I know, I know. I'm weird. This is an established fact. The only reason why I'm writing about this is because my good buddy Jess is, at this very moment, writing about why she hates airports.
I love airports... probably because I love airplanes, and flying in airplanes. Peanuts! Miniature liquor! Hot towels! Amazing views! Skymall! Despite the brief discomfort of popping ears, I've always loved airplane rides. I love the feeling of being above the world, looking down and seeing little cars scurry around like bugs. I've been up in commercial airliners and private planes and have always had a great time. Even turbulence doesn't bother me. I remember being taken up in a small plane and being allowed to fly it for some sort of father/daughter bonding activity, though I do wonder if it was on autopilot at the time.
Airports themselves are fascinating little portals to adventure. I love the kitsch found in the gift shops, I love running down the moving walkways, I love watching the people. Funny hats! Flute players! Flight attendants prancing around in groups, thinking they're sooooo cool. Heck, I even like baggage claims - so many unique suitcases, and unique means of identifying said suitcases. I was in an airport in Amsterdam, and the airport was full of military personnel - armed to the teeth with AK-47's and scary knives. I tried to take a picture but they told me it was forbidden. At least, I think that's what they said - it was in a foreign language and they looked menacing and grouchy. It was great.
Perhaps this is all a result of my quiet, simple Midwestern upbringing. I rarely fly, so perhaps every opportunity to be on an airplane is more exciting than it should be.
I don't know. I'm only writing this because Jess beat me into submission. Thanks, mallow-roaster.