OK, so you could say it was getting a little chilly around these parts. Or you could say that it was a tad draughty in the ‘nads. Either way, I saddled up the reindeer and pointed his nose south. Way south. Further south than below the
But, wait. Why the fuck do we travel? Is it just to move around? Sometimes I think its only to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Than here. To get out. To escape. To feel as though you can. Ah, to travel! To hurry up and wait! To line up to be groped! To be forced into take off the crap covered boots, the 10X hat, the big belt buckle, and even the gosh-darned wranglers. And why the fuck do they want to rifle my underwear, anyways?
Please, no more surly customer ‘service’ agents. And, no more gigantic wheeled luggage monsters, that threaten grievous bodily harm to any innocent ankles, shopping bags, or loose poodles that happen to be in their way. I lie awake on the cold, hard plains frightened of these things. Really, I do.
Perhaps Disney is right. Travel is where dream come true. Where we suspend belief in the mundane, as we encounter the unfamiliar. There is always that delicious, unsettling feeling that we don’t quite know what is going on. One must, therefore, resort to a firm belief in yourself. To construct a world (of magical possibilities?) where we are solidly at the center. All in the fervent belief that then people will pay attention to us and we can feel as though we are important. Powerful. And, indeed, there is a long imperial tradition of visiting somewhere, seeing something you like, and buying up a whole farmload of it. Land, gold, well-behaved housemaids. You name it, and we’re off to ‘discover’ it and have our cake, too.
So, go west young man. We live in wealthy times, in times of little significance. Travel is not the great equalizer, but the ultimate exercise in consumption. You can buy your own importance, on your terms. Its all about you, right here, right now.
Except when your flight is delayed. And suddenly you feel impotent all over again.
* Mickey says to say Hi to y’all and wants to know when you’se is gonna come visit!
6 comments:
The wife is on a bit of a travel kick. I think she must secretly like pain.
Having some zit-faced 18 year old tell me to take off my shoes so he can be sure I'm not a threat . . . not my idea of a good time.
Well, AUA, I hope your wife enjoys her travels. Does she send you postcards?
She's drags me along. It's my role to smile and say "ooh" and "ah."
AUA's wife drags him to live tapings of The Price Is Right?!
Oh man. Somebody send that boy on a cattle drive! Stat!
And to Zed's point(s), maybe if we didn't spend so much time and money customizing the environments of our daily lives to get them *just so* maybe we wouldn't have to lay out a pile of cash on top of that just to encounter the unfamiliar. Hell, it can be as simple as turning off the iPod and *paying attention* to what's happening around you as you walk down the street. (The couterpoint is vaild of course, for not all "unfamilar" is particularly enjoyable. Or even safe for that matter.)
But yeah, "anywhere but here" is a powerful motive. A hard temptation to resist in our vast land of interstates and easy credit cards.
"Vegas, baby! Vegas!"
Or, "Disney, baby! Disney!" as the case may be.
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