6am, Somewhere over Eastern Europe

We had to be de-iced first. They pushed us back across from the terminal and this long arm with a nozzle and blinding lights like eyes swept over the wings spraying it down with the European formula, Type II, a blend of glycol and a thickening agent. It lasts longer but is more toxic than its American cousin, Type I. Curiously, the US Food and Drug Administration regulates Type I de-icers because it has been determined that it is hazardous to swallow. I find this frustrating. Can anyone honestly say that a cruller isn't better with a glaze of ethylene glycol? Seriously.


Flight attendats loitered in the aisles waiting for their cue to put on the live pre-flight show. When the curtain finally went up, their choreography was flawless, especially tight when pointing out the available emergency exits. That said, I did feel like the woman in our cabin didn't reach deep enough when first placing the mask over herself then helping her child.


I've awakened to the nudge of a flight attendant telling me to restore my seat to its full upright position. I've slept nearly the full four hours. I'd like to tell you that I've finally managed the fine art of sleeping on aircraft. The truth is I've managed the fine art of Xanax.

A "Friends" episode is on the in-flight TV. It's the one with Jeff Goldblum. Not their finest hour.

Apparently there's fog down there so we're going to hang out upstairs for a while. I'm going back to sleep...