Newark, Sweet Newark

If your 4:55 PM flight was shifted to 7:30, then you were stuck in a stationary airplane till 11:00, then the flight was cancelled and all of Continental Airlines' employees fled when you approached to ask for help with getting a ticket for the next flight out, then Welcome Home.

Welcome Home to Newark. When you visit the Terminal C Men's Room, the floor might not be covered with wet toilet paper. That's the Newark Promise.

And when the guy in the toilet stall nearby explosively vomits, then flatulates like a dying elderly warthog, Then strolls out behind you to get in line for Burger King, you'll know it's Gotta Be Newark In The Morning!

And if you're ready for Jersey's finest cuisine, ranging from Burger King to Dunkin' Donuts to nothing else, then Newark Airport is on your side.

Remember, if your coffee isn't repulsively presweetened like a cup of liquified Cocoa Puffs, it's not Real Dunkin' Donuts coffee.

Remember, if your airline gives you a free hotel room after it cancels your flight, it's not really Continental Air.

Sweet baby Lewis, it's 2:53 AM, I'm sitting in a foodless food court, writing a blogpost (but not posting it since the airport charges for wi-fi) and the song they're broadcasting at us is "Hurts so good." Yes. It hurts so good. That's the Newark Manifesto.

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Okay, I'm in Montreal (which looks like Paris in all my old Eric Rohmer movies) and I'm reunited with Laurie. Montreal is quite different from a typical Southern city. I'm extremely provencial, but if I'd been cold-cocked, carried to Montreal, and awakened to wander the streets, one look at the faces around me (nevermind the french and all) would tell me I was no longer inthe Southeastern USA.