Ructicators At Large

There's no such thing as fun for the whole family.

Jerry Seinfeld

Logan Airport is one of the most wretchedly awful places on earth. Designed by the bong-wielding socialists who run local government - in conjunction with the corrupt bosses of the local construction cartels - any flight in or out of Boston's primary airport involves delay, confusion, and the possibility of runway collisions. One bumper-to- bumper access road seems to always snake though the maze of terminals, from which the deafening nose of horns and multi-lingual profanity can be heard 24-hours a day.

And there - when our flight lands tomorrow - our vacation will begin. We will attempt to escape through the nest of highways, traveling northwards to Maine. We will then join other family rusticators at the shore and soothe ourselves near the salty balm of the Atlantic.

It's the first trip with the recently blended family - Rachel, my daughter, and stepdaughter. The criteria for success is simply that we return home without lingering hatred towards one another or third-degree sunburns. If the children emote delightedly with smiles and laughter as sea urchins are plucked from tide pools - then that is simply a bonus. For my part I hope to kayak, quaff a few lagers, and enjoy some hardcore fresh seafood.

Select cell-phone images may be appearing on the secondary, picture blog; not of the kids, though - that's a policy. Regular Spacetropic posts will be intermittent if the vacation is a success.