Ah, Palm Springs Airport, swanky and pretentious, all dolled up with sculptures yet you'll sit on a cheap nasty seat that belongs in Staten Island somewhere. Teeny-tiny, out of date and overdone, like the 100% grandparent population caked over in broad daylight in garish layers of almost theatrical weight makeup, complete with armpit teacup dog and spaceship sized jewels. Its actually an outdoor airport, which is nicely retro, and has a low-to-no stress atmosphere. The airport parking is kind of nonexistent, so you'd better catch a park and fly at someplace like the Hilton ($100 - really?) or whatever airport hotel is your style, or else I don't know what will become of you, as the drop-off-only zone is mercilessly enforced by the modern gestapo.

There's a tree-shaded outdoor park within the security area, and its all very relaxed. Even the TSA staff seem cheerful - or is that gas? All the airlines fly special tiny dollhouse-sized airplanes here at this itty bitty airport, and you know what that means. You will arrive, a human malted milkshake, a little confused and with a wild new hairdo you hadn't planned on. But what do you care? Your Gammy lives on 10 acres of sundrenched crumbling glory, and even though you're 40, her staff still think you're cute and pamper the daylights out of you when you visit.

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