You're Leaving on a Jet Plane...She's Not.

Continuing with thinking about the trip, there are a lot of good bits to remember.

I found myself running through the best stories from the trip with a friend on the phone last night - most of them involved airport travel or Americans abroad - and other than running into my old undergrad adviser unexpectedly - the best story happened on the flight back, as I was making a plane change in Shannon, Ireland.

In front of me, stood two American recent college grads - a boy and a girl - and they were chatting each other up in the way that American college kids do (you know, with the assumption on at least one of their parts that if the conversation goes well it equates to them likely hooking up later). And so I hear them swapping travel stories, trying to one-up each other with where they've been or how much they've spent or how long they've stayed. And then flight begins to board.

They call for the first round of regular boarding, and the two kids begin to head towards the ramp, with the girl remarking she's not in this boarding group (evidently the conversation is going well). Neither is particularly bothered by this, no doubt assured by their recent college graduate status and certain sense of entitlement that might come from age or from being American or from having been through so many airports. The boarding guard, an Irish gentleman in his middle years, balding, takes the boy's ticket. Then the girl's. Then he hands it back.

"It's not your time to board."

The boy, feeling his victory close at hand, goes for the kill, no doubt wanting to show both his entitlement and the level of cool control, "Oh, it's okay. She's with me."

The boarding guard looks him over for just a second, sizes up the situation, and says with just enough sense of sarcasm and finality that every young male in the room would've winced and cupped themselves, "Not any more she's not. Get aboard, please."

And with that, head hung in defeat, our young protagonist was left to head alone down the jetway, his dreams of summer fling put coolly to bed. And I must say, seeing it, and hearing the Irish accent and the sarcasm saying it, made the many walks through security well worth the trip.

Reading While Traveling

I read a bit while I was abroad, and thought I'd mention here, by way of catching up a bit, what I ran into and what I enjoyed. So here's the list:

• One Day - David Nicholls
• Let the Great World Spin - Colum McCann
• Juliet, Naked - Nick Hornby
• Cultural Consumption and Everyday Life - John Storey

Of them, I'd recommend the first three, with strongest marks going to Let the Great World Spin (I'm sure, not surprisingly), though One Day reminded me a bit of what would happen if you mixed the drama of The Time Traveler's Wife with a Nick Hornby book, and the Nick Hornby book saw him finally returning to the other thing that made High Fidelity such a great book (not the angst of a male lead his both something of a fuck up and a success, though that's there, too): music as a center piece.

As for Storey, it's intended as a history of the idea of cultural consumption, but the history itself feels a bit light. Entire areas are set up as straw men, based on one or two citations, and dismissed in a couple of paragraphs. It made for interesting "in the shade at a conference" reading, but overall, it was a bit disappointing, I thought.

I should probably also note that I'm about 120 pages into A.S. Byatt's The Children's Book. I like it, though I do think sometimes an editor could stand to weigh in a little more.

On Being Abroad

"It struck me that distant cities were designed precisely so you can know where you came from."
- C. McCann, Let the Great World Spin

Overheard at the Museum

Don't worry - I'm not going to do nothing but strange, semi-sarcastic guides. I've got other tricks of banal humor to use while on vacation.

For example, today at a museum, I overheard an exchange between a man and a woman (both American, judging by their accents) while looking at an Andy Warhol. It went like this:

He: So this is Warhol, huh?
She: Yes! Awesome isn't it?
He: Uh, I guess. I don't get it - what's with all copying of labels and stuff?
She: It's a statement.
He: Of what?
She: Just let me take your picture by the stupid thing.

Already hurt by this irony of the exchange, it was then that I saw - as he turned to have his picture taken by it - he was wearing a Superman "S" t-shirt.

Guide for Americans Abroad on the Day of a World Cup Victory

1. Recognize that there are some things bigger and more popular than anything your country produces.
2. Decide whether this makes you want to get on the bandwagon and/or expand your horizons or whether you want to try uncharacteristic anti-establishment thinking and/or passively grumbling that you don't get it.
3. Take comfort in the fact that people from your own country aren't the only ones who lose any sense of public shame or consideration when their team wins. But only a little comfort. And cold.
4. If forced into conversation, to minimize lack of knowledge (due to being at conference, lack of interest, etc.) simply mumble "Some refs, eh?".
   
5. Wear earphones - the honking, cheering, and singing might go well into the night.
6. Day after, claim blisters that are making you hobble developed somehow while you were running victory laps long into the night. Don't admit they were from getting lost and finding yourself in the meatpacking district.
7. Buy a drink or accept a drink when offered. It's the right thing to do.
   

Guide to Travelers with Cameras

1. Be prepared to wait for the shot. It will be worth it.
2. Remember what it feels like to wait for the next kiss after the first one. That's what shooting with film is like.
   
3. If there is a fee to climb on top of something, it is almost always worth it.
4. Bring band-aids to aid with the blisters.
5. Expect a ratio of one good photo per roll. This is a better ratio than you will manage in almost any other aspect of your life, so don't bitch about it.
   

Like All the Great Airplane Disaster Movies

Somewhere just before we over the truly deep open water, the five year old across the aisle from me began to experience the joys of a tender stomach. Funny how well the sound of a five year old retching fills an airplane at 11:12 at night. He probably had the fish.

It was then that I realized I'd left my journal at home.

The trip was not going particularly well so far. On the way to the airport, someone wasn't thinking about how public transport tends to lurch and, so, grabbed the pull handle on my luggage to steady themselves. They broke it. There's not really an easy way to address this on the way to an airport: you can start to have the argument, but everyone knows you're on a deadline. And worse, they can always jump off with a shrug and a sorry at the next stop. What're you going to do? Miss your transatlantic flight?

Because of the drama at home, I was already operating from behind. I have two conferences to hit, and two presentations to give, plus a panel to moderate, and I've got very little done on most of that (okay, I've got a PowerPoint mostly put together for one of them).

Still, I'm here now, and it's much cooler than being back in my apartment, plus my family can't reach me except by e-mail (which I'll only have sporadically) for the better part of two weeks. It is, as they say, sweet bliss. Except of course for having forgotten my journal, being unable to actually pull my giant piece of luggage through one of the largest airports in the world, and having to listen to four hours of a five year old hollowing himself out into a bag at 37,000 feet.

In Order of Importance...

Today, I received an e-mail from an incoming student, asking what they can do to prepare for my Fall term class. Earnest, hard-working, painful. Is it two days before the term starts? Oh, how I laughed and laughed.

Roughly speaking, here is some of what's on my mind, in order of importance, and where my Fall term class ranks.

1. New socks which promise no blisters for my European jaunt starting next week
2. European jaunt next week
3. Presentations for conferences in Europe that need to be ready by next week
4. Papers to be turned into presentation for European conferences that need to be ready by next week
5. Why key lime flavored yogurt is so awesome
6. The answer to 5 probably only makes the yogurt unhealthy
7. How long I can continue to go without registering my car in the state I moved to last July
8. Why "How I Met Your Mother" seems to be on every night on CBS?
9. puppies
10. what to do on the 4th of July
.
.
.
12,492. Fall term course that needs to be prepared

You'd be surprised just how far down the list my Spring term course falls. Aside from trying to explain what an article review should do, this may be the toughest e-mail to answer ever.

Johnny Guitar and other tales?

So it is Spring Break at last, and while I could be worrying about the reaming I'm currently getting as part of my 120,000 mile checkup, I'd rather focus on the positive. Making it halfway through the term certainly isn't a bad thing, though how we got here, I'll never know.

First up - and pictured to the right - is the treat I bought myself to make the new year seem a little brighter. I've always wanted to play an instrument. These days piano is just as intriguing, but it is completely unrealistic on a single person's budget (not to mention space questions), so guitar it is. I've taken guitar lessons before, though ages ago and not for very long. We'll see whether any of it comes back or not.

The other big news is that funding for the first of the summer conferences abroad has come through, so I'll manage some travel this summer even if car repairs keep me from doing anything fun between now and then. This trip will be sending me to England, and I think I'll be able to linger in London for a few extra days, so if you've spots to lobby for me to visit or any great recommendations, let me know.

Like a Classroom with Wings

On one of the legs of my flight out here, a flight attendant laid down a spontaneous quiz on the passengers and then gave them a lecture because no one paid attention during the pre-flight safety features briefing.

"How many exits does this plane have?" he asked.

Silence.

"You know, this could save your lives, right?" he said.

Silence.

"How many exits?" he demanded.

And eventually there were a few sputters, including my own (there were four exits, by the way - two at the front, two over the wings, not counting the escape hatch at the top of the cockpit). I had to admire his determination, particularly as it required him to walk a tougher line than I would want to: I mean, do you really want to suggest to people on a plane just how dangerous things can get? I could see he was struggling to say something like "You know, there have been two big plane crashes in recent weeks." or "We're going to fly over water."

I, of course, have a love/hate thing with authority. I like it when I have it; I rebel when anyone else does. So I appreciated the attempt, because I think airports are one of the places you can see just how far from rational, organized, capable of following simple instructions our society has gone. I listened, for example, to someone attempt to enforce order in the boarding process. And really, the boarding process is a great study in our obsession with the idea of "first" even if there is no real benefit.

Think about it. Being first on the plane just means you have to move constantly to let people into your aisle. It means you spend awhile longer sitting in an uncomfortable seat. It doesn't get you better seating. It doesn't get you a free drink/pillow/whatever the airline is charging for these days. But we all feel the need to cram in.

Having traveled a very little bit in other countries, my desire for order and rules is sometimes rewarded. Boarding a plane in Munich, I watched a tall, blond German flight attendant scold an over-eager passenger to the back of the boarding line after their failure to obey instructions about boarding. I don't think I"m overstating when I tell you that moment and the look on the scolded passengers face made me feel positively post-coital. Air travel rarely offers anything close to that. At least for me.

So I felt for that attendant on my flight out. It was a bit like my classes this term, where students are lost to all manner of things. I'm considering putting a restriction on all technology that comes after pen and paper because of just how bad it's gotten. And my classes can't possibly be the worst, since I've already got a fairly rigorous set of policies in my syllabi.

Of course, I bet it would work better if I could share that sense of falling from the sky that a lecture gone bad sometimes gives with my students.

Untitled

I don't sleep well in hotels. I never have. I find myself listening for sounds outside the window, noises in the hallway. The beds don't feel like my own. The rooms feel both antiseptic and the linens always feel dirty.

---

At the end of the dream last night, I was sitting on the lawn outside an ivy covered classroom building. I'd just taken a walk that drifted from one campus I'd seen to another. On a bench nearby and the lawn around me were various friends and colleagues. We were talking about life before we were all due at our podiums to shape young minds. Enjoying the sunshine, I'd reached a conclusion: I was going to go back to school. I missed it.

In the sky, we could see a jet flying low. It was a big one, and a friend said "Isn't it amazing?" Another jet entered the picture, flew too close to the first. We laughed, joking about giving the drivers here pilot licenses. The first jet began to spin. It would be cartoonish in the waking world. But this was someplace else and so it spun, and we knew.

We ran. But even in your dreams, you sometimes can't run that fast.

I didn't see it when it hit. What I saw was bright light. One of my friends turned dark, grizzled, dissolved. I felt something tear into me. Burning. Then I, too, dissolved. But slowly.

And only when I was almost entirely atoms and fire and pain did I wake.

----

The day has been quiet. I'm pondering a nap again, after hours of glad-handing and self-promotion. You never know when it is going to be useful.

It is warm outside, and I'd like to go for a walk, but the hotel isn't convenient for that. My lips are chapped - maybe from the dryer weather, maybe a holdover from my day-to-day in colder climates. I look bad in my suit, though not so bad. I'm feeling at odds though not with the trip itself, which has been good.

I don't know.

Your Questions Answered, Part I

Things are busy here in Curmudgeon laboratories., what with the turkeys and the monkeys and all. So thank you to those of you who've given me some polite prompting with questions. I'll start with Kermitthefrog's question:

Where's the most exciting/satisfying/bewildering place you've traveled (choose one or all, and elaborate as desired)?

This is a tough question because I can only think of one trip I've ever taken that wasn't worth the trip (and if I could cope a bit more happily with the lesson from that one, it'd be good, too, in that "pain builds character" way). It's compounded by the fact that I love traveling the way only someone who feels they were unfairly denied travel can.

I grew up a military kid, around military kids, only we never got sent anywhere to speak of. There were kids who talked about snowball fights in Germany, about playing Spiderman on the bus in England, and all sorts of things. One of my siblings was born overseas. But not me, no no! And I was a geek as a kid (this should not be surprising) so I read about Greece and London and the Pyramids and all sorts of places, and it seemed the cruelest irony that I had friends who had been there and hated it, but I never got to go. The grass is always greener.

With that said, you'll understand (even as I'm about to pick one place) why I can't really pick one place. Paris was great, Spain was awesome, New York City was fun, Chicago was cold and bluesy. But just one? This feels like a Calvino "Invisible Cities" moment, and I love that and apologize for it.



Alright, Kermie, here it is: back when I was an undergraduate, I did roadtrips fairly regularly (and rarely to exciting places). But one Spring Break I went to stay with a friend in Monterrey, Mexico. This is not to be confused with any of those Spring Break beach trips. Monterrey is in the mountains in the center of the country. The weather was perfect, and my little Spanish wasn't up to the task. But the days there were the perfect mix of everything. I walked around a foreign place with my camera. I saw museums and visited a university. And at night, the mountains looked like they were lit by candles, so you could just mark their edges when the night was blackest. The city wasn't as bright as the places I grew up, so from my friend's balcony, you could look up and see the stars. For that week, we sat out on the stars and talked about books and computers and drank Mexican beer long into the morning. I didn't speak the language, and it proved (even having grown up in the Southwest) that I didn't know as much about the culture as possible, and it was strange and amazing and exactly what I wanted travel to be.

Monterrey set the rule for travel for me from then on. Pack as light as possible, carry the camera and the film, and walk around. If you don't speak it, try anyway and laugh - most people will forgive that. Monterrey was Paris. It was New York. It was the place I go back to anytime I travel, even though the new places are themselves. You can't compare the two - Paris was amazing and spectacular and mystifying and beautiful. And I got the pleasure of falling out of love there which is one of the only two ways to be in Paris. But who I am when I travel - how I see the places I am - that's all Monterrey.