Since things are "calming down" now, and I have a little bit of free time for the short term (still gotta scramble for a job soon though), I'm going to begin writing a multi-part chronicle detailing events at the wedding I attended earlier this month. It may take a while to finish this, and I don't know how many parts there will be. I'll just write a little bit at a time, making sure each portion gets the quality it deserves.

On Thursday, August 1, I woke up long before dawn. I still hadn't finished packing the night before, so I needed to get all the stuff I would need together, into the two bags I planned to bring:

• My suitcase would contain clothes, toothbrush, deodorant, and other travel necessity items.
• My backpack, to take as a carry-on, which would contain more personal articles. Two books: Fast Food Nation, and Brave New World. My trusty portable cd player with a small batch of discs to listen to. My GameBoy Advance in case I felt the need to game. A few other odds and ends.

I made a stop on the way out of town to buy the new couple a greeting card. I figured I could at least give them that at the wedding, since I wasn't going to bring the real gift aboard the plane. Their real present would be delivered to the reception in Boulder, scheduled for August 18.

I also bought myself a bottle of orange juice while I was at the grocery store.

Once out of the store, I leisurely drove in the direction of DIA.

I realized on the way that I had slightly misjudged the time. I wouldn't quite be at the airport 2 hours before the flight, as had been recommended. I was hitting early rush hour traffic as I got closer to Pena Boulevard. But I thought I would still be fine.

I pulled into the economy parking lot. I think it was around 0700 at that time. One hour, forty five minutes before the flight. Goodie.

There were signs everywhere, notifying travelers that bags or cars which entered the airport could be searched at any time. "The land of the free." Right.

After a minor misstep, during which I walked into the wrong ticket claim area, I got my suitcase checked and my ticket was given to me. (Different airlines, but the areas blend so closely together that it gets very confusing to tell one from another, at least to an airport-phobic newbie like me.)

From there, I proceeded directly to the Concourse, walking over the bridge. I waited through line, ran my backpack through the X-Ray machine, and proceeded along without any problems.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" They were running wands over other people, and the bag scans were going through very slowly as the security personnel checked for potentially dangerous items. But everything seemed to be running smoothly.

I made my way through the uncrowded airport to my gate on Concourse A. Lots of time before the flight. I took a chair, sat back, and started reading another chapter from the book "Fast Food Nation." (Author: Eric Schlosser, a highly regarded journalist who also writes for The Atlantic Monthly.)

As I sat, sometimes reading, sometimes just observing what was happening in the airport, more people gradually began to come and sit down in the departure area.

A few minutes before the flight, a couple of kids (well... they looked like little more than kids; probably just turned 18) dressed in what looked sort of like security uniforms walked in and setup a table next to the window overlooking the runways. "Hmmmm.... These are suspicious looking characters," I thought to myself.

The flight was going to be delayed. I sat in the terminal and tried to continue reading, but there was so much happening around me.

After the people on the incoming flight all departed their plane, the airport personnel began announcing the rows that would be allowed aboard soon.

An elderly man, who looked rather anxious to get on the plane, began walking toward the ticket counter. He looked like he might have wanted to ask somebody something. As he was almost ready to approach, a busy airline worker who had been running back and forth, hastily tried to get around him. He was in her way. She did not like that.

"Sir, because you just stepped in my way, you get to have the honor of being the first to be searched." She directed him to walk to the table where the "security personnel" stood, waiting to begin their daily job.

The man was incensed. He was obviously beside himself with anger, but could do nothing to protect himself. Well, he had implicitly agreed to it when he bought the airline ticket, hadn't he? And if he had no bombs or other terrorist material to hide, the search would go fine, and he could board the plane.

His concerned wife stood by as he placed his belongings on the table, removed pencils and other small articles from his pockets, and raised his hands in the air so they could check him for metals.

The apathetic security searchers lethargically emptied his bags, placed the items on the table in open view, ran rubber-glove-protected hands over some of them, and then put the items back in the bag, in a similar arrangement to the way they had been found.

By the time the search finished, the man's face showed so much silent angst that you could almost feel him ready to explode in a fit of outrage. But he needed to proceed on his trip. His wife was with him. She wouldn't want to see him make such a display, would she? They just needed to be on their way.

Eventually, after the security people concluded that this man was not a danger, they were allowed to board the plane.

As more people lined up to board, similar outrages were perpetrated against random travelers. One family of four, with two small children, was taken aside to be searched. Their baby bags were opened, looked at, and returned to their former state. A little boy not much taller than the height of a tower case was scanned with the wand. He had to take off his shoes. A very cute little kid, he made many people in the crowd laugh when he raised his arms, imitating what his parents were doing.

The display made me want to vomit.

Eventually, when my rows were called, I got in line. I certainly didn't want my bag searched, but I knew that I too would submit to it if this was what would be required to get to the wedding.

I had my id and ticket ready when I got to the counter. They checked my photo id, took my ticket, and I was allowed to board the plane without incident. That was something of a relief.

I got a nice window seat on the second row. I think they must have reseated me, because my original seat was to be back somewhere in the middle of the plane. But I wasn't going to complain about this change. Awesome view out that window!

I put my backpack down beneath the seat, fastened the safety belt, and waited for the plane to take off. I mused about the memories of a movie featuring a character named "Tyler Durden", as the flight attendant explained the emergency safety features. Oxygen masks. Quite amusing.

Without much further delay, we got out on the runway, and the plane was in the air, high above the city.

I spent most of the flight with my nose against the window. I did a lot of looking at the geography of the ground below, trying to figure out where we were. The rockies are a very interesting range to fly over. The pilot occassionally announced landmarks, which helped me piece together directions. It was a clear day in most areas, so I could see just about everything.

Before long, we were over Portland. I could see mountains in the distance, a great river (which I would later learn is the Columbia).

And... occassionally... between looking at landmarks, my mind drifted happily back to the thought of a woman I had seen three nights before. I pressed those memories mostly to the back though, because they made tears want to flow into my eyes. Tears, not so much of sadness, but of joy. Well, maybe a little sadness. But a good sadness. (And beneath that, a burning anger at a society which would wish to degrade and defame anyone so giving and loving as this.)

I landed in beautiful Portland around a half hour late, thanks to the delay. There, I was scheduled to meet Jaeger. But that's for the next chapter. It will be written later.

[Coming soon: Part 2 -- Introductions]