And I am going clamming. I need some fresh air after this past week. Five hours and I roll into Cotuit. I need an hour on the rowing machine to blow off some sushi and general jet lag torpitude, reunite with dogs, and start planning an Indian summer weekend on Cape Cod. Perhaps some striper fishing this evening … So many options, so little time before the leaves blow off the trees and Cape Cod turns into a frozen black and white movie.
The Japanese win the prize for cell phone etiquette. Rarely, if ever, did I overhear a person on their phone. Every train, bus, waiting lounge and restaurant had a sign asking people not to use their phones. Sure, people used the phone for SMS and mobile data, but never, in three days, did I have to listen to someone yak.
Contrast with gate K9 at O’Hare waiting for a flight to Boston. 25 percent of the mob is driving me insane talking about the usual inane b.s. and one frigtard is using a Nextel/Sprint walkie-talkie and making that evil squeak-beep everytime they press the talk button. Over and over and over. Who ever came up with that sound — which I guess passes as some sort of audible brand signature — needs to tortured with it like I am right now.