Made it out of Dallas. Actually, it was no big deal. Thought traffic was going to slow me down to the airport. It didn’t. Northwest Airlines, even though it’s in bankruptcy, got me to Minneapolis.
I’m in Minneapolis. Boring. Pretty. Lots of roundish faces and the bookstore in the airport was good. The landscaped streets in and around these Twin Cities, as seen from the air, was gorgeous.
Waiting for Flight 499. Not a good number, imho. Should be in Winnipeg by 11:30 p.m. Hopefully won’t have immigration problems. Hopefully won’t have 90 degree front landing gear problems. Hopefully won’t have to eat cheese and crackers for dinner for a while. Hopefully won’t complain again while 2.5 million people are traversing north, sleeping in cars, handling crying babies with no water or milk, worried about their homes in Houston or south.
Watching CNN at the airport while a disaster unfolds is torture. Literally. Underpaid male and female anchors in Galveston, Beaumont, New Orleans, Lake Charles (future home of the “eye”) are trying to come up with stories about Hurricane Rita even though there are no stories, yet. They’re trying to come up with those stories as the wind is pushing them around. 65 mile per hour winds almost threw an anchor down.
Read in the Times today (purchased for one American dollar) that you should write your social security number on your arm in case you die belly up in the storm and they don’t know who the hell you are. Thinking about all of the people in northern Texas and Oklahoma who will still need to get home after Rita says hello to Minneapolis.
Thankful that there is CNN in this lonely airport at 9:30 p.m. Thankful that I didn’t buy Seymour Hersh’s paperback XYZ for $14.95. Thankful that no one around me has guns, probably. Thankful that I’m full.
In flight now. The world below is lit darkly in areas light-lined streets show the outlines of the Twin Cities below. I’m amazed at the quick height from which I write. The ground swept away from my eyes so quickly, the cars and trucks stream gently below, and all I can feel is myself, high. The world is a beautiful organizational mystery. I devour it. I’m not ready to die.