Who doesn't like fashion?

Not really sure why but it occurred to me a little after 8 last night that exactly 2 weeks from then I'd be somewhere over the Atlantic. Assuming the flight gods and other powers that be at Hartsfield, Charles de Gaulle and all points in between decide to run everything on schedule. Admittedly, that's somewhat of a leap. Meanwhile, this time last week I was making my way through the concourse at Logan in Boston. All this is long-winded way of saying nothing much.

Other than I'm suddenly quite the jet setter, of course.

In fairness, aside from the annual trips to Disney World, I've done more traveling the past 3 months than I have the previous 3 years. Financial considerations be damned, I'm hopeful that a new leaf/page/chapter or whichever cliché one prefers has been turned over/turned/begun or however one's chosen cliché is achieved, i.e. it's a great big world that is more than occasionally interesting, I'd like to see more of it. Let's hop to it.

As mentioned previously, flying is something I'd rather not do but I've come to accept it as a necessary evil. That doesn't mean I don't have my own rituals/quirks/compulsions before, during and after. I do; none of which I will go into here, there or anywhere. As one who's borderline OCD, suffice to say I ramp things up during the stressful moments. Beyond that, the whole flight is spent trying to forget that I'm 30K feet off the ground in a giant missile piloted by someone who may or may not have rituals/quirks/compulsions of his/her own that I may not be all that keen on. Hence, the near constant distraction of groovy tunes as soon as permission is granted from the all-mighty cockpit.

One aspect of air travel that has improved since last flying is the addition of noise-cancelling headphones. For those unaware, flying is somewhat noisy: a constant drone of white noise, engine noise and general clatter resulting from +/-150 people being in a v. enclosed space. This makes listening to anything other than one's neighbor's conversation or various internal/external rumblings a tad difficult. Provided, of course, one tends not to exclusively listen to Black Sabbath or prefer the volume thereof somewhat north of eleven. Both of these options are absolutely wonderful and highly recommended occasionally, perhaps even frequently, but even the most ardent, unrepentant noisenik needs a respite.

Hence, the new plugs.

Not entirely sure how they work nor do I particularly care. I just know they do. Completely. As in one hears next to nothing in between songs. John Cage would be proud.

I no longer need to use all my faculties to subdue the urge to tell the cabin to silence.

"Shush! It is very difficult to appreciate the intricacies of Robert Fripp's cross-picking technique with you cretins running on about how funny last night's Two and a Half Men was. A notion in and of itself that I find highly suspect I hasten to add. Jon Cryer would be better off sticking to bad 80's movies whilst Charlie Sheen with his hookers and blow." My internal monologues being as pretentious as they are long-winded, natch.

Oh, no. Now I can fully appreciate Mr. Fripp's blistering white hot rock guitar god skill at an otherwise noisy 30K feet as easily as I could in an anechoic chamber. Huzzah.

Of course, it is a bit disconcerting at first when the usual airplane noise is removed. One gets accustomed to such sounds and their almost calming reassuring that everything is A-OK.

"We're still in the air cause they're now talking about how George Clooney must know a lot about politics cause he's in movies and stuff. Plus he's sooooo dreamy." Yes, I'm always seated near females 18-34.

To hear next to nothing does not bring this reassurance. Instead...

"OMG, the engines have stopped and we're just gliding ever so gently, peacefully, um...DOWN. I can't believe I'm the only one who notices this. Why did I take this trip? Travel is stupid. I'm scared of people in general and strangers in particular; I certainly didn't need to see more of them."

Thankfully, in times of stress, however brief, the human brain goes into overdrive and those synapses fire just a little quicker bringing the above monologue about 1/10 of a second before its more rational conclusion.

"We're still aloft moron and everything's A-OK. It's just your super snazzy headphones doing their job. What's next on the ipod? Ooh. D.O.A. by Bloodrock. Goody."