I admit my travel is pretty much limited to the C train these days, but I am still mystified by the constant flurry of news reports on the upgrading of eating options in airports. Every day another “top” chef seems to be announcing some deal to bring serious cooking to the most barren of wastelands, the concourse just past security and before the gate to airborne hell. It always reminds me of the day I went up to Harlem with a bunch of Moveoners to meet with Charlie Rangel to argue against the coming insanity of a war on Iraq. The congressman turned out to be represented by an aide, but the aide had the most revealing revelation: Anytime you see the Chimp photographed at a soldier’s hospital bed, you can be sure he is going back to sign a bill cutting something that benefits veterans. Now I think every story touting food in airports is another sly way for the airlines to distract attention from the reality that they are now lower than flying Greyhounds. I used to move between states by bus, and even they stopped to let riders eat. All of which is by way of saying my travel-advisin’ friend is right to raise a red flag on the plan to sell energy drinks at 30,000 feet. The last thing people stuffing dirty diapers into seat-back pockets need is caffeine easily ingested on an empty stomach. . . .