Nasty-Ass Newark and a Flight to Atlanta

You people reading this should know right from the offset that I slept only four hours last night in a shvitzy apartment with poor internet connection and nothing to watch but a Roseanne marathon.

Some places really aren't worth the waste they produce. Newark has nothing to offer except a hockey team no one follows and an airport with poor beer selection. The road to the airport reeks of chemicals from rusted out factories built to serve their chic neighbor to the east.

This country that I'm required to crisscross en route to Sydney is pretty fucked up. I like to think that I'm exploiting this place for reduced airfare instead of “visiting”. The businessman across the aisle from me aboard this turbulence riddled plane is reading a hunting magazine. A man a few rows behind is wearing a camouflage t-shirt and a confederate flag on his trucker's hat. I couldn't fabricate this shit if I wanted to. Oh, and a pregnant woman is on her laptop shopping online at Wal-Mart.

My blog is going to operate pretty much like what you've been reading for the past half-minute. First person to accurately guess which song the title comes from wins. I'll post this online once we touch down in Atlanta. Hopefully my connecting flight will also have a gun rack on either wing.

Gotta run, free pretzels.