Finally all cozy in my Chicago hotel room. As it turns out, when you pick your hotel randomly, sometimes you end up in a crappy neighborhood. I'm in something called "Printer's Row". This neighborhood is not the fun-filled hootenanny you might expect from the name.

The trip here went relatively smoothly, given that I flew on United. Let the record show that I hate them, but when you're flying to Chicago, they're the cheapest game in town. You get what you pay for. Mostly what I learned is that when you walk up to your gate and ask the white dreadlocked guy which rows are being boarded, you're not going to get good information. I'm going to out on a limb and say that white guys with dreadlocks don't specialize in information comprehension and communication.

I spent a fair amount of time today in the airport, just looking around while grooving to some MP3 tunes. I don't usually listen to music on headphones in public, but I did today. It gave today's travels a nice soundtrack. Boring packs of suited men striding through the airport suddenly are imbued with Agent Smith-like motivation when viewed with the right background music. They seemed so important. Go! Catch that Neo!

33.5 hours until marathon time, but who's counting?