My Blue…Purgatory?


The most peaceful moments spent in the friendly skies are in this homogenous environment — so long as no one is waiting outside for their turn.

It’s that time again, fellow cubicle rats. Time for me to hurtle myself for an hour in the relative peace and quiet of my car (assuming you call blaring Peter Murphy and The Cure “peaceful.” I do.) towards a seething mass of buses, rental cars, confusing signs, trams, moving sidewalks, escalators, and invasive body scans and pat downs. And that’s all before we hit the main event — being tucked snug as a bug in a roller coaster while we wait to actually start moving towards our final destination. And where is that? Where the cowboys n’ injuns usta play years ago, and where people still pack heat under the wraps of their coats. And heck, inside their Hermes purses, too. In other words, a presentation meeting with a healthcare client in the Lone Star State.


Look! There in the middle! That’s where Charon takes your fare. And if you squint, you can see Dante writing on his laptop.


These windows are just big enough for me to stick an oar out, but I think they should be a little lower.

I apologize to any of my faithful blog readers who, by this time, have grown weary of my obsession with mass transit, and air travel in particular. But every time I step aboard a big ol’ jet airliner, not only do I hear the Steve Miller Band, but my eye becomes a camera, and my mind becomes inextricably buried in my heart. Travel is the most out-of-body experience you can have while still in your body. It’s sensual, emotional, and you can’t have a more slippery-yet-concrete connection with Einsteinian space-time.


If ever there was a money-shot for the afterlife, here it is. And when did I snap this? Heading towards a business conference. Ain’t that rich.

Motivations become remarkably clear when I’m traveling for business. “Why am I doing this” is a question that people usually reserve for times when they, well, aren’t enjoying what they’re doing at that particular moment. For me, I ask it because I usually LOVE travel, and one of my first “When I Grow Up’s” was “pilot.” But — I’m strapped into coach, not a cockpit, and this isn’t a client-driven photography excursion.

There’s something clarifying and singular about business travel for me. I’m nearly always alone, and becoming a self-styled Plato or Chuang Tzu just seems to be part of the experience. My best writing comes from it, and I promise you it isn’t all whining and dour. Thank goodness fountain pens aren’t affected by pressurized chambers. (Did I just jinx my next notebook session?)


It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a business man at 40,000 feet must be in want of a burrito.

This particular trip comes off a rather lovely photo shoot a few days ago, one that occurred in the city of my mom’s birth; the heart of horse country — Paris, Kentucky. I photographed some beautiful people and their beautiful horses for an upcoming center spread ad in an equine magazine. I’ll be delighted to share it with you, here, after it’s approved for publication. But for now, I’m preparing to mount another beast, an airborne one, for another kind of steeplechase. The results of that escapade won’t be nearly as inspiring, unless the heat I’m packin’ — an iPhone with CameraPlus, 645 Pro, Pro HDR, Filterstorm, and Snapseed — bags some Texas eye candy.


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