Stella is ramping up for a post-holiday trip to her fine employer. I find that nothing says, "I really like working here," quite like showing up at the Real Office in Rochester, NY in January. But naturally I'll need to fly there, and given all the news lately, it seems like that's going to be a bigger pain than it might have been before this week.
That's okay. I can dig the need to make everyone feel safe. But I don't feel excited about the idea of not being able to do anything except sit quietly with my thoughts for the last hour of my flight. And I'm with Bruce Schneier on this:
I wish that, just once, some terrorist would try something that you can only foil by upgrading the passengers to first class and giving them free drinks.