Home. Dog seems glad to see me.
Delta told me on the internet to go to Terminal D at LGA, but when I got there the board said my flight was leaving from Terminal C. Because Delta knew I was running late and Delta hates me.
Also, I don't want to order my pre-flight shot of Jack by futzing around with an iPad tethered to the bar. Just telling the bartender is easier, and it's what I ended up doing anyway when I got stuck on the frou-frou cocktail screen. Cut the needless hardware and shave a few bucks off your drink prices, why don't you.
For dinner I had a Clif Bar that had been in my bag since I don't know when. The Best By date on those things is meaningless.
And now it's late enough to say that the Mayan apocalypse is on hold, for everyone but John Boehner.