Sunday, June 29, 2008
I like to fly
I like to fly. I know that's not the most epic, exquisite, or eloquent way to begin a new blog, but I don't think there's any way to better put it. I just...like to fly. I like the cheap fake leather seats and the even faker kindness of stewardesses. Nothing tastes better than a salty bag of peanuts after hours of starvation---starvation induced solely by the procrastination that always makes getting to the airport a last minute business and compounded by the greed that makes airport food a no-no---and nothing salves the resulting salty, thirsty agony like a cool drink of Coca Cola that for reasons not yet understood by science tastes tremendously better aboard a plane. I even like the things most people despise; the conversations with random, boring strangers give me a chance to practice my ability to impersonate Guatemalan missionaries, the whining of children allows me to better understand those friends of mine who are pro-choice, and the failed attempts of my co-passengers to seduce the waitresses grants me the comfort of knowing that I am not the only man on earth who will never get laid. It's the little idiosyncrasies of flight that I love, the weird cultures and traditions that transcend national boundaries and human reason, that are neither here nor there. A flight, after all, is a transition. It takes you from point A to point B, and unlike almost every other form of transport, it doesn't take you through all the places in between---it takes you above them, creating its own world, its own in between. It reminds me of the Catholic Limbo, really; a place of long, boring discomfort that will (hopefully) take you to a better place.
I'm flying over the mountains now; they call it the Sierra Nevada here in Limbo. The snow is melting off, leaving naked ridges of brown exposed for all the world to leer at. The blanket of white was a lot thicker when I was last in Limbo, back when my Point A was Danville and my Point B was Annapolis, which begs two important questions. Is Limbo melting away, and more importantly, am I returning---or did I never leave?
The stewardess is asking about drinks. I think I'll get a Ginger Ale this time; it feels like it's time for something different. Time to kick back and wait; knowing how these things go, somehow the bizarre formula they use to determine drink order will make me dead last again.
I really do like to fly.
recorded at 10:01 PM