I love Virgin America

Virgin America is the ostentatious brainchild of Virgin Atlantic and Virgin Records chief Richard Branson. Though the Federal Aviation Administration forced the company to have no more than 25 percent foreign ownership, there should be no doubt that Sir Branson’s imprimatur is firmly planted on the fledgling airline.

Case in point was a recent trip of mine to New York City from San Francisco. Believe it or not, I had never been to the Big Apple though my wife spent four years of college there and I wanted to go to experience the new Rome. (By the way, it was fabulous, like San Francisco on steroids with no hills).

Getting inside SFO’s International Terminal was easy. Virgin America and JetBlue both occupy gates in the much heralded new terminal though neither venture overseas or plan to, but I digress. SFO will fill its beautiful terminal with international airlines once we completely shake the dot-com and 9/11 blues. For now, though, we have the battle of red versus blue. JetBlue that is. It’s like the Nortenos versus the Surenos, the Sharks and the Jets, the Montagues and the Capulets, the Hatfield and McCoys, the Giants and the Dodgers, the Daily Journal and whatever far-reaching media company that chooses to contend here. You see my point.

Red is Virgin America and man, do they have it going on. From the get-go, the dude at the gate was a pleasure. He riffed on the early-morning mic like a man who gets a bonus every now and then — or at least hopes to. First on the plane were the important, those who paid $100 or more to get the front-of-the-plane white easy chairs — they have massage capabilities. Then out of the blue, or red, anyone wearing red was allowed on (really?) and the rest of us. He even mocked the flight attendants sitting near the gate catching up on old times for not getting with the program. They were expected to be on the plane front and center, the customers seemingly demanded.

No biggie. The plane was nice and shiny and new. We had purple mood lighting (you’d be surprised how far that goes) and touch screens in front of us. In the age of iPhones, touch screens go a long way. Within a year, we will demand it for most services. I even found myself touching the screen of a television set up to display recent photos in New York’s Natural History Museum to see if I could move our recent photo to the forefront. And believe me, I am no technophile. But I saw someone else try it too. But again, I digress.

The rest of the five-hour flight proved to be, dare I say it, cool. I checked out the plane’s path on Google maps, I listened to Amy Winehouse, I watched CNBC, I listened to Cold Play and Charlie Parker (Hell, I even listened to Kelly Clarkson, though don’t tell anyone). And though cross-country flights are usually an excuse for me to read the Science Times section of the New York Times, I never really got to it. I could order a cheese plate for $8. I could get a can of tomato juice for free. I could pull up the "Sopranos.” I was in-flight nirvana.

Since Virgin America did not go from Dulles to SFO, we chose JetBlue for the way back. The music did not work. We were offered blue chips, orange chips, cookies and not much else the entire way back. Cable television is cool, but just how long can you watch "Law and Order” or "Rachael Ray” on a high diet of 100-calorie packs of carbs? Egads.

Thank goodness for delivery pizza once we were taxied back to Burlingame. Yes, Burlingame, the new home of Virgin America. Please, oh please suddenly cool city, can I get a cheese plate to go?

Jon Mays is the editor in chief of the Daily Journal. He can be reached at jon@smdailyjournal.com.