In flight time

LATER, AIRPLANE TIME. The live map of our route shows the International Date Line not far from us: just on this side of the horizon.

Night fell with amazing speed: we're flying into the terminator, rather than with the sun, as we did on Sunday. It emphasizes the way that after a couple hours, transoceanic flights feel like they cease having any relationship to either their departure points or their destinations. Even as they're little portable pieces of Airport Culture (that world consisting of airline people, frequent travelers, and those pieces of material culture and retail that seem almost exactly the same no matter where you go), they become their own little worlds, metal cocoons with miscalibrated time-space coordinates and confused biorhythms.

At least the movies are different this time around. I finally got to see "Star Trek: Nemesis," my other choices being "Stuart Little 2," "The Scorpion King," "Clockstoppers" (whatever that is), and something called "The Transporter," about a Mafia driver whogasp!defies his boss, or something. (Mainly it's an excuse for lots of car chases that end with police cars crashing into each other.)

What else did I want to mention? Ah, yes: The lamb was really very good.