En route to San Francisco for another weekend trip home. Once again, my flight is late and I'll arrive in San Francisco close to the wee hours. This time, we sat at the gate for an hour waiting, apparently, for the mechanic to get some numbers from Detroit to complete some kind of form, or so we were told. By the time we were cleared to depart, an approaching storm had clogged the runway with delayed planes, which put us even further behind. I found myself getting a bit bent out of shape at the prospect of another late night flying into San Francisco. My frustration was really because I'd planned a late night rendezvous tonight, and now I'll probably be too late for it.

At dinnertime, when the African-American flight attendant told me that my entree choice was all out, I behaved like a petulant baby. I immediately felt badly about it, so tried to win back her good graces. I guess I won them because, later, when she asked if how I liked my coffee, and I replied that I liked it black, she flirted with me, saying "Just like your women, I bet?" I asked her how come she assumed I preferred women?

Anyway, I returned to my book, which I'd just about finished - a recent Benjamin Franklin biography. I'd had absolutely no idea that he had been such an amazing man: scientist, writer, diplomat (the only man to sign all four of the Articles of Confederation, the alliance with France, peace with England, and the Constitution), raconteur, lady's man and, at his time, one of the most celebrated men in the Western world.

Once I'd finished the book, I was transported from 18th century Philadelphia to 21st century London by the in-flight entertainment, which was called, I think, "What a Girl Wants". Oh it was an incredibly flimsy piece of fluff, filled with plot holes, cliches, and maddening moments of unlikely plotting. But I often find I suspend my critical nature when watching movies on the plane. I loved the little English moments ("No affection dear, this is England. We only show affection to dogs and horses."). Besides, the young heroine's English boyfriend, played by someone called Oliver James, was one of the most beautiful young men I've ever seen. Could have been Mario Lopez' younger, cuter brother.

Work has gotten a little easier this week, since somebody took over my work on one of the two projects I was working on. The only disappointment right now is my relationship with the tech-lead on the project, Jim. I don't know whom he's gotten used to working with, but he's a bit of a control freak. If there's some technical task I have to accomplish, he can't resist weighing in with recommendations on how to get it done. If my ideas differ from his, we end up butting heads. He doesn't seem to have accepted that you've got to let your technical people get on with their work. And he's a short little fella, built like a bulldog, with a hard face and voice, and a shaved head. Not exactly the kind of guy you warm to very easily.

On the brighter side, I received the great news that they want me to stay a little longer than originally planned - at least until mid October. Which gives me a few more weekends to try to do everything I wanted to do when living in New York. I still want to spend a long weekend motoring around upstate New York. I want to get back to Philly, and maybe visit Montreal and Boston. And Shaun, my ex, is coming to spend the weekend in September. So lots to look forward to.