As I write this, Mr. Lee is winging his way home from Thailand, via Hong Kong. Winging, that sounds kind of nice, as though he's a huge, transoceanic bird doing what birds have always done, dipping and diving, floating, gliding and shooting wind currents the way a raft shoots the river's rapids. Unfortunately, this is not the case. He is stuffed into a too small airline seat that does not recline and, other than occasional stretches at the back of the plane, is stuck there for some 20 or 30 hours, including time spent waiting in airline terminals for connecting flights, iow... hell. He is flying backwards into our Saturday and, at this point, though it is morning here, he is somewhere in our last night, cramped, sweaty, maybe watching a second or third movie though one eye on a Saturday that just won't end.
