Airplane, airgain.

On a Virgin America flight from Boston to San Francisco, I sat next to a white haired man with an 1980’s caterpillar mustache. He looked suspiciously like my Uncle Chris, but when he spoke, he couldn’t hide the scholar within him. This man, who shared many details of his life, but neglected sharing his name, is a researcher at M.I.T., and writes geometric software for the aeronautic and airline industries… or at least that’s what I gathered while smiling and nodding with possibly the most  intimidated smile on my face, trying to remember every four syllable word I’ve ever learned to use in conversation with him.

He spent the five hour flight tuned into his MacBook Pro, watching a revival tour of “the greatest band of all time”, Creed. He alternated between bobbing along to the classic rock with his eyes closed, and violently strumming a miniature air guitar with a pleased but wincing face. He was not only the brightest man I’ve ever spoken to, but the most passionate, and amusing.

This nameless genius got me thinking: What will I be listening to forty years from now with loving nostalgia? I’m willing to bet all the Kalamata olives in my possesion that it’ll be Radiohead.

On another note, I did a silly thing; I went and fell in love. Spring break was supposed to be a time to visit my lovely sister over on that distant east coast, and to soften the callouses formed from supporting the stressors of school, and family – in sickness and in health – over the last few months. Boston, in all its sunny brick wearing smiles, cast a spell on me. Betcha can’t imagine why….


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