That slimy, slithery Flight Tracker Widget! You can't trust it. Take it from me: I missed an 8 a.m. flight this morning from Newark Airport in New Jersey to Denver because that fallacious contraption insisted my plane was running 25 minutes late. Mark my words, I will curse that erroneous desktop adornment till I lay withered on my deathbed.
Still unwilling to abandon an evening inhaling cool mountain-y air, I waited for the next flight, as a standby passenger, but was passed over for an old couple with a funeral to go to. My luggage, of course, made it and is currently locked away somewhere that surely smells of aspen trees and burnt pine needles.
With all hope lost and left to contend with the NJ Transit System, I snail-crawled my way through the industrial patina of inland New Jersey back to civilization. It was during this journey that I realized I wanted to marry Michael Ian Black, if not for his deadpan humor than for the title of his new essay, "What I Would Be Thinking If I Were Billy Joel Driving to a Holiday Party Where I Knew There Was Going to Be a Piano."
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