With apologies to my favorite first sentence of all time: I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.
Okay, not quite. I write this sitting in the Beijing airport. I'm at Gate E31, preparing to board a 13+ hour flight back to the United States for Christmas. This place is all glass and chrome and marble: the wall to my right slants out like the main branch of the Seattle library, and if I look to my left I can see the little airport train scooting along through another massive wall of windows. There's a yellow charging station next to me, with strict instructions to "keep children away from the socket," but it doesn't work. I tried. If I didn't have headphones on right now, I'd be listening to the same three Christmas songs on repeat; as it is, I'm listening to a combination of Jessie J, New Orleans jazz standards played on the harpsichord, and the Mikado. I really hope my iPhone doesn't run out of batteries.
