I'm sat quite peacefully in the American Airlines Flagship Lounge, sipping a Veuve Cliquot brut (n.v.), and tasting some of the new recipes they've got (the pesto balsamic salmon was lovely, but I think I'm going to get a bit more of the hoisin watermelon chicken). I'm also impressed with the current flag display in Terminal 3:
American still avers that my flight will depart on time, a claim I feel has some merit the plane appears to be sitting at the gate already. And I'm looking forward to a really nice flight. The airline sent me an email a couple of weeks ago inviting me to pre-order one of their centennial-inspired meals, and I admit I'm curious how flaky the crust on my beef Wellington will be at altitude. I'm optimistic.
I've got about 90 minutes to chill here before I need to rouse myself, so I'm finally reading a bunch of articles that I downloaded as .pdfs, including a 2021 FTC report on right-to-repair laws; the SCOTUS decision in Barbara v Trump, upholding the plain birthright-citizenship language of the 14th Amendment; and the score to a friend's new musical that I got a chance to see in workshop recently. (He's asked for "detailed notes," which is flattering given he's written three complete musicals and I've written a few motets and Mass movements.)
Next report will either be from London tomorrow morning, or from right here later tonight complaining about not getting to London tomorrow morning. I've got a Eurostar ticket at 5 pm, which is more than 6 hours after my plane is supposed to land at Heathrow. As confident as I am in American's ability to get me there in time, I am also a veteran of many, many years of air travel.
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