I’ve been doing some flying recently. Not the fun kind, though, with a fighter jet or bungee cord or wax wings. Rather, I’ve been cris-crossing the country the dull, pedestrian way, packed like a sardine into a metal tube with hundreds of similarly compressed commuters, all of us sneezing on each other, grudgingly eating dry sandwiches for $8 apiece, and wondering what sort of life decisions have landed us is coach class for a six-hour flight. Not that I’m bitter or anything. The one thing that keeps me sane during air travel (other than comedian Louis C.K.’s ...
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