Dulles, you are officially the weirdest airport from or to which I’ve ever flown. A strange apocalyptic bus takes you from security along the runway to the terminal. The restaurants are alternately hardcore, midwestern meat and potatoes and vegetarian raw food agglomerations of sprouts. The insistence on delaying my flight for weather in the middle of summer shocks me beyond words (man, California is looking more and more like paradise, with its lack of humidity or summer storms).

But here’s the thing…the people are nicer than I’ve experienced in a while. Employees nice, sense of humor, polite, generally human. Passengers, too. I’m sure it helps flying Virgin America, with whom I will attempt to share all future flights; and flying to SF, where if the people are weird, at least they’re my kind of weird.

I noticed today, in Arlington and in DC, that I am certifiably born of gypsy stock. Trip to Seattle, I suddenly wanted to live in Seattle. Trip to DC, I consider moving to DC. And afternoon walking though a warmish, humid-ish Arlington and I want to move to Arlington. What is this wanderlust that tells me any breath of comfort I feel means I need to relocate my entire life to that very geographic nexus?

i guess it’s a good thing Dulles intrigues me, because from the frequent, polite, informative Virgin America announcements at the gate about airport-widee delays and weather-basd flight halts, I might be living here for a long, long time.