I'm sitting in the JetBlue terminal at Boston Logan International Airport, waiting patiently for my short flight to Buffalo.
I'm sort of fascinated by airports. Before last year, I never really spent much time in them. In fact, before last year, I hadn't flown at all since 2001. It wasn't a 9/11 related break from flying. Just circumstance.
They're like casinos. Little self-contained citied that try to make you feel at home, but completely miss the mark. For example, there's a Boston themed bar at the Copenhagen airport. Who decided that was going to be a big draw for Danes or folks traveling in Denmark?
And I always get flustered going through security, but only because I feel like I need an extra set of hands to get all of my stuff into the little buckets, and then to get them back out in time to avoid pissing off everyone behind me. I imagine frequent flyers have that whole thing down to an art, but I certainly don't.
Now that I'm at the gate, though, and only have to sit and wait for boarding, I've started to get a bit nostalgic. I'm heading to Buffalo for what might be the last time for a while. Buffalo is one of the places I've lived that always felt like home. The people are nice, there's always something to do, and with such a depressed economy, everything is reasonably priced.
This trip is a special one. Yes, it's my bachelorette party weekend, but I see it as a bittersweet goodbye to a city that has meant a lot to me.