I'm sitting at a table in Perry's at San Francisco International Airport awaiting my flight to Atlanta, sipping some chardonnay. I love traveling -- you can basically slough off any responsibility by saying, "Oh, that's Wednesday? I'll be out of town. No, sorry, can't help you move this weekend, either."
Which is totally ridiculous when you think about it, as I've got a cell phone, a lap top with cool Verizon wireless card, access to my voicemail at work, etc. But shhhhh! This aura of being "unavailable" in our techno-world has a very short shelf life, so I'm going to enjoy it while I can.
And have I said how much I love hotels? I love hotels, especially when someone else is paying. I'll be at the Hilton, which has a roof lap track (destined to become a roof laugh track when people see me running), a pool and a fitness center. Hooray!
I'm really hoping to squeeze in a visit to the Margaret Mitchell house. Here's a piece of trivia: Do you know how she died? You'll never guess. She was hit by a cab. True story. I also hope to stop in at the old Oakland Cemetery, but we'll see.
Oh yeah, and then there's the REASON I'm in Atlanta, which is to visit the newspaper and observe how they do what I do to see if I can get any ideas.
OK, gotta sip up. Plane's here.