but I can’t see the benefit of getting out of my seat and getting my luggage out of the overhead compartment and getting my phone turned on before the plane comes to a complete halt, just to stand there, just 3 feet closer to the exit than I’d been if I’d stayed in my goddamn seat, for ten minutes while they park and connect the walkway to the door.
I hate you all.