Every time I travel, I see or learn something new. Lately I’ve been connecting through Chicago. Long the bastion of velvet track pants and McDonald’s takeout, my expectations for O’Hare are not very high. But this week’s “something new” was a low point, ever for Chicago. Two ladies boarding my plane walked on with a medium pizza in a cardboard takeout box. The thing hardly fit down the isle. She had to hold it up, because it wouldn’t fit between the seats. This made the guy next to me munching on a quarter-pounder from McDonalds look refined.