I was sitting in the one of the most architecturally remarkable places I'd ever been. It was an airport I had once been in for a few hours awaiting the voyage home.

Sure, it could have been named after someone a little more worthy of the distinction, but it didn't take away from its magnificence.

Last night my dream, fueled by intoxication, my stress, or a healthy mix of both placed me there again. Nothing in particular happened, in retrospect it seems like it was quite a short dream. I just sat there really, admiring everything around me, my feet kicked up on the chair opposite of me. "This is what engineering is all about" I thought, or something like it, feeling a peculiar mix of elation and dread.

Curiously enough, last night, before the diversionary drinking started, I calculated my ecological footprint. I did it twice, first using my home away from home as the basis, then using my family home as the base. Strangely, I'm more of an ecological glutton away from home. Of course, I tried my hardest to be accurate, and it might very well have been my 117.5 hours of [accurately] estimated flying time that tipped the balance. Of course, this would more than likely be much worse if I could accurately account for the number of delays I've suffered and the time I've spent in holding patterns over airports for one reason or another. The average Canadian consumes 8.8 Hectares of biologically productive land. I evidently consume 17.3 Hectares and I don't even have a car, I walk everywhere!

Give it a shot. You can calculate your Ecological Footprint right here. It's worth the awareness, or at the least, the surprise.

Somehow, last night over yet another game of Wii Tennis (where I tried unsuccessfully to avenge myself from last week's humiliating defeat) my role in the Earth's ecological devastation entered the conversation. The two of them quickly brought the laptop out into the tv room and plugged in their estimates, 12ish and 9 Hectares each.

"Why are you so high?!" One of them said, somewhat concerned.

Suspecting my flying time as the the source of the anamoly I said"What did you pick for flight hours?"

"10 hours"... "Ya, same for me."

"Oh."

"Why what did you pick?"

"100"

"Jesus."

"You've probably been in more airports than buildings I've been in." He smirked.

"What? so?" I said between groundstrokes, the computer player kicking my ass. "I like air planes."

"I like Planet Earth" he said jokingly. But it still stung.