Arrived at Logan Airport late Thursday evening after an interminable American Airlines cattle-car flight from San Francisco. Amazing how they’ve made air travel a miserably annoying experience: it was like being encapsulated in an MRI tube for 5.5 hours. I suppose next they will have passengers hanging on an overhead strap like the NYC subway, and charge you an extra $100 if you want to sit down. How fondly I remember the golden era of air travel, when there was plenty of wiggle room for your legs and uniformed stewardesses would slap a free drink into your hand before you even landed in your seat.
I took the subway from Logan to Park Street, where we were tossed off the train and marched out of the underground because of a sudden electrical fire. There was a thick black of smoke hanging over Boston Common that smelled like a fire in a rubbish dump, and a couple hundred stranded subway passengers milling around at Park and Tremont Streets.
Knowing that I’d never get a taxi and that it would take hours for the MBTA to arrange relief buses, I hiked all the way from Park Street Station to the YMCA on Huntington Ave near Symphony Hall, schlepping the luggage cart I borrowed from Francesca behind me. I made it in less than an hour, and actually it was rather pleasant to shake off the forced incarceration suffered on the flight from San Francisco.