The airport. Everyone's stressed, upset and late. People hate security, checking in and generally lining up. I'm already in the security line, beltless. Shoes in hand, laptop out, it's down to a system for me. Everything falls into place like a Rube Goldberg machine. But then, my cheery disposition falters.

Temptation.

I see it out of the corner of my eye and I refuse to turn my head. I walk by with a brisk pace and let out a sigh as I relax. But not too many steps later I see another one. The brightly-lit haven of print begging me to stop. This time I slow down. I crane my head to see the covers. But I still walk by.

Just when I'm about to declare the crisis averted, to my extreme dismay, there is yet another magazine shop right beside my gate.

So I'm standing in front of the rack, trying to decide what to get. To my left is a guy nervously trying to pick up the FHM with some girl pouring champagne on her bikini. He doesn't want anyone to see, so he's got the Economist in one hand and Foreign Affairs in the other, and he's trying to sandwich the FHM between them discreetly so no one will know. The guy to my right is unfolding the centerfold in the Playboy he is reading.

As I look through the shelves, I'm trying to figure out what to get. Fortune, Wired, or Business Week. GQ, Esquire or Details. Maxim, FHM or Stuff. It is impressive how difficult it is to make the perfect magazine choice. As a matter of practicality, it is unlikely that I'll enjoy a deep intelligent read on the airplane. I'd do better at reading something more graphic like Wired or GQ. But magazines are a point of identity. You can learn more about a person based on the magazines they purchase then anything else on their credit card bill. If I open up a Maxim, the person sitting next to me will have a different impression of me compared to if I open up The New Yorker.

I end up grabbing three magazines, carefully selected to represent different aspects of my personality, and very airplane readable. You could publish papers on the detail I put into the selection process.

I take my seat on the airplane, drop the magazines into the pocket in front of me and fall asleep. I sleep through the entire flight.

I'm in the taxi to my hotel before I realize that the magazines are still in the airplane seat pocket flying back to Seattle without me.