Writing stuff down changes everything. I mean, it can't help you dunk a basketball, but that's on you for being too short. (I can't dunk either - we should be friends!) [...]
I’ve spent a lot of time in England – really I have – and I have friends and family there. It doesn’t feel exotic; it feels more homey than anything else. I know London well. And yet I cannot go to England and not instinctively think everybody sounds like butlers. They could be selling gum, but more often it’s the ones who are giving directions. The guys at the airport. As them where the baggage carousel is, and it’s like you’re the King of Siam. “Right around the corner there, sir, and make a left. Did you come in from Ireland?” I tell them I did. “Your baggage will be on carousel one or two, then.” How can you not love this country? And why aren’t we all talking like this? I felt like I was about to board a steamer.
Notwithstanding the smell of hot molten plastic emanating from the Crocs™ store, I really like the Denver airport. They’ve got people just to help you get to where you need to go, or tell you which security line is shorter, for example. Though, on the downside, they also have people dressed remarkably similarly to these helpful people who are pushing the United Airlines American Express.