Flying Over The World.

The Thai Airways navigation plan shows us flying over the world, from New York to the North Pole and back down to Southeast Asia.

I dream of sheets of Ice from Above, but initial navigation plan is misleading: we fly over Northern Europe, the Baltic, through Eastern Europe (I sleep) down over Afghanistan.

I am glad to be passing these places. Sweden is freezing this time of year and the Baltic’s waters are uninvitingly dark. Eastern Europe is full of painful history and under-unemployed Russians. Afghanistan? Well…

Kabul passes, Transformers (with brief performances by Jon Turturro and Bernie Mac) begins, and suddenly we over India. Varnasi is the map and I wonder what my old college friend is doing down there. Transformers is caught up in the standard Hollywood Binaries and devices: pernicious and secretive elites (Sector Seven) versus the populist pragmatism of Secretary of Defense Jon Voigt and his strapping Marines. Dorky high school boy versus Jock; nubile but misunderstood Prom Queen with a rough past, and benevolent noble technology (Optimus Prime and the Transformers) vs. the archons of techno-fear (Decepticons).

They serve us three tasty Thai meals. The portions are smaller, and there is plenty of rice. I drink glasses of Scotch and Apple Juice. After the largest meal, they bring around bottle of Courvoisier, which I’ve never had on airplane.

The New York Times tells me Barack Obama is having a hard time attracting Latino votes out West.

It also notes that his support is building in South Carolina among the largely Black primary electorate.

The woman in the seat next to me is pale and decidedly unfriendly, and keeps a heavy coat on during most of the flight. She watches Ratatouille and the Devil reads Pravda. I watch the Simpsons Movie, the Nanny Diaries (glad to getting away from the Upper East Side).

She goes to sleep.

The Bangkok airport is a modern molding of Hangar Bubbles. My blackberry starts working again for some reason and the e-mails flow in. I pass through a second round of airport security. The guards laugh emphatically when I try to take off my belt for the metal scanner…

The giant Korean flat-screens tell me that Mitt Romney has won the Michigan Primary. He looks relieved. Mitt looks like the kind of guy who plays a President on a T.V. special or in another Michael Bay movie.

We board the flight to Cambodia and I’m seated next to a Japanese Investor-Lawyer. He’s courteous, warm, and complimentary, and listens intently. He spends three minutes studying my business card, as the cultural warnings said he might.

We arrive.