So by now, almost everyone who reads this knows all or a part of the following story. I’d meant to put it up a while back, and just never got around to it.
So way back in July, I’m sitting around my house, doing absolutely nothing of note. After getting back from Europe, I fell into a bit of a rut. It’s that same rut that most of us fell into after graduating college for the first time, especially if we didn’t already have a job in our lives. You wake up, you force yourself to send your resume out to a few job openings, but you don’t actually make the kind of serious effort you know you should. You sleep late, because there’s nowhere you have to be and nothing you have to do at any particular time of the day, and life just doesn’t feel like it used to.
Sooner or later, of course, we have to break out of that funk and rejoin the world. My emergence from said state was supposed to come one morning in late July when my boss from HR Block called me and explained that, after weeks of delays, the background and credit check, newly instituted for all returning employees, had finally come back and I was given the green light to return to work. Happy to finally have an excuse to leave the house, I hopped in my car and started to drive.
About fifteen minutes later, the front left corner of my car was a twisted metal heap, and a very polite lady had a nasty gash down the side of her truck. I had turned right on a red, thinking the way was clear. This was the first time in my life I’d had this kind of experience, but I had a vague idea of what needed to be done. Both our cars were still in drivable condition, so we moved to a parking lot, called the police, and exchanged insurance information.
Now, the precise nature of the accident is still somewhat unclear to me. To my recollection, I had finished my turn and was well into perpendicular street by the time the impact occurred, which would mean that the other driver had to be changing lanes to side swipe me like that. Supporting this version of events is the fact that treadmarks could be found two car lengths beyond the intersection. Also, my front headlight popped forward and out, rather than caving into the car as one might expect from a head-on collision.
The claims adjustor, however, felt that a sideswipe would have caused a different shape of dent on the other car, and felt that my headlight might have been popped out because metal behind it was twisted in the accident, forcing it forward. Long story short, I’m out a car and a $125 ticket.
So I’m driving my busted up car around, not sure how long it’ll keep running. Our mechanic said it was safe to drive for a little while, but that we needed to repair or replace the car soon. The repair job would have involved very expensive body work, and the car has been breaking down on my every couple of months anyway, so it was pretty clear that a new car was the more fiscally sound option. So I start doing some research.
Next thing I know, before I’ve even had a chance to settle on what kind of car I might like to be looking at, I find out that my mom went out looking and got talked into buying a used Honda Accord, year 2004, from a local dealer. The salesman had somehow so convinced her of the need to buy the car immediately that she did not even consult me before making the purchase. She just wrote the guy a check, expecting me to pay her back when I could.
Now, on the one hand, hey new car. I mean, I had a big problem, and supermom just swooped in and solved it for me before I even got my head around just how big a problem it was. On the other hand, now I’m committed to ultimately paying for a car I’ve never even laid eyes on. I don’t for a moment doubt the purity of her intentions, but seriously, boundaries?
As it turns out, the Honda Accord does actually fit me like a glove. I drive it to stl, and it just feels right. It’s only slightly larger than my old Sable, and it has a smaller engine (my old car was a 6 cylinder, this is a 4) but it handles beautifully. Also, I never knew how awesome it would be to have stereo buttons on my steering wheel. I know that sounds like one of the last things you should car about in a multi-thousand dollar investment, but dude, I liked that.
The next chapter in the story almost everyone has already heard. The car gets me to stl just fine, and also gets me to my interview. Then, on the ride home, it gets as far as the end of highway 40 before the engine cuts out. So right there, merging onto I-70, I lose everything. Power steering cuts out, and my speed starts dropping like a stone. What’s worse, I’m still getting used to the car, and I don’t know where the button for the hazard lights are. I flip my turn signals one and off and wave my hands frantically, hoping that anyone behind me will come to the conclusion that I’m having car trouble. Or that I’m insane, but either way they better slow down. I manage to get my car safely to the side of the road.
About an hour or so later, Adam is picking me up from the Honda dealer off highway 40. Ironically, his car is having trouble too, all of the sudden, but it does at least get us back to his place before it starts to crap out. I make the most of my extra time in stl, and by the end of the day the dealer calls me back with new information: there was no oil in the car.
They oil the car up (that sounds dirty…) and I drive it back towards Kansas City. I stop in Kingdom City to check the oil again, and sure enough, it’s already running low. Something is wrong with the engine, and it’s either leaking or burning through the oil at a prodigal rate. I top it off, and drive it the rest of the way home, at which point it once again is running low on oil. The local dealer takes it back, tries to fix it, and determines that the only solution is to completely replace the engine.
I should mention at this point that since I’m working way out in downtown Kansas City and the dealer is near my house in Overland Park, and because I’d just taken a bunch of time off work to go to St Louis, I wasn’t actually able to physically go to the dealer’s lot to handle any of this. It was all done through phone calls, and any in-person interactions had to be done with my parents, who live and work like 5 minutes from the place.
So anyway, just as I’m starting to think “yay, new engine” I get a call from my mom wanting me to leave work early and look at a Toyota Corola. WTF! What happened to a new engine in my Accord? So I get down there, more than a little irate at this point, and then I learn that the engine they wanted to give me was a used one, and they couldn’t even tell us how many miles was on it or how long it had been in service. Another WTF! So my mom has been talking about this Toyota Corola, and we have to choose between it and a much more expensive 2007 Honda Accord. The dealer is offering to let us buy another car off the lot and put the money we’ve already given them towards it, but they haven’t offered anything more, and I need a car sooner than a lawyer will get all this sorted out, even if it did all go in my favor. So I take the deal, and we leave the lot, planning to file all the paperwork the next day.
Over the next 24 hours, however, we pull up the Corola’s specs on the dealer’s website, and find some things that the dealer neglected to mention. In particular, there is no anti-lock breaking system. At this point, abbreviated bastardizations of the English language no longer suffice. What. The. FUCK!
Back to the dealer, and now we have only two options. Select a substantially more expensive 2007 Honda Accord, or go get a lawyer. So the good news is that the third time seems to have been the charm, as my new new new car really is fun to drive and handles well. The bad news, however, is that it cost us a lot more than we were expecting to spend, and we probably got screwed on the price since the dealer knew we didn’t really want to go to a lawyer over this. The salesman himself, at least, seemed to genuinely feel bad, and he agreed to sell us the 3-year, bumper-to-bumper warranty at cost. At least, he said it was cost…
If anything goes wrong with this one, I will write a very nasty letter. And possibly commit murder.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Christianity Evolving?
Mothers of Christian teenagers, beware. According to a new study, it is possible that your child just thinks God wants them to feel good about themselves, and try to be good people.
Aparrently, an "impostor" to proper Christianity has risen up, which the study calls "moralistic therapeutic deism." According to this study, teens across the country say they are Christians, believe they are Christians, but in reality, they "that God simply wanted them to feel good and do good." Scandalous!
The study goes on to complain that teenagers are indifferent and inarticulate about their faith, and that while they seem to believe in God, they don't have a drive to make others do so. Kenda Creasy Dean, author of "Almost Christian," has become a self-appointed crusader to raise awareness about this new horrible threat to our children. She particularly raises concern that teenagers are "inarticulate" about their faith. She raises several other points, which if you want to know more about you can view the CNN article here or perhaps her book, but from what I gleaned after reading the former was that her argument basically boils down to the following statement:
Many teens are practicing a religion that motivates them to be kind, compassionate, and willing to help other people. It has moved them to volunteer their time at various charities, treat others with respect, and generally be more self-aware with regards to their own adherence to a moral code. However, they are losing the dogma and specific rules that really make Christianity what it is. They aren't "witnessing" to spread their faith to others. They're even skipping church! We need to stop the proliferation of this pretender to the throne!
And an article detailing this "threat" made the front page of cnn.com
The good news is that if the study can be believed, this "pretender religion" is actually the dominant form of worship among American teens. If that's true, I think there's hope for this country yet.
Aparrently, an "impostor" to proper Christianity has risen up, which the study calls "moralistic therapeutic deism." According to this study, teens across the country say they are Christians, believe they are Christians, but in reality, they "that God simply wanted them to feel good and do good." Scandalous!
The study goes on to complain that teenagers are indifferent and inarticulate about their faith, and that while they seem to believe in God, they don't have a drive to make others do so. Kenda Creasy Dean, author of "Almost Christian," has become a self-appointed crusader to raise awareness about this new horrible threat to our children. She particularly raises concern that teenagers are "inarticulate" about their faith. She raises several other points, which if you want to know more about you can view the CNN article here or perhaps her book, but from what I gleaned after reading the former was that her argument basically boils down to the following statement:
Many teens are practicing a religion that motivates them to be kind, compassionate, and willing to help other people. It has moved them to volunteer their time at various charities, treat others with respect, and generally be more self-aware with regards to their own adherence to a moral code. However, they are losing the dogma and specific rules that really make Christianity what it is. They aren't "witnessing" to spread their faith to others. They're even skipping church! We need to stop the proliferation of this pretender to the throne!
And an article detailing this "threat" made the front page of cnn.com
The good news is that if the study can be believed, this "pretender religion" is actually the dominant form of worship among American teens. If that's true, I think there's hope for this country yet.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Scott Pilgrim and the Seven Deadly Metaphors
So I just got back from seeing Scott Pilgrim, and my sides are still hurting a little. This was honestly the best movie I’ve seen in the last couple of years.
For the unaware, the basic premise of Scott Pilgrim Vs The Word is as follows: Scott Pilgrim is an unemployed hipster living in Canada with his gay roommate who pretty much carries his sorry ass financially. He has recently started dating a Japanese school girl, is in a band that nobody likes or has heard of, and his life is going nowhere. Then he meets Ramona. Ramona is the physical embodiment of nerdy chic. Funky anime style hair that changes colors on a weekly basis, an outfit that captures the aesthetic that Hot Topic was always going for but never quite reached, a general lack of insipidness, and an inexplicable willingness to let Scott mope his way into a date with her. However, now that he is dating her, he must defeat her Seven Evil Exes in a variety of duels to the death.
The movie takes place in a sort of alternate reality, where life regularly imitates video games: people will randomly acquire superpowers, health bars and power-ups are commonplace, and Scott actually acquires visible points as he progresses through the story. Everybody seems to find this perfectly natural; in fact, when the first evil ex is defeated and explodes in a shower of coins, the only shock that Scott Pilgrim exhibits regarding this phenomenon is that it’s not enough to cover his bus fare home. The movie is full of 8-bit sound effects, needlessly intense voiceovers, and enough arcade style lights and noises to… man, I swear I had something for this… well, it’s a lot of lights and noises, OK? Basically, the movie is wrapped in a glossy coat of exactly what its target audience of underdeveloped manchildren want to see: an environment in which the cartoonish preoccupations of our youth are not only accepted but commonplace in adult society, but are now mixed with the kind of mature themes that we weren’t allowed to know about back in those days. In other words, it’s a world where nobody had to grow up, get a job, or actually mature as a person, but still got to move out of their parents’ houses, get girlfriends, and do all that awesome stuff that the big people get to do.
There’s one gigantic twist to all of this, however: the entire core concept of the movie is that people who honestly want to see all that need to grow the fuck up. Just in case this wasn’t glaringly obvious by the constant use of the video-game style boss fights as a metaphor for Scott dealing with his own emotional baggage, the movie literally spells it out for us in big flashing letters more than once. Despite the fact that there’s a lot going on in this movie, they spend the first twenty minutes or so getting you to absolutely despise the main character, so that the next hour and a half can be spent developing him from a hopeless, self-conscious loser into a remotely likable human being.
The video-game aesthetic, while being an absolute blast to watch, in is in fact an extended metaphor for how a lot of the target audience needs to get over themselves and grow up a little. It’s like I went to a strip club, and a gorgeous naked woman stepped out and delivered a truly compelling dissertation on how objectification of women was harmful for my sexual development.
Scott Pilgrim is a movie that works on several different levels. As a simple, mindless comedy, there is more than enough good humor to make it a satisfactory comedy. The fight scenes are surprisingly well-choreographed, so long as the arcade-style aesthetic isn’t a turn-off for you. That aesthetic itself is a hilarious non-sequitor, made all the funnier by the fact that the movie is kind of making fun of your for liking it so readily. But on top of all of that, the movie is telling the story of a shy, emotionally stunted nerd finally getting over his own BS and becoming an adult nerd with a girlfriend. And just to remind the audience that this bit of mockery is all in good fun, he levels up when he does so.
For the unaware, the basic premise of Scott Pilgrim Vs The Word is as follows: Scott Pilgrim is an unemployed hipster living in Canada with his gay roommate who pretty much carries his sorry ass financially. He has recently started dating a Japanese school girl, is in a band that nobody likes or has heard of, and his life is going nowhere. Then he meets Ramona. Ramona is the physical embodiment of nerdy chic. Funky anime style hair that changes colors on a weekly basis, an outfit that captures the aesthetic that Hot Topic was always going for but never quite reached, a general lack of insipidness, and an inexplicable willingness to let Scott mope his way into a date with her. However, now that he is dating her, he must defeat her Seven Evil Exes in a variety of duels to the death.
The movie takes place in a sort of alternate reality, where life regularly imitates video games: people will randomly acquire superpowers, health bars and power-ups are commonplace, and Scott actually acquires visible points as he progresses through the story. Everybody seems to find this perfectly natural; in fact, when the first evil ex is defeated and explodes in a shower of coins, the only shock that Scott Pilgrim exhibits regarding this phenomenon is that it’s not enough to cover his bus fare home. The movie is full of 8-bit sound effects, needlessly intense voiceovers, and enough arcade style lights and noises to… man, I swear I had something for this… well, it’s a lot of lights and noises, OK? Basically, the movie is wrapped in a glossy coat of exactly what its target audience of underdeveloped manchildren want to see: an environment in which the cartoonish preoccupations of our youth are not only accepted but commonplace in adult society, but are now mixed with the kind of mature themes that we weren’t allowed to know about back in those days. In other words, it’s a world where nobody had to grow up, get a job, or actually mature as a person, but still got to move out of their parents’ houses, get girlfriends, and do all that awesome stuff that the big people get to do.
There’s one gigantic twist to all of this, however: the entire core concept of the movie is that people who honestly want to see all that need to grow the fuck up. Just in case this wasn’t glaringly obvious by the constant use of the video-game style boss fights as a metaphor for Scott dealing with his own emotional baggage, the movie literally spells it out for us in big flashing letters more than once. Despite the fact that there’s a lot going on in this movie, they spend the first twenty minutes or so getting you to absolutely despise the main character, so that the next hour and a half can be spent developing him from a hopeless, self-conscious loser into a remotely likable human being.
The video-game aesthetic, while being an absolute blast to watch, in is in fact an extended metaphor for how a lot of the target audience needs to get over themselves and grow up a little. It’s like I went to a strip club, and a gorgeous naked woman stepped out and delivered a truly compelling dissertation on how objectification of women was harmful for my sexual development.
Scott Pilgrim is a movie that works on several different levels. As a simple, mindless comedy, there is more than enough good humor to make it a satisfactory comedy. The fight scenes are surprisingly well-choreographed, so long as the arcade-style aesthetic isn’t a turn-off for you. That aesthetic itself is a hilarious non-sequitor, made all the funnier by the fact that the movie is kind of making fun of your for liking it so readily. But on top of all of that, the movie is telling the story of a shy, emotionally stunted nerd finally getting over his own BS and becoming an adult nerd with a girlfriend. And just to remind the audience that this bit of mockery is all in good fun, he levels up when he does so.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
L8er H8ers
With apologies for the headline.
In San Francisco today, Chief US District Judge Vuaghn Walker officially overturned the controversial Proposition 8. For those of you with short attention spans, Prop 8 was the gay marriage ban enacted in California during the 2008 elections.
-excerpt from CNN
The campaign to pass Proposition 8 featured every dirty political trick from rhetoric to outright lies. It was better funded than any political campaign for a social issue in our nation’s history. It was a mar on the reputation for fairness and tolerance that America has prided itself on for generations, and although I am not gay, I am ecstatic to hear of its defeat, however temporary.
Because it is expected that a higher court will rule on this, the matter effectively remains undecided, and so the Judge has ruled that the ban will continue to hold until the appeals process is concluded- a process that may very well wind up in the Supreme Court in the not-too-distant future.
That’s right, there is a strong likelihood that the Supreme Court will be forced to decide whether homosexuality is a protected status under the 14th amendment before our next presidential election.
In other words, depending on how a certain other popular-vote initiative pans out in November, California may be giving rise to two potentially epic Supreme Court issues before Christmas.
And as an interesting aside: in the corner of gay rights during this legislative smackdown is the unlikely tag-team of David Boies and former US Solicitor General Theodore Olson, the lawyers that represented Al Gore and George Bush in the 2002 elections, respectively. The law guy that the Democrats turned to in hopes of winning the presidency and the man that the Republicans turned to for the same are working together on this. It’s like when Lex Luthor teamed up with Superman to fight Darkseid.
But political fanboying aside, today made me happy. It’s a reminder that while we still have an abundance of grossly ignorant, intolerant jackasses in our country, there’s still a strong contingent of sensible people willing to push back. A certain somebody would be very quick to remind me of how ridiculous I sound when I get on my political high horse, but this is one position that I don’t mind looking silly over.
In San Francisco today, Chief US District Judge Vuaghn Walker officially overturned the controversial Proposition 8. For those of you with short attention spans, Prop 8 was the gay marriage ban enacted in California during the 2008 elections.
"Proposition 8 fails to advance any rational basis in singling out gay men and lesbians for denial of a marriage license," Walker wrote in his decision. "Indeed, the evidence shows Proposition 8 does nothing more than enshrine in the California Constitution the notion that opposite-sex couples are superior to same-sex couples.
-excerpt from CNN
The campaign to pass Proposition 8 featured every dirty political trick from rhetoric to outright lies. It was better funded than any political campaign for a social issue in our nation’s history. It was a mar on the reputation for fairness and tolerance that America has prided itself on for generations, and although I am not gay, I am ecstatic to hear of its defeat, however temporary.
Because it is expected that a higher court will rule on this, the matter effectively remains undecided, and so the Judge has ruled that the ban will continue to hold until the appeals process is concluded- a process that may very well wind up in the Supreme Court in the not-too-distant future.
That’s right, there is a strong likelihood that the Supreme Court will be forced to decide whether homosexuality is a protected status under the 14th amendment before our next presidential election.
In other words, depending on how a certain other popular-vote initiative pans out in November, California may be giving rise to two potentially epic Supreme Court issues before Christmas.
And as an interesting aside: in the corner of gay rights during this legislative smackdown is the unlikely tag-team of David Boies and former US Solicitor General Theodore Olson, the lawyers that represented Al Gore and George Bush in the 2002 elections, respectively. The law guy that the Democrats turned to in hopes of winning the presidency and the man that the Republicans turned to for the same are working together on this. It’s like when Lex Luthor teamed up with Superman to fight Darkseid.
But political fanboying aside, today made me happy. It’s a reminder that while we still have an abundance of grossly ignorant, intolerant jackasses in our country, there’s still a strong contingent of sensible people willing to push back. A certain somebody would be very quick to remind me of how ridiculous I sound when I get on my political high horse, but this is one position that I don’t mind looking silly over.
Monday, July 19, 2010
I'm a man. I don't have a "diary." Or a "journal," for that matter.
So I've been back in the US for nearly a month now. I've bought and begun using some prep software for the CPA exam, been sending resumes out to anyone I can think of, and now, after finally just pulling an all-nighter on Saturday and then going to bed at seven PM, I've finally managed to get myself back on a slewing schedule that approximates sanity.
This morning, I woke at nine PM after a very strange dream in which I and The Riddler teamed up to fight an army plastic monsters that were taking over the world. I made breakfast, cleaned myself up, and drove out to my school to pick up a copy of my transcript. You see, you must electronically submit a transcript to apply for government jobs, but UMKC policy explicitly forbids giving electronic copies, because somebody might hack the system and steal one, compromising our precious identities. Given that the copies that they print off are, presumably, also electronically stored, I'm not sure this is an effective deterrent from letting ne'er-do-wells learn my GPA. However, for added security, they won't even mail out an unofficial transcript (all I really needed to apply for a job) so at least there's that. Twits.
The upside to all this is that since I was already here, I headed over to the computer lab to see if I could use their scanner. I learned then that my student account was never deactivated, which means I still have access to the free CPA prep software. It only offers practice multiple choice questions, which (as I learned last year) is insufficient to prepare me for an exam, but the practice questions in my current prep software are somewhat insufficient, so this should balance it out nicely, at least until my access gets changed.
And so now, I am sitting in a coffee shop. Blogging. Figured I'd get a head start on being a yuppie. But while I'm here, something about the blogosphere occurs to me.
The above post contains virtually nothing of interest. I yammer on about government job requirements and some exam software, and give an accounting my last few days, which were fairly uneventful. The only thing in the whole post that anyone is likely to relate to is the bit about schools having retarded policies.
This highlights the obvious counter to the common argument against owning a blog: "why would you want to make your diary/journal public?" The obvious answer being, because in those rare instances in which we do treat our blogs like an actual journal, nobody wastes their time reading it anyway. In reality, they're more like soap boxes than anything. A handful of people eventually peruse teem when they've got nothing better to do, and for that reason we technically have an "audience." This means that we can spend twenty minutes typing up a post in which we bitch about our problems, rant about our political ideals, and proclaim our latest mind-blowing, life-altering epiphany, and feel like people are hanging on our every word. While they still usually exist more for their writers than their audience, journals they are not.
This morning, I woke at nine PM after a very strange dream in which I and The Riddler teamed up to fight an army plastic monsters that were taking over the world. I made breakfast, cleaned myself up, and drove out to my school to pick up a copy of my transcript. You see, you must electronically submit a transcript to apply for government jobs, but UMKC policy explicitly forbids giving electronic copies, because somebody might hack the system and steal one, compromising our precious identities. Given that the copies that they print off are, presumably, also electronically stored, I'm not sure this is an effective deterrent from letting ne'er-do-wells learn my GPA. However, for added security, they won't even mail out an unofficial transcript (all I really needed to apply for a job) so at least there's that. Twits.
The upside to all this is that since I was already here, I headed over to the computer lab to see if I could use their scanner. I learned then that my student account was never deactivated, which means I still have access to the free CPA prep software. It only offers practice multiple choice questions, which (as I learned last year) is insufficient to prepare me for an exam, but the practice questions in my current prep software are somewhat insufficient, so this should balance it out nicely, at least until my access gets changed.
And so now, I am sitting in a coffee shop. Blogging. Figured I'd get a head start on being a yuppie. But while I'm here, something about the blogosphere occurs to me.
The above post contains virtually nothing of interest. I yammer on about government job requirements and some exam software, and give an accounting my last few days, which were fairly uneventful. The only thing in the whole post that anyone is likely to relate to is the bit about schools having retarded policies.
This highlights the obvious counter to the common argument against owning a blog: "why would you want to make your diary/journal public?" The obvious answer being, because in those rare instances in which we do treat our blogs like an actual journal, nobody wastes their time reading it anyway. In reality, they're more like soap boxes than anything. A handful of people eventually peruse teem when they've got nothing better to do, and for that reason we technically have an "audience." This means that we can spend twenty minutes typing up a post in which we bitch about our problems, rant about our political ideals, and proclaim our latest mind-blowing, life-altering epiphany, and feel like people are hanging on our every word. While they still usually exist more for their writers than their audience, journals they are not.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Things I really will actually do once I am a person of means
It will be Andrea’s birthday one week from today. Being penniless and thousands of miles away, I can’t really do much more than wish her a happy birthday. When I am fiscally secure, I will at least visit her on her birthdays.
I will move out of my parents’ home, and into one of my own. This goes without saying, naturally. I love my family, and they really do make every reasonable effort to accommodate, but I hate not providing for myself. As soon as I am able, I will get off of parental welfare and stand on my own.
I will procure a decent wardrobe. As it stands, I no longer fit any of my pants. They’re all too big since I came back from Europe. As I fully intend to keep the weight off (and hopefully lose another ten or twenty pounds over time) I need to replace much of my closet. Frankly, if I do this on my parents’ dime, I’ll remember it every time I open my closet. For the time being: belts.
Save for retirement. My first step once I do have a decent-paying job will be to calculate how much of the paycheck I need to get by, and then determine a percentage of my paychecks to be deducted for a retirement account. This number was in the double-digits when I worked for Charter, and I hope to be able to say that about my next job.
Give to charity. If I was able to afford sending a few dollars to the United Way out of every paycheck when I worked for Convergys, I’ve no excuse not doing it again.
Entertain. What I miss the most about my place in St Louis was that people actually came over. Barbecues, cocktail parties, and even just drunken nights playing some stupid game on the Wii. Living in my parents home, I don’t get much of a chance to play host.
Get a girlfriend. Living with your parents creates a major disadvantage when attempting to woo the opposite sex. Once I have a home, some extra cash, and clothes that fit, I’m going to start dating.
I will move out of my parents’ home, and into one of my own. This goes without saying, naturally. I love my family, and they really do make every reasonable effort to accommodate, but I hate not providing for myself. As soon as I am able, I will get off of parental welfare and stand on my own.
I will procure a decent wardrobe. As it stands, I no longer fit any of my pants. They’re all too big since I came back from Europe. As I fully intend to keep the weight off (and hopefully lose another ten or twenty pounds over time) I need to replace much of my closet. Frankly, if I do this on my parents’ dime, I’ll remember it every time I open my closet. For the time being: belts.
Save for retirement. My first step once I do have a decent-paying job will be to calculate how much of the paycheck I need to get by, and then determine a percentage of my paychecks to be deducted for a retirement account. This number was in the double-digits when I worked for Charter, and I hope to be able to say that about my next job.
Give to charity. If I was able to afford sending a few dollars to the United Way out of every paycheck when I worked for Convergys, I’ve no excuse not doing it again.
Entertain. What I miss the most about my place in St Louis was that people actually came over. Barbecues, cocktail parties, and even just drunken nights playing some stupid game on the Wii. Living in my parents home, I don’t get much of a chance to play host.
Get a girlfriend. Living with your parents creates a major disadvantage when attempting to woo the opposite sex. Once I have a home, some extra cash, and clothes that fit, I’m going to start dating.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Epi(c)log
Note: I've been experimenting with stream of consciousness posting lately. This is that experiment, taking waaaaaay too far. It's a glimpse into my deeply sleep-deprived mind. Eventually, I will retcon this post into a proper summary, rather than leave it as the overwritten monstrosity it is now.
Also Note: Times in this journal are given using Eastern European Summer Time (EEST), which is eight hours ahead of Central Standard Time used in the the American midwest.
Sunday, June 20th,
7:30 PM, Balcony outside Andrea's apartment.
And so ends a great adventure. I'm sitting on Dre and Carl's deck admiring the weather, while I wait for four AM to roll around so I can climb into a cab. There's a pretty big storm brewing, so the temperature's dropping and the wind is getting strong. Now the rain is starting.
The final days of my vacation have passed more or less without incident. I was hoping for a trip to the museum or perhaps the bazaar, but we're all still exhausted and I've spent too much anyway.
It's well and truly storming now, with large bolts of lightning here and there, some of them awfully close. The door only latches from the inside, so I've got a chair propped against it to keep it from banging open and shut.
I wasn't sure what to expect of Turkey when I first came over here, and a lot of it has surprised me. For example, I think somewhere along the line I started equating the concept of an Islamic country with deserts, third world technology, and rampant crime. From what I've seen so far, some things are different, but by no means is Turkey undeveloped. In fact, we could learn a thing or two from the Turks.
For example, they deliver almost anything, including beer and cigarettes. And when a deliveryman comes to your door, he can run the credit card right then and there; you don't have to give them your credit card number until AFTER they show up with the goods. I wish the chinese restaurants back home could do that!
Wow… That storm is really picking up. I'm glad we stayed in tonight!
Anyway, another thing about this country: the produce. I never truly enjoyed a tomato in my life before coming to this country, but the produce here is so fresh it's like another food altogether.
And then, some of the differences are just weird. Earlier today, for example, I had pizza. With corn. They put corn on their pizza here. Actually tastes alright.
They also have a real thing about smoking. In the US, you get little warning labels on the side of a pack of cigarettes. Here, you get warnings in big bold print that cover half the box, and sometimes a photograph of a dead baby. And on television, no channel may show a character smoking. Its kind of weird when you're watching a movie with all manner of sex and violence, but a little cigarette has to be blurred out.
* * * *
Monday, June 21st
12:30 AM, Andrea's living room
It's half past midnight now, and we just finished another Dr Who marathon and started Bored to Death. One of the characters pulled out a join, and it was covered with a rotating flower. A green one.
Ironic. Cover a green plant with a green plant.
* * * *
3:00 AM, Streets of Ankara
A little after one, we went out for a walk, primarily I could get cab fare from the ATM. We kept walking a little ways after that to get some coffee.
I haven't really explained this yet, but the Turkish are very serious about their coffee. For instance, although we found no less than three all-night coffee shops in about as many city blocks, we were under dressed for two of them.
When we did finally stop, I had my last Turkish meal. I had been meaning to order lamb all month, and here I finally had it, cut in a kabob fashion and served on top of a flat pita with tomato, onion, and rice; it was accompanied by a Lentil soup. Altogether, it was a good last meal. After we finished, I ordered some Turkish coffee. Turkish coffee is an interesting beverage. It is served in a cup the size of a shot glass, like espresso, but with a much greater caffeine content. The grounds are left in the drink, giving it an extraordinarily thick texture. As you near the bottom of the cup, that consistency grows until your drinking more grounds than liquid, so you have to get a feel for when to stop drinking or it feels like drinking sand.
Oddly enough, I really liked Turkish coffee.
Well, it's now ten after three in the morning. Despite the generous caffeine boost, I'm feeling sleepy already, and I've still got a good twenty four hours before I can go to sleep.
* * * *
6:30 AM, en route to Munich Airport
Throughout this trip, I have not once boarded a plain that lacked a screaming child. Not one single plane.
* * * *
9:05 AM, runway in Munich
We've landed. Everyone in the plane hurriedly climbs out of their chairs so they can wait in a big thick line to get their bags and depart the plane. I've done this a few times over by now, so I know there's no point in getting in that line. I'm going to sit right here in this chair and play with my laptop until I have a clear route to the exit. The bus to the terminal won't leave until we're all on board anyway, so why rush?
* * * *
9:47 AM, Munich Airport
Score. I found a power outlet in an out-of-the-way sort of spot, and I actually have the necessary converter. My battery was getting low and may take a while to charge, but I've got lots of time to kill, and I've already been thoroughly disappointed by the prices at the Duty Free.
Duty Free isn't really all that cheap, liquor-wise. I did stare longingly at 20 euro liter of Jameson's before I gave in to the fact that I was trying to drink fine whiskey on a tap water budget.
My flight leaves at eleven fifty local time, which is one hour behind, so I've got almost exactly three hours to fritter away. I could poke around online, but that costs eight euro per hour and I'm just not willing to drop ten bucks to check my email.
This flight will be long, but I'm feeling rather amped at the moment. I've got enough lyra on hand to hook myself up with some caffeine, and with a fully charged laptop I can kill at least half the air time storming Kefka's tower. Toss in a couple of watchable movies and I'll be back in my native land before I know it.
It should take a little less than forty minutes to charge my laptop from here, and then perhaps I'll just wander Munich airport for a little while. This place is huge, and there's lots of window shopping to be had. I've no intention of paying airport prices when my bag is already laden with (more reasonably priced) knick knacks picked up over the past month, but with nothing better to do I may as well browse.
* * * *
10:15 AM, Munich Airport
The good news is that I managed to kill fifteen minutes cleaning the dirt out from under my fingernails. The bad news is that while setting my laptop down to do so, I knocked the power cord loose. It'll be another 30 minutes…
* * * *
10:30 AM, Munich Airport
OWWWWW!!! My leg's asleep! Pins and needles! Pins and needles!
* * * *
12:00 PM, Munich Airport, United Airlines terminal, Gate H 43
My plane departs in just under an hour. When I get to Chicago, I will have been awake for more than thirty-two consecutive hours. I will also have approximately two hours to go through customs, get my checked luggage from the O'Hare baggage claim, see it through customs, recheck it, and then get myself out of the international terminal, into the terminal my connecting flight leaves from (this may require a bus ride) and through security one more time before my plane leaves. Oh, and my boarding pass doesn't tell me what terminal or gate I want to be heading for, and none of the United Airlines staff can either, until I get to Chicago.
My last trip through this airport I only had to walk a few feet to get to my gate. They also checked my luggage all the way through to my destination. In retrospect, if I'd had these troubles on my way in, I might have some clue where I was going and who I need to talk to this time around. This ought to be fun…
* * * *
1:15 PM, On the tarmac in Chicago, waiting to take off
Jubilations! My sleep-deprived brain has apparently botched a little math. I have nearly three hours to navigate O'Hare, generously boosting my chances of success! And the good news doesn't stop there, because my seat has been upgraded again! Economy plus seat, with plenty of leg room, and an aisle seat just 19 rows from the plane's forward exit, which will help me to get off the plane and into customs all the quicker. Especially because the 18 rows in front of me are mostly the sparsely-populated First Class seats.
To make things even better, the in-flight movie selection is very promising! See, just the other day, I was commenting to Andrea that I've never seen a Marilyn Monroe movie. Wouldn't you know it, Some Like it Hot is playing on this flight! Other selections range from might-be-decent to great-but-I've-already-seen-it, so if Alice in Wonderland and Edge of Darkness don't entertain me, I can always switch to Wall-E or How to Train your Dragon halfway through.
* * * *
4:37 PM, 36,000 feet above the Atlantic
Six hours until we land Chicago
So during takeoff, it became apparent that the little screen on the chair in front of me is a filthy liar. We won't be landing with three hours to spare, I'll be landing with less than two.
I forgive the dishonest device, however, because of how very much I'm enjoying the in-flight entertainment. If you've never seen Some Like it Hot, I recommend it. I finally get what everybody saw in Marilyn Monroe. And by "everybody," I mean you, Dre.
The good news is that the entire messy procedure of going through customs, getting my checked luggage, putting it back through customs, etc etc is going to be fairly simple. It's all pretty much in one straight line. I was hoping that would be the case, because I still may have to catch a bus from the international terminal, and I don't know how long that will take.
In the meantime, the channel with Edge of Darkness keeps having sound issues and I don't feel like watching Book of Eli (because you already know how it's going to end when God is one of the principal characters) so I guess I'm going to give Alice in Wonderland a chance to impress me. From the trailers, the movie struck me as pretentious self-indulgence on the part of Tim Burton, but if worst comes to worst I can always divert to Wall-E. I like Wall-E.
Unfortunately, the headphones they gave weren't working. I asked for a second pair, but then those snapped off right in the headphone jack. I worked the plug out of the jack, but I'm not about to ask for a third pair, so I guess I'm stuck with my own ear buds. Damn things chafe my ears…
* * * *
5:11 PM, 36,000 feet above the Atlantic
Meh. The effects are nifty and the acting is good enough not to distract, but so far the flick's just been a series of set pieces that pretty much jump up and shout "Hey! Look at us! We're being surreal and obscure! How awesome is that!?"
Also, Johnny Depp's Mad Hatter seems completely indistinguishable from Johnny Depp's Captain Jack Sparrow.
* * * *
6:27 PM, 36,000 feet above the southern tip of Greenland.
HA! Thought I was gonna say "above the Atlantic" again, didn't you!? I'll bet it didn't occur to you that the plane would climb latitudinally to shorten the longitudinal distance needed to cross the ocean, did it?
We're at the northernmost apex of our flight, which means we're just barely strafing along the shores of Greenland at its southernmost tip. We'll be back out over the Atlantic in a few more minutes.
Alice actually wasn't all that bad. Hardly great, and it certainly didn't obtain all the fruits it reached for, but it's entertaining enough, if you're literally strapped to a chair and have nothing else to watch.
It'll be a half hour or so before the movies cycle back around again, at which point I may or may not watch Book of Eli. There's just a little more than four hours left in the flight, and so far it really hasn't been so bad. The stewardess was kind enough to give me a free bottle of wine, the first half of the flight passed quickly, there's still three movies on tap here that I haven't seen yet (plus two good ones I've not seen in a bit) and my laptop has plenty of juice left.
Heh. The little tike next to me is utterly fascinated with my SNES emulator.
Whelp, movies are cycling again, guess I'll give book of Eli a chance.
* * * *
7:15 PM, 36,000 feet above the Atlantic (again)
It's basically Fallout the Movie.
* * * *
7:46 PM, 36,000 feet above Northeastern Canada
Remember that bit in Boondock Saints where they kind of made it look like God might be personally keeping the main characters alive? How it was kind of left open whether they were just really really lucky or there was some actual divine intervention going on?
Book of Eli doesn't leave it open like that. Takes a lot of the suspense out of the fight scenes.
Anyway, We're almost back over US soil. At this point, I've got just a little under three hours to go on this flight. I'm still feeling pretty awake, all things considered. Chicago's my last stop before Kansas City, and the connecting flight is only a little longer than an hour. Should be a breeze, as long as I can make it through Chicago International in time to catch the plane.
* * * *
833 PM, way up high over somewhere
BOOOOO!!! It was a King James version the whole time!!!!
* * * *
10:08 PM, skies over Michigan
Did you know that 10L08 is the time of day when the most little bars are lit up on a digital clock?
I've got a less than an hour before we land. The stewardesses just served us a snack of chips and candybars. I wasn't terribly hungry, but seeing as I haven't slept in more than thirty hours and I'm about to run the hundred yard sprint through Chicago International, I figured I could use the sugar rush. I also had like my fifth cup of coffee to go with it.
My flight out of Chicago boards in two and a half hours. If I can make it that far without passing out, I'm home free…
We'll be landing in 20 minutes. Time to turn this computer off and get ready to move. Hopefully, this'll all be a lot easier than I've been making it sound.
* * * *
12:23 AM , O'Hare Airport, Domestic Terminal
Getting through customs was an ordeal. The line alone took at least half an hour. And when I get to the very end, a woman actually cut in front of me. She walked up from outside the line, not-so-surreptitiously looked around, and then just ducked under the rope.
"Did you just duck under that rope?"
"Yes I did." She looks up at me all serious, like she's daring me to say something else. So I do.
"Wiiiiiiiithout waiting in line like the rest of us?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow. At this point, she backed off a little bit. "I-I'm just trying to get back to my party." At this, I give her my biggest, friendliest smile.
"Oh, well don't let me get in your way," I insist, as I shoulder my way past her so she can get behind me and look for her friends
She waited until I was through the queue before she continued to just move with the line. I could have said something else, but hey, she didn't get to cut in front of me, so it's no skin off my back.
A couple of forms and official-sounding questions later, I retrieved my checked luggage, rechecked it (which turned out to only involve tossing it in a pile with everyone else's luggage) and went through the second customs counter and into the airport. I hopped a train to my terminal, and arrived twenty minutes before boarding was scheduled to begin. Piece of cake.
* * * *
1:07 AM, On the tarmac in O'Hare
Ha ha! I got upgraded to Economy Plus again! My last 90 minutes will be spent in style!
I've spent the last half hour proofreading this massive stream of consciousness, but given that it's been nearly forty hours since I've slept, I'm not sure how thorough I'm being.
The overhead bins are absolutely packed and I had to squeeze the bag a bit, I hope none of my shinies get damaged.
* * * *
1:38 AM, En route to Kansas City
One hour, twenty-three minutes before I land back in my old hometown. That's much shorter than the last two plane-rides I took. And yet there's still going to be an inflight movie! That's kinda cool.
This is the part of the trip where I should get all pensive and reflect on my journey thus far, but frankly I'm just too fried to be philosophical.
For all that I'm going to miss Carl, Andrea, their country and their cats, the only thing on my mind right now is climbing into bed and passing out. It's been a very long day.
The "in-flight movie," so far, has been a bunch of advertisements. Also, it appears that one of the radio stations tunes me in to the conversation between the cockpit and the tower. We're heading 250 knots, apparently. Actually, it seems to be the tower in general.
Oh, the video is going to be 30 Rock. I've never actually seen that show.
OK, that show is weird…
And they actually just made a 4th wall-breaking joke about people on an airplane being forced to watch bad CBS sitcoms. That seems pretty obscure.
* * * *
2:10 AM, in the sky
This is one of the strangest airplane rides I've ever been on. First, as the train drove around the runway, water vapor was being vented in from the celing. Then they have in-flight video on a one-hour flight. And now, they've passed around a complimentary tin of Altoids.
A complimentary tin of Altoids with a cellophane wrapping that is extremely thick, and nearly impossible to cut through.
And the mints inside are cube shaped.
And now I'm watching some kind of terribly obscure educational video on how fireworks function.
* * * *
5:06 AM, My home in Kansas City
You know what, it feels good to be home. Familiar house, familiar bed, cats that don't claw the shit out of me…
Even just riding up the drive to my house felt good.
I've showered, I've eaten (I couldn't get mom not to cook for me), and I've checked my messages. I've also pulled out some of the more fragile goodies I brought home to make sure nothing was damaged. Pretty soon, I'm going to pass out and hopefully not wake up for a long, long time.
So yeah, that's it. The End. Finito. Ben's Turkish adventure has come and gone. And what an adventure it was. I ate exotic foods, saw crazy places, did amazing things. And I lost twenty pounds!
This has been a singularly unique adventure, the kind you're lucky to have even just once in a lifetime. But really, it's only encouraged me to work hard, so I can have many more like it in the future.
If there's one note that I'd end this whole thing on, it's this: Just fucking do it. Whatever it is that you've always wanted to do but didn't do, or put off doing, because it just wasn't sensible. Don't wait until the right time. Don't tell yourself you'll do it one of these days. Just go and do it.
Because even if it leaves you penniless and destitute, man, you'll have some great stories.
-BS
Also Note: Times in this journal are given using Eastern European Summer Time (EEST), which is eight hours ahead of Central Standard Time used in the the American midwest.
Sunday, June 20th,
7:30 PM, Balcony outside Andrea's apartment.
And so ends a great adventure. I'm sitting on Dre and Carl's deck admiring the weather, while I wait for four AM to roll around so I can climb into a cab. There's a pretty big storm brewing, so the temperature's dropping and the wind is getting strong. Now the rain is starting.
The final days of my vacation have passed more or less without incident. I was hoping for a trip to the museum or perhaps the bazaar, but we're all still exhausted and I've spent too much anyway.
It's well and truly storming now, with large bolts of lightning here and there, some of them awfully close. The door only latches from the inside, so I've got a chair propped against it to keep it from banging open and shut.
I wasn't sure what to expect of Turkey when I first came over here, and a lot of it has surprised me. For example, I think somewhere along the line I started equating the concept of an Islamic country with deserts, third world technology, and rampant crime. From what I've seen so far, some things are different, but by no means is Turkey undeveloped. In fact, we could learn a thing or two from the Turks.
For example, they deliver almost anything, including beer and cigarettes. And when a deliveryman comes to your door, he can run the credit card right then and there; you don't have to give them your credit card number until AFTER they show up with the goods. I wish the chinese restaurants back home could do that!
Wow… That storm is really picking up. I'm glad we stayed in tonight!
Anyway, another thing about this country: the produce. I never truly enjoyed a tomato in my life before coming to this country, but the produce here is so fresh it's like another food altogether.
And then, some of the differences are just weird. Earlier today, for example, I had pizza. With corn. They put corn on their pizza here. Actually tastes alright.
They also have a real thing about smoking. In the US, you get little warning labels on the side of a pack of cigarettes. Here, you get warnings in big bold print that cover half the box, and sometimes a photograph of a dead baby. And on television, no channel may show a character smoking. Its kind of weird when you're watching a movie with all manner of sex and violence, but a little cigarette has to be blurred out.
* * * *
Monday, June 21st
12:30 AM, Andrea's living room
It's half past midnight now, and we just finished another Dr Who marathon and started Bored to Death. One of the characters pulled out a join, and it was covered with a rotating flower. A green one.
Ironic. Cover a green plant with a green plant.
* * * *
3:00 AM, Streets of Ankara
A little after one, we went out for a walk, primarily I could get cab fare from the ATM. We kept walking a little ways after that to get some coffee.
I haven't really explained this yet, but the Turkish are very serious about their coffee. For instance, although we found no less than three all-night coffee shops in about as many city blocks, we were under dressed for two of them.
When we did finally stop, I had my last Turkish meal. I had been meaning to order lamb all month, and here I finally had it, cut in a kabob fashion and served on top of a flat pita with tomato, onion, and rice; it was accompanied by a Lentil soup. Altogether, it was a good last meal. After we finished, I ordered some Turkish coffee. Turkish coffee is an interesting beverage. It is served in a cup the size of a shot glass, like espresso, but with a much greater caffeine content. The grounds are left in the drink, giving it an extraordinarily thick texture. As you near the bottom of the cup, that consistency grows until your drinking more grounds than liquid, so you have to get a feel for when to stop drinking or it feels like drinking sand.
Oddly enough, I really liked Turkish coffee.
Well, it's now ten after three in the morning. Despite the generous caffeine boost, I'm feeling sleepy already, and I've still got a good twenty four hours before I can go to sleep.
* * * *
6:30 AM, en route to Munich Airport
Throughout this trip, I have not once boarded a plain that lacked a screaming child. Not one single plane.
* * * *
9:05 AM, runway in Munich
We've landed. Everyone in the plane hurriedly climbs out of their chairs so they can wait in a big thick line to get their bags and depart the plane. I've done this a few times over by now, so I know there's no point in getting in that line. I'm going to sit right here in this chair and play with my laptop until I have a clear route to the exit. The bus to the terminal won't leave until we're all on board anyway, so why rush?
* * * *
9:47 AM, Munich Airport
Score. I found a power outlet in an out-of-the-way sort of spot, and I actually have the necessary converter. My battery was getting low and may take a while to charge, but I've got lots of time to kill, and I've already been thoroughly disappointed by the prices at the Duty Free.
Duty Free isn't really all that cheap, liquor-wise. I did stare longingly at 20 euro liter of Jameson's before I gave in to the fact that I was trying to drink fine whiskey on a tap water budget.
My flight leaves at eleven fifty local time, which is one hour behind, so I've got almost exactly three hours to fritter away. I could poke around online, but that costs eight euro per hour and I'm just not willing to drop ten bucks to check my email.
This flight will be long, but I'm feeling rather amped at the moment. I've got enough lyra on hand to hook myself up with some caffeine, and with a fully charged laptop I can kill at least half the air time storming Kefka's tower. Toss in a couple of watchable movies and I'll be back in my native land before I know it.
It should take a little less than forty minutes to charge my laptop from here, and then perhaps I'll just wander Munich airport for a little while. This place is huge, and there's lots of window shopping to be had. I've no intention of paying airport prices when my bag is already laden with (more reasonably priced) knick knacks picked up over the past month, but with nothing better to do I may as well browse.
* * * *
10:15 AM, Munich Airport
The good news is that I managed to kill fifteen minutes cleaning the dirt out from under my fingernails. The bad news is that while setting my laptop down to do so, I knocked the power cord loose. It'll be another 30 minutes…
* * * *
10:30 AM, Munich Airport
OWWWWW!!! My leg's asleep! Pins and needles! Pins and needles!
* * * *
12:00 PM, Munich Airport, United Airlines terminal, Gate H 43
My plane departs in just under an hour. When I get to Chicago, I will have been awake for more than thirty-two consecutive hours. I will also have approximately two hours to go through customs, get my checked luggage from the O'Hare baggage claim, see it through customs, recheck it, and then get myself out of the international terminal, into the terminal my connecting flight leaves from (this may require a bus ride) and through security one more time before my plane leaves. Oh, and my boarding pass doesn't tell me what terminal or gate I want to be heading for, and none of the United Airlines staff can either, until I get to Chicago.
My last trip through this airport I only had to walk a few feet to get to my gate. They also checked my luggage all the way through to my destination. In retrospect, if I'd had these troubles on my way in, I might have some clue where I was going and who I need to talk to this time around. This ought to be fun…
* * * *
1:15 PM, On the tarmac in Chicago, waiting to take off
Jubilations! My sleep-deprived brain has apparently botched a little math. I have nearly three hours to navigate O'Hare, generously boosting my chances of success! And the good news doesn't stop there, because my seat has been upgraded again! Economy plus seat, with plenty of leg room, and an aisle seat just 19 rows from the plane's forward exit, which will help me to get off the plane and into customs all the quicker. Especially because the 18 rows in front of me are mostly the sparsely-populated First Class seats.
To make things even better, the in-flight movie selection is very promising! See, just the other day, I was commenting to Andrea that I've never seen a Marilyn Monroe movie. Wouldn't you know it, Some Like it Hot is playing on this flight! Other selections range from might-be-decent to great-but-I've-already-seen-it, so if Alice in Wonderland and Edge of Darkness don't entertain me, I can always switch to Wall-E or How to Train your Dragon halfway through.
* * * *
4:37 PM, 36,000 feet above the Atlantic
Six hours until we land Chicago
So during takeoff, it became apparent that the little screen on the chair in front of me is a filthy liar. We won't be landing with three hours to spare, I'll be landing with less than two.
I forgive the dishonest device, however, because of how very much I'm enjoying the in-flight entertainment. If you've never seen Some Like it Hot, I recommend it. I finally get what everybody saw in Marilyn Monroe. And by "everybody," I mean you, Dre.
The good news is that the entire messy procedure of going through customs, getting my checked luggage, putting it back through customs, etc etc is going to be fairly simple. It's all pretty much in one straight line. I was hoping that would be the case, because I still may have to catch a bus from the international terminal, and I don't know how long that will take.
In the meantime, the channel with Edge of Darkness keeps having sound issues and I don't feel like watching Book of Eli (because you already know how it's going to end when God is one of the principal characters) so I guess I'm going to give Alice in Wonderland a chance to impress me. From the trailers, the movie struck me as pretentious self-indulgence on the part of Tim Burton, but if worst comes to worst I can always divert to Wall-E. I like Wall-E.
Unfortunately, the headphones they gave weren't working. I asked for a second pair, but then those snapped off right in the headphone jack. I worked the plug out of the jack, but I'm not about to ask for a third pair, so I guess I'm stuck with my own ear buds. Damn things chafe my ears…
* * * *
5:11 PM, 36,000 feet above the Atlantic
Meh. The effects are nifty and the acting is good enough not to distract, but so far the flick's just been a series of set pieces that pretty much jump up and shout "Hey! Look at us! We're being surreal and obscure! How awesome is that!?"
Also, Johnny Depp's Mad Hatter seems completely indistinguishable from Johnny Depp's Captain Jack Sparrow.
* * * *
6:27 PM, 36,000 feet above the southern tip of Greenland.
HA! Thought I was gonna say "above the Atlantic" again, didn't you!? I'll bet it didn't occur to you that the plane would climb latitudinally to shorten the longitudinal distance needed to cross the ocean, did it?
We're at the northernmost apex of our flight, which means we're just barely strafing along the shores of Greenland at its southernmost tip. We'll be back out over the Atlantic in a few more minutes.
Alice actually wasn't all that bad. Hardly great, and it certainly didn't obtain all the fruits it reached for, but it's entertaining enough, if you're literally strapped to a chair and have nothing else to watch.
It'll be a half hour or so before the movies cycle back around again, at which point I may or may not watch Book of Eli. There's just a little more than four hours left in the flight, and so far it really hasn't been so bad. The stewardess was kind enough to give me a free bottle of wine, the first half of the flight passed quickly, there's still three movies on tap here that I haven't seen yet (plus two good ones I've not seen in a bit) and my laptop has plenty of juice left.
Heh. The little tike next to me is utterly fascinated with my SNES emulator.
Whelp, movies are cycling again, guess I'll give book of Eli a chance.
* * * *
7:15 PM, 36,000 feet above the Atlantic (again)
It's basically Fallout the Movie.
* * * *
7:46 PM, 36,000 feet above Northeastern Canada
Remember that bit in Boondock Saints where they kind of made it look like God might be personally keeping the main characters alive? How it was kind of left open whether they were just really really lucky or there was some actual divine intervention going on?
Book of Eli doesn't leave it open like that. Takes a lot of the suspense out of the fight scenes.
Anyway, We're almost back over US soil. At this point, I've got just a little under three hours to go on this flight. I'm still feeling pretty awake, all things considered. Chicago's my last stop before Kansas City, and the connecting flight is only a little longer than an hour. Should be a breeze, as long as I can make it through Chicago International in time to catch the plane.
* * * *
833 PM, way up high over somewhere
BOOOOO!!! It was a King James version the whole time!!!!
* * * *
10:08 PM, skies over Michigan
Did you know that 10L08 is the time of day when the most little bars are lit up on a digital clock?
I've got a less than an hour before we land. The stewardesses just served us a snack of chips and candybars. I wasn't terribly hungry, but seeing as I haven't slept in more than thirty hours and I'm about to run the hundred yard sprint through Chicago International, I figured I could use the sugar rush. I also had like my fifth cup of coffee to go with it.
My flight out of Chicago boards in two and a half hours. If I can make it that far without passing out, I'm home free…
We'll be landing in 20 minutes. Time to turn this computer off and get ready to move. Hopefully, this'll all be a lot easier than I've been making it sound.
* * * *
12:23 AM , O'Hare Airport, Domestic Terminal
Getting through customs was an ordeal. The line alone took at least half an hour. And when I get to the very end, a woman actually cut in front of me. She walked up from outside the line, not-so-surreptitiously looked around, and then just ducked under the rope.
"Did you just duck under that rope?"
"Yes I did." She looks up at me all serious, like she's daring me to say something else. So I do.
"Wiiiiiiiithout waiting in line like the rest of us?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow. At this point, she backed off a little bit. "I-I'm just trying to get back to my party." At this, I give her my biggest, friendliest smile.
"Oh, well don't let me get in your way," I insist, as I shoulder my way past her so she can get behind me and look for her friends
She waited until I was through the queue before she continued to just move with the line. I could have said something else, but hey, she didn't get to cut in front of me, so it's no skin off my back.
A couple of forms and official-sounding questions later, I retrieved my checked luggage, rechecked it (which turned out to only involve tossing it in a pile with everyone else's luggage) and went through the second customs counter and into the airport. I hopped a train to my terminal, and arrived twenty minutes before boarding was scheduled to begin. Piece of cake.
* * * *
1:07 AM, On the tarmac in O'Hare
Ha ha! I got upgraded to Economy Plus again! My last 90 minutes will be spent in style!
I've spent the last half hour proofreading this massive stream of consciousness, but given that it's been nearly forty hours since I've slept, I'm not sure how thorough I'm being.
The overhead bins are absolutely packed and I had to squeeze the bag a bit, I hope none of my shinies get damaged.
* * * *
1:38 AM, En route to Kansas City
One hour, twenty-three minutes before I land back in my old hometown. That's much shorter than the last two plane-rides I took. And yet there's still going to be an inflight movie! That's kinda cool.
This is the part of the trip where I should get all pensive and reflect on my journey thus far, but frankly I'm just too fried to be philosophical.
For all that I'm going to miss Carl, Andrea, their country and their cats, the only thing on my mind right now is climbing into bed and passing out. It's been a very long day.
The "in-flight movie," so far, has been a bunch of advertisements. Also, it appears that one of the radio stations tunes me in to the conversation between the cockpit and the tower. We're heading 250 knots, apparently. Actually, it seems to be the tower in general.
Oh, the video is going to be 30 Rock. I've never actually seen that show.
OK, that show is weird…
And they actually just made a 4th wall-breaking joke about people on an airplane being forced to watch bad CBS sitcoms. That seems pretty obscure.
* * * *
2:10 AM, in the sky
This is one of the strangest airplane rides I've ever been on. First, as the train drove around the runway, water vapor was being vented in from the celing. Then they have in-flight video on a one-hour flight. And now, they've passed around a complimentary tin of Altoids.
A complimentary tin of Altoids with a cellophane wrapping that is extremely thick, and nearly impossible to cut through.
And the mints inside are cube shaped.
And now I'm watching some kind of terribly obscure educational video on how fireworks function.
* * * *
5:06 AM, My home in Kansas City
You know what, it feels good to be home. Familiar house, familiar bed, cats that don't claw the shit out of me…
Even just riding up the drive to my house felt good.
I've showered, I've eaten (I couldn't get mom not to cook for me), and I've checked my messages. I've also pulled out some of the more fragile goodies I brought home to make sure nothing was damaged. Pretty soon, I'm going to pass out and hopefully not wake up for a long, long time.
So yeah, that's it. The End. Finito. Ben's Turkish adventure has come and gone. And what an adventure it was. I ate exotic foods, saw crazy places, did amazing things. And I lost twenty pounds!
This has been a singularly unique adventure, the kind you're lucky to have even just once in a lifetime. But really, it's only encouraged me to work hard, so I can have many more like it in the future.
If there's one note that I'd end this whole thing on, it's this: Just fucking do it. Whatever it is that you've always wanted to do but didn't do, or put off doing, because it just wasn't sensible. Don't wait until the right time. Don't tell yourself you'll do it one of these days. Just go and do it.
Because even if it leaves you penniless and destitute, man, you'll have some great stories.
-BS
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