Walking through the check-in area at Raleigh-Durham International Airport in North Carolina, USA, my mind went back to a rather heated debate between myself and my parents about whether or not I was going to take my Compaq Presario laptop with me. Their argument: it would get me stopped by security and cause unnecessary delays; my argument: I've got stuff to do, and typing is a heck of a lot easier - and faster - than wasting up number-2 pencil lead or black/blue ink on paper. I mean, who doesn't want to do things easier and faster, and in this age of technology, computers allow us to get done what needs to be done. It grew rather heated, as some things between myself and my parents (grandparents, factually) do, and of course the argument that "I'm 21 and you're treating me, yet again, as if I'm 12" came up, which seems to annoy them more than beating a Wookie at a simple game of sabacc. In any case, I managed to lose the argument (since when does a 2-generation gap make things easier?), and went without my beloved computer.

It was then that it all seemed to go downhill. When I arrived at the check-point, we walked through a metal detector which went off due to the metal on my shoes where the shoelaces are strung through. At this point, I was ushered to the side and given a pat-down search, instructed to remove my belt, shoes, glasses, cellphone, and hand over my wallet for rather extensive examination. During all this, my parents were able to walk right through, no worries, and had to stand waiting rather impatiently for me. (If I may, in my own defense, I would like to mention that wearing that pair of shoes was their idea.) So after about 10 minutes, literally, of this intrusion upon my personal space (don't get me wrong, airport workers are great people - just a tad overbearing *S*), we were permitted to go through.

So 20 minutes later, we're in line to board the plane at gate C-22 (seriously, the coincidence of C-22 and Catch-22 had to have been pre-planned), and the worst thing in the world happens. "Excuse me, Sir, you have just been selected, randomly, to be searched. It is part of our continuing effort to keep the skys safe." I'm trying my hardest to keep from busting out laughing at this guy, who is in his 40's and trying to look - and sound - professional. During the entire 7 minutes and 38 seconds (I had my dad time it), he repeated 9 times how this was nothing against me, only a measure of safety. As if I, Kevin Brown, ex-U.S. Marine, would attempt to do anything that would jeopardize my chance to heckle my parents about the checkpoint incident. Then he lets me take back my watch, cellphone, glasses, wallet, shoes, and attempt at what sense of humour I have left, and board the plane. And don't forget to remind me to pick up a bag lunch on my way down the gangway since I'm sitting in coach-class, not first-class.

Finally, at 35,000 feet, at a cruising speed of 523 miles-per-hour (don't ask me to convert that to kilometers-per-hour... I suck at math as it is), I sit, reflecting back on the events of the past 24 hours. All this reflecting causes me to pull out my trusty number-2 pencil, the same kind we used back in elementary school (primary school for y'all UKer's and such *G*), a legal pad, and started writing. And as I reached my second page on the legal pad, I realized something; we're too dependent on technology and all the comforts that it brings. Don't get me wrong, technology is great - heck, you wouldn't be reading this if we didn't have it - but sometimes all you really need is a trusty number-2 pencil, a legal pad, a can of Coca-Cola, and a fairly comfy chair on American Airlines "with extra leg-room brought about by our taking out 10 rows of coach seating".