The Thanksgiving recap, as seen through airports

Now that it's a week into its grave, my annual Thanksgiving trek to the desert is ripe for recapping.

First note: JFK has a Sammy Hagar bar. Beach bar and grill, I should say. The synopsis -- breakfast burritos and $15 bloody marys while the singer's head of gold-white tendrils leer on.

Second note: The Phoenix airport has that fresh "ripped-from-the-strip-mall" feeling, complete with the stark flair of early adult obesity that usually coincides. The bar there -- painted, sun-drained cacti stare down on the walls, reminding you (and maybe the city of Phoenix), that it is still a desert. Not that the green-lawn-and-pavement grid as viewed from above would suggest anything otherwise.

Third note: O'Hare is still a rat maze, especially when wandering unawares as to your connecting gate. Or terminal. But at least the bar had the decency to serve a hot dog so stuffed its entrails spilled to the counter top while being eaten. And they served Goose Island. Thank you, Skyscrapers, for being the type of seedy, low-rent place that I love. And in an airport.

Final notes:

• I remember when airline travel used to be fun. I was also about a foot shorter and 12.
  
• Wii Bowling might be the best diplomatic tool ever created. Or just a sheer blast.
  
• Shooting. It never leaves you, even through the invariable stumblings when you get all redneck-y with your Pa over the holidays. However -- who's in for this?

And now, adieu.