Traveling

Stuck traveling today so no time for a real post.

I'll be back tomorrow.


BL

When in Rome

Have I ever mentioned to you that my life is an absolute living hell for 364 days out of the year? Fifty one weeks and six days of pure unadulterated torture accompanied by a cold side dish of ball twisting misery. This is the double life that I lead. Sure, I can function and coexist amongst you “normal” people, but inside boils a craving that which only the most arduous of men can tolerate. Not until today did I realize that this desire shall no longer be contained, that my passion yearns to breathe! But a mere breath would do this no justice and so I must shout at the top of my lungs ….


I love Sweetest Day!


What, never heard of it? Yeah, me either …


Until this morning when expert sources (a crappy local morning radio program) informed me of this not-really-nationally recognized holiday. A faux Valentines Day if you will; which just so happens to annually fall on the third Saturday of October. Primarily celebrated in our beloved Great Lakes region, Sweetest Day has captured the hearts and souls of many a romantically bankrupt Midwesterner. They apparently need two made up holidays each year to guilt themselves into buying affectionate gifts for their significant other(s).

Time to go buy myself some books... when in Rome.


Enjoy the odd holiday folks!

An Inconvenient Airport

Remember when flying was considered a fun and luxurious activity? Retired couples would sport ugly flowered shirts while carrying bullet-proof bright red suitcases with metal latches. Seemingly all flights landed safely at destination Good Times, or at least that is what all those old movies would have me believe … I was impressionable.

Fast forward fifteen years and the thought of the airport makes me borderline nauseous. Surprisingly, this has nothing to do with the actual flight. I have come to the conclusion that my hatred stems from the fact that the airport is conveniently inconvenient. From attempting to read color coded departure signs while driving in circles to the weird guy sitting next to me wearing a striped religious cape and praying at the window. He will undoubtedly be on my flight, but let’s pick this up from the beginning.

So after driving in circles to find long term parking (stay to the left), the inconvenience begins with a myriad of parking garages intended to throw off your sense of direction. First of all, do not even think of parking on levels 1-4, they are decoys and always full. Than like a cargo ship traveling through the Panama Canal, you will be forced to enter a series of locks, gates, and rising levels to eventually reach your port of destination. Suitably, this spot will be designated “compact-only” and conveniently wedged between two old and shitty dented civics. Of course, you will always have a nicer car than the two that now flank you. By the way, you are probably late so get moving.

Now strap your luggage to your body in odd bulky configurations as if you are headed hiking in the mountains. In many respects these two activities are quite similar. In both, you typically have no idea where you are going and will just follow the person in front of you. So follow your fellow travel comrade into the elevator and over bridge. With any luck you will end up on the ticketing level (not the rental car level) only to be confronted with crowded lines and endless moronic individuals still arguing about a flight they missed an hour ago.

But there is still hope, and like the green light of West Egg, a beacon good fortune shines in the distance. An express check-in counter! A glorious invention, which in my opinion, is worth every job that it has replaced. This will be your only exemption to inconvenience at the airport. A few finger taps and a bag check later and you will be on your way to the government sanctioned personal privacy raping! This process can be thoroughly annoying especially when traveling with electronics (or anything besides a wallet), but I understand and respect its necessity. In an act of childish rebellion I will leave my belt on… only to beep half the time.

Did you make it through beep free? If so, pull up your pants, grab your gear and head on down to the carnival! Hope you like McDonalds, Dunkin’ Donuts, and Pizza Hut because that is all you are going to get. Don’t love Dean Koontz or John Grisham? Hey loser, go grab a magazine you will leave on the plane! If you have more time and feel parched, saddle up next to the creepy guy at the bar (never mind that is 11am). Or just do what I do and grab a cup of coffee, plug in your laptop and wait two hours for your boarding call.

Did I forget to mention that I just stepped over a sleeping family in the aisle to plug in my laptop?

Magic Bubbles

story by Ozone

There is an ancient Norse proverb, “unde yunta gnuta voohdes,” which loosely translated means: Crazy things will always happen at the laundromat.

This is an almost universal truth; proven time and again each time I have been forced to launder my clothes in public. Most recently, I have taken to performing this act at an establishment called “Magic Bubbles” on 436 in Casselberry, Florida. It is slightly more expensive than the laundry room at my complex ($2 a load compared to $1.25) but the machines are industrial strength, hastening the process considerably. Also, the name sounds like a cross between a massage parlor and a hot tub. (Note to B-Lehn: we should probably get started on marketing that idea)

My first visit to Magic Bubbles was a great experience, flawless in fact. I was in and out quickly and the sheer size of some of the machines was staggering. Seventy-five pounds of dirty clothes in one machine?! More astoundingly, I saw people actually using this landmark of laundry ingenuity. I was also able to get a great deal of reading done in the process, so all in all I considered it a great success.

Today, however, this tide of good fortune abruptly reversed. First, I was about 5 minutes too late take advantage of the daily half-price special running from 6 to 3. (Before I forget, has there ever been a fucking futon that didn’t slide off of the frame in “couch mode?” Every time I sit on this S.O.B. the whole thing starts to slide off like the meat in the last bite of a hamburger.) I dealt with it though. I mean a buck is just a buck, after all.

Then an odd situation played out in front of me. Two guys and a girl that looked like they had come from South Carolina and looked like they had drank every Busch Light they could find on the way were walking about the place with a small posse of African American kids in their wake. I look up from the new Bob Woodward (review coming) and realize that the kids are getting autographs from this trio. Not only that, but the Busch connoisseurs are signing MOTORCYCLE RACING 8X10 glossy photos.

It was instantly apparent that these kids were not big-time MOTORCYCLE RACING fans that just happened to be carrying their 8X10 glossies to Magic Bubbles on the off chance that their favorite MOTORCYCLE RACER shows up. I didn’t know which was worse: these black kids feigning excitement over these hillbillies, or Jethro & Co. pawning off their bullshit glossy photos on the kids. Quickly, I decided they were both equally to blame. That is, until I saw what the main MOTORCYCLE RACER had signed on the photos: “Ride Hard. Ride Safe.”

I can’t decide if this is good advice or not. Without question this man is a douche bag, but does his message hold some merit, especially for these young, impressionable black kids? I leave you all to ponder…

This will be our year

I became 26 years old today.

Physically, I see no difference in the mirror from one day to the next. Still skinny and pale with disheveled brown hair. Mentally, I feel hardened and battle ready. I am the second tour solider who stops to pick the lone field flower. I am the calm before the storm.

This is a good feeling…

Finally I am ready for life. Unfortunately, it took me 26 years to get to this point, but alas I made it and no longer fear change. I welcome success and failure while embracing the growing pains that come along with each. I look to push myself further and never fall back into the self-made mediocre rut that I existed in. Granted, it took A to get to point B, but I should have told A to fuck off a long time ago. I feel like my old self again.

This week has the potential to be one of the best ever. My entire life could be turned upside down and headed in a completely different direction. I am excited that I made that choice, success or failure. There is no disappointment, only a commitment to change.

(my writing feels ridiculously rusty)

In any case, thanks to everyone who wished me a happy birthday. I really do appreciate all the gifts and well wishes, today was great.

Also, special thanks to my good friend Ryan, who took the time design this nice layout for me. I can think of no better way to repay him than to actually keep this site updated. I promise I will do my best to not give up on this one.


BL