Timothy Egan has noticed something during his recent travels in the U.S.: “a surfeit of American flags.” In his story in the New York Times, he takes a shot at explaining the abundance of Stars and Stripes.

For a look at how the flag flies outside the U.S., check out our American Flag in a Shrinking Planet slideshow.

Kids stand on just-opened Skydeck Ledge on the 103rd floor of Chicago’s Sears Tower.

In Shanghai fear and hunger and violence were right in front of him; there were dead bodies lying in the streets where he bicycled. As an adult in the comfortable London suburb of Shepperton, by contrast, Ballard had to look under the surface to find the darkest parts of the human psyche.

Andrew Sullivan points the way to a Matt Steinglass post about the limits of measuring climate change damage in economic terms:

There will be no Everglades in 100 years. The economic cost of that change to US GDP is marginal. There will be no Venice in 100 years. The economic cost of that change to US GDP is tiny. There will be no New Orleans in 100 years. The economic cost of that change to US GDP is extremely small. ... But the worth of many precious things cannot be measured in money.

Indeed.

Tourism in Thailand has been suffering significant declines lately, and desperate vendors are offering discounts like free domestic flights, extra nights and other perks to lure money-conscious visitors.

But in spite of the setbacks to leisure and luxury travel, the AP reports “budget travel hasn’t suffered as badly, with beer stalls and hostels along Bangkok’s Khao San Road and other havens for backpackers still bustling.”

Keep on, keepin’ on, backpackers!

The DeLillo reference in our headline comes from a related snarky Gawker post. Gawker also asks: “Doesn’t Growing Up bin Laden sound like a great name for a reality show?”

Why not? It certainly would be more interesting than this.
Or this.
Or this.
Or this.
Or this.
Or this.
Or this.
Or this.
Or this.
Or this.
Or this.
Or this.

Man, that’s tiring.

Here’s one that will likely ring true for most traveling parents: In the New York Times, Judith Warner’s latest post addresses “the petty humiliations of motherhood.” She writes:

You know what I mean: the nasty little looks, tones of voice, gestures, subtle and not-so-subtle criticism and even insults that so often seem to come the way of mothers. Harsh words delivered in all apparent innocence, innocuous-seeming observations made in a tone that cuts to the bone, odd little interactions, generally, that manage to make a mother feel condemned in the court of world opinion.

I did indeed know what she was talking about—I’ve certainly shot my fair share of icy “You’re a terrible mother” stares at the parents of seat-kicking toddlers on airplanes. Warner’s post was a healthy reminder to rein those urges in.

Sure, we all love those nifty seat-back entertainment systems—but as Jaunted astutely points out, the personal TV screens come with a major downside: a long-haul flight’s worth of punches to the back of the head.

I’m assuming that when they’re not busy making air travel greener and/or finding a way to remain afloat in this brutal economic climate, the industry’s brightest minds will be working on the problem?

The deep, clean dive into the sea off Southwestern Greece probably sealed my lifelong attachment to the pristine in places. I was 9 years old and, until then, had only swam in chlorinated swimming pools and muddy river water in landlocked North Dakota. My father had grown up swimming in a secluded beach near the village of Kyparissia as a young orphan and had associated its salty breath and blue-green water with a wanderlust that would turn him dreamy-eyed even as a middle-aged man. To him, travel at its most elemental was about the unadorned land, enlivened by tides and breeze and hulking mountains. He described his childhood beach so lovingly that it almost sounded human.

If you were a child of the ’60s, then perhaps it’s Joan Baez’s “We Shall Overcome.” If you came of age in the ’80s, then maybe it’s Jon Bon Jovi’s “Stand By Me,” which he recorded with Iranian exile Andy Madadian.

I’m a longtime fan of the Waterboys and their sometimes solo-recording frontman, Mike Scott, so I’m loving his tribute, which draws on the words of W.B. Yeats.

Which is your favorite? Any others we shouldn’t miss? Here they are:

Over at This Just In, the inevitable question has been asked: Where will Michael Jackson’s Graceland be? After all, the King of Pop’s fans will need a pilgrimage spot just as badly as the King’s do. JD Rinne offers a few possibilities: the Jackson family hometown of Gary, Indiana; Detroit’s Motown Museum; the Apollo Theater in Harlem; and, of course, Neverland Ranch.