And Down Again


Cars, planes, airports and hotel rooms all share a single sound: that constant tv-show-spaceship susurrus of air-conditioning.  So many hotels seem to embrace the metaphor.  It’s not a serviced room in a communal space you rent.  It’s an excursion pod, a lander, a module from which you can view the alien vista outside.  The more you pay, the bigger the module, the more chance there is of having a…

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This reminds me of the fact that I’m not going to Comic-Con this year, meaning that my traditional five-day-or-so sojourn in hotel rooms won’t be happening. It’s a very strange experience, that almost-week, and the hum of the air conditioning (and resultant chill as I get out of bed each day) is a constant part of it.

As upset as I was about not going when I found out, the closer we get to the event, the more at peace–perhaps even eager–about not attending I get.

(I really enjoy Ellis’ short essays each day on Morning, Computer.)