The problem with false economies is that they're just that...things that seem prudent at the time...yet come back, when you least expect it, pointing fingers and saying "I told you so". Case in point, for quite some time now it's been apparent that a void existed in my life...a gap that could only be filled by a laptop bag that would hold all of my tech gear and (important point) be able to be carried...lifted...and schlepped through an airport without causing an injury.

False economy (that little swine) caused me to buy bags that were (in no particular order)...pretty...vaguely practical...great for the weekend/bad for the laptop...massively over-sized...black. None of which, sadly, fulfilled my requirements. A while ago I found a bag that I thought would meet all my needs but f.e. (that little swine) convinced me that it was too expensive. And so, "economy" set in...and I bought all of the other bags that were (to quote the immortal Goldilocks) "almost right".

A week or so ago...in the battle of Heb vs false economy...I found myself faced, once again, by the-bag-that-was-perfect-yet-too-expensive. This time, false economy was caught unawares by a nifty uppercut, and hit the ground. Yes, Louis Vuitton's icare is...expensive. But...it's practical...everything fits...I'm not in pain five seconds after I pick it up...and...it will last forever. Am I rationalizing? Yes...because I do feel a little guilty about this purchase. Have I learned my lesson...that false economies cost more in the long run...I'd have to say yes to that as well.

Or...to be completely accurate...San Francisco and Sausalito...

I realize that there's a certain amount of despair-inducing angst involved with determining which black bag is your black bag on the airport carousel...the later in the day...the more you long for sleep...the greater the feeling that you will never see your bag again. But...no matter how much you feel that you and your baggage will never be reunited...to skip off into the sunset together in search of a cab...it's impossible to rationalize a $40 luggage tag. Well, for me. Jet-setting heiresses would probably regard it as a bargain. Of course, they'd probably be flying on a private jet...and therefore would avoid the game of "is that my bag?" anyway...

After a few weeks of, admittedly rather unscientific study, I think I can claim that the only reason to cough up the sum required to buy US Vogue, Elle, or Bazaar is the question (to bastardize the bard) of...

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune (e.g., risk your iPhone running out of battery mid-air because your flight is delayed and all your fellow travelers are hogging the power outlets)
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles (and, in desperation, buy a copy of one of the aforementioned trio in order to pass the time)

After being trapped in Newark airport with the August issue of Vogue...I'm leaning towards a third option...alternating between blankly staring at a wall and hazarding bizarre guesses as to the lives of my fellow wanderers. An "Age Issue"...again. Sarah Jessica Parker...again. A disturbing number of articles and ads for plastic surgery...alright there was one page celebrating 63 year old Linda Rodin but, apart from that, I found it impossible to walk away from the magazine without the sensation that devoid of laser eyelifts, surgical jawlifts, or earlobe tucks (seriously?) our lives are doomed.

Next trip...despite the additional weight it adds to my (already insanely heavy) bag...I'm packing a book.  Preferably beauty-based...and vintage...from a time when potions and lotions were fine...but you could be beautiful, at any age, without having a "lobelift".

Flight number one - finds yours truly seated next to a gentleman chewing clove gum...I think...whatever it was, it emanated from his mouth and reminded me of mothballs.

Flight number two - finds a slightly sleepier version of yours truly...seated next to a different gentleman...this example, emitting a lemon-y odor...cause unknown...could have been hand soap, moisturizer, or deodorant...but was infinitely preferable to bachelor #1.

Cab from airport - cab driver had bathed in the sort of overly pungent aftershave that suggests the wearer is trying (and failing) to mask one smell with another.

My nose is feeling decidedly abused...

Yet another travel-ish post I'm afraid...but (if this is any assistance in the rationalization process) it is Memorial Day weekend...a time when those foolhardy enough to leave the house are destined to be stuck in traffic or an airport at some point...so mentioning something cute and luggage-y isn't entirely off-topic.

Even better...when the C.L. item in question is designed for children...and therefore much less expensive than the adult version would be. The stars bring to mind Swedish label, Rika...the "train case" shape, a time in the distant past when it was possible to travel with some level of elegance and not have to remove your shoes every five seconds or carry your toiletries in a Ziploc bag...

Yesterday was a tribute to the over-enthusiastic logo...the structured...the in-your-face...in fact, the diametric opposite to the subdued charms of the bag I actually ended up buying...bachelor number two..."the over-sized monk", aka the Hartsfield Travel Tote from WANT Les Essentials de la Vie...a restrained combination of leather and organic cotton...voluminous, yet with interior pockets for the essentials that tend to get lost in a large bag...a tranquil workhorse that can be carried by hand, on the shoulder, or slung across the body...stuffed to the gills...or enshrouding the bare minimum in its understated depths...

Back at the beginning of April I mentioned that a new quest was i progress...for a laptop/miscellaneous technological odds and sods bag that would hold everything I need for work and manage to not give me a hernia in the process. The search actually concluded a lot more swiftly than I first imagined...in fact, I ended up finding not one but two bags that met the criteria.

In my head, I think of bachelor number one as "the Eurotrash millionaire"...good looking, expensive, and covered in logos...officially, it's known as Louis Vuitton's Icare...structured, roomy, with the potential to encourage upgrades. The downsides...apart from the logomania which you either love or hate...a certain weightiness even when empty...and...let's face it...the price...all of which means that the EM is on the wishlist for wealthier times...and bachelor number two (who you will meet tomorrow) is "the one".

Not my car...nor the car of anyone that I know (I realize that I sound very much like a stereotypical foreign language tape right at this second..."here is the feather of my aunt"..."voici la plume de ma tante")...but I'm rather loving the idea of Vuitton (or, in all likelihood, faux-Vuitton) car seats...

Frequent readers...or infrequent readers who have the bad luck to check-in on one of my whine-y days...will know that I travel a fair bit for work. Which leads to searches for the best (from both a visual and utilitarian perspective) suitcase...toiletries bag...and any other mobile dumping grounds that would make life easier.

I thought...back in 2009...that my computer/technology toting needs were taken care of. But, while I still adore the lovechild of Eley Kishimoto and Eastpak...and loathed as I am to admit it...it's killing me. As a skirt wearer for a good 90% of the time I can attest to the fact that heavy, cross-body bag and skirt is a combination destined to end badly...walk too fast and your skirt will start creeping up your leg in a most determined manner. Take the risk of flashing the airport...and add in the issue of everything seeming heavier when it's slung across the torso...and it's looking like the lovechild is going to be used for storage at home (where, at the very least, I can still enjoy the fabric).

Which means that I am (once again) hunting for that mythical creature...a bag that is large enough to carry laptop, camera, speakers, external hard-drive, all their attendant cords, and a selection of notebooks and pens. Oh, and not be so heavy when empty that I dislocate my shoulder once I've stowed everything away inside it. Oh (part 2), it also has to look nice (shallow, but, what can you do?)

This particular search, I have a feeling, will not be a fast one. Which is why I was very pleased to find a temporary solution in the children's area at Ikea...massive, striped cotton, with handles for both hand and shoulder...it was a steal for $5.99...and the lack of closure will be taken care of once I add a zip. The only minor irritation...that the Riri zipper I plan on using (navy herringbone tape with antique brass metal pull and teeth) costs three times the price of the bag...

It's hard to explain the breathtaking beauty of a wind farm...especially when you come upon it unexpectedly. Mile upon mile of turbines...turning in slow, methodical, hypnotizing, rhythm...

Home...tired...and slightly battered by the sheer size of Atlanta airport (by the time you've walked for 3 or 4 miles...gone up and down numerous escalators...and taken 2 trains...to get to your rental car...you've lost the will to go on). Normal posting will resume shortly...

Next business trip...when I'm stuck in some God-forsaken airport (thanks to snowstorm, last minute seat repairs, or other act of God)...I want to emulate the In Transit editorial from the February issue of UK Vogue.

Headphones, dark glasses, and puffy neck pillow on...head resting on Celine bag ("cute, chiseled chin man" having to check his email through the bag straps)...who am I kidding? It's going to be my usual "scrunched into uncomfortable seat...Starbucks in one hand...iPhone showing email/Angry Birds/vintage Scooby Doo episode in the other. A girl can dream though...

If you are anything like me, being slightly rumpled...creased...and déshabille...is a daily fact of life. Not that I don't admire people who iron the folds in their clothes to knife-edge precision...and can look as unwilted at the end of the day as they did at the beginning...I just know that I do not belong to their ranks. I am the Columbo to their James Bond.

Which probably explains my enthusiasm for these crumpled city maps. Paris...London...and New York...printed on virtually indestructible Tyvek...able to be rolled into a ball at the bottom at the bottom of my handbag yet still maintain their functionality...and...waterproof (which means that not can I indulge in a little singing in the rain, I'll be able to get where I'm going as well)...

I know that, given half a chance, I can witter on about travel-related items that...unless you also spend a decent portion of time commuting at 30,000 feet...may seem a little restricted in their usage. The zenith of this jets into us courtesy of Tory Burch and her "travel socks"...designed, according to her website, to "make taking off your shoes for those long airport security lines more stylish"...at $48 the pair you do have to wonder though if something slighter cheaper, yet equally woolly, might do the job just as well...

Once again the plastic bag that the Transportation Security Administration insists upon the weary traveler shoving their (miniaturized) beauty products into is getting me down. Having typed that sentence I have to add that I do realize that, in the grand scheme of things, this is pretty low on the scale...way lower than the aspirations of a Miss World contestant ("ending world hunger, curing every disease known to mankind , and making everyone happy")...yet it's amazing how demoralizing the sight of that square of plastic can be every time you pack and unpack your bags.

Especially when there are jaunty little gingham cosmetic bags out there...endowed with a French, beach-y, sort of joie de vivre.

I've been thinking a lot about driving recently. Having failed two tests...both in the UK...both for utterly stupid reasons...both on cars with manual gearboxes...I can't decide if the time is finally right to have one more go...in an automatic...on this side of the Atlantic.

Worst case scenario I remain a cab-taking-pedestrian...best case...road trips...the potential to buy the Jennifer Hart 70's Mercedes Roadster of my bad-television-induced dreams...and the ability to park (should work or whim take me to Detroit) in the somewhat eroded 1920's splendor of the Michigan Theater...

On the road...or should that be in the air...again. Somewhat pathetically the ability to take (decent) photographs on my phone...instead of having to excavate my camera from layers of bags...is providing hours of childish amusement...especially when I'm at how-ever-many-thousand feet...

The only thing that would add to this glee would be Want's appropriately named O'Hare bag to grab the phone out of...