Rushing from one gate to another, stopping briefly (5-7 minutes, to be exact) for an airport CPK pizza, stuffed into a plane with an old drunk couple who purchased first class tickets to a missed flight and a chorus of Carolina dialect.

The only lasting thought is: how is Pizzeria Mozza, M. Batali’s joint off Melrose, so damn good?

Noisy passengers cram oversized carry-ons into overhead bins, wheels last of course. It won’t fit, I think. So does everyone else. But unlike everyone else, my mind luxuriously drifts to the funghi pizza from a few nights.

When’s that beverage cart coming around, anyway?

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   you should definately write a novel. That would be epic.

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   david, can i just say that you need

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   this blog post amused me lol…and made me want

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