Slow Death

I was in the worst kind of fix the other night, That is to say that it felt like it at the time, but it was the sort of thing where perspective was hard to come by. This is what happened. I'd gotten the opportunity to be a guest writer on Top Story Weekly, of which I've written in the past. This was the second time for me, and it was even more special this time that I got to do it. The way it works is that you go to a pitch session to present your ideas. After some feedback, you develop some into sketches, some of which are picked to actually do after a read through. So this thing happened while I was headed to the pitch session.

Everything was fine as I left the house. I had my needed writing materials, the most precious of which were the ideas I had to present. I had left in enough time to get there- just enough time. The bus itinerary I'd worked out would get me there a few minutes before I needed to be there. Things started going awry quickly, though. The first bus was a bit late. It finally showed up just in time to still get me to the second bus in time. At least if it had not become even more late it would have been in time.

A Trip That Might Be

China, I gather, is an interesting place. I've known people who visited, and at least one who lives there presently. That much I would not do, but a visit would be very stimulating, I'm sure. The sooner I could manage it, the better, partly because I suspect I will get something different out of it while I remain young and vigorous, but also partly because China is a place which curiously seems to value the past and also readily obliterate it in the name of some kind of progress.

The big cities (of which there are many) would be interesting to see. It would even be interesting to be there on a bad pollution day. They say it is sometimes so bad that you can't see the buildings across the street. That would be a hell of a thing to witness. There are also undoubtedly good aspects of the cities, and I'd be open to those. I can't say what those would be just now, but if I ever go I'll be sure to issue a full report.

Falling Short Of Standards

I found something curious about Jamaica on the bus ride to the resort from the airport, and admittedly I may be inferring an awful lot from not much evidence, but there it is. Now, the bus took nearly two hours to get us to our destination, and so there was a lot of time to observe things, but there was one thing that I noticed at a rest stop about halfway there. I had to use the rest room, and so I went ahead in there. What I found was dismaying.

The urinal was exceptionally high off the ground. I'm not an incredibly tall man. I fall slightly under the average, I suspect. That is to say that I am slightly short for an American. I have to guess, based on the evidence presented to me throughout my trip to Jamaica, that I am even more short by comparison with Jamaica men. The ones I saw were often tall verging on very tall, although there were those that were not all that tall.

Out Of Country

The night before last, I got back from my trip to Jamaica. I correctly judged that I would not be up to the task of writing anything that same night, so I had something ready to go tomorrow. Today I will at least begin the task of describing how it all went, although whether there's any real appeal in hearing about it is debatable. Who doesn't like talking about their own vacation? Who doesn't hate it when someone else does?

I did little to prepare for the trip until late in the game. On the big day, I still had to buy a lot of things, and found myself frantically traipsing around the neighborhood, inefficiently making multiple trips to the print show, the library and the area where both the drugstore and the grocery store may be found. Between the print shop and the library, there were four separate trips just to print out things, which suggests that I really ought to buy new printer cartridges.

Stay Where I Am

I am still in Jamaica, and I can only assume (writing this in advance) that I am having a great time. Maybe the things I have anticipated have come to pass, maybe they haven't, and maybe there are things I never imagined that happened instead. There's one thing that I'm sure of happening though, and that's that I will surely have had difficulty in leaving behind all of my life in Los Angeles. That's just how I am.

Writing all of these posts before I left made it so I had that much less to take my mind about from where I am on this trip, of course. I regret that I will probably not forget all my cares and worries so easily, though. There have been domestic concerns that I fear will invade my thoughts, although that is a fear which may melt away when I am no longer physically in my realm of domesticity. Really, Jamaica's charms must surely be strong enough to overcome even my worrying.

A Side Trip

Yesterday I wrote a little about what I know about Jamaica. It wasn't much. To be honest, much of what I do know is drawn from Ian Fleming's novels about James Bond. At least one of them (The Man With The Golden Gun) is partly set there. As the novels reflect Britain's attitude in the 1950s and 60s, I don't expect I can make much use of that on my trip. That would be a sure way of getting myself into trouble.

Fleming was not especially a politically correct man, whatever his other qualities may have been. Maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt and apply that description to Bond instead, but the fact remains that the books contain some troubling stuff about women, and more pertinently, about race. Even as a boy I found myself uneasy whenever Fleming would get to describing people from the exotic places Bond visited. He would have Bond speculating about the person's racial makeup, and it never sounds good.

On Jamaica

When I was advised of the plan to have my sister's wedding in Jamaica, I thought not just of what fun it would be or of what difficulties it would entail, but of what knowledge I had of Jamaica. I must confess that it was not much, but I will give my report with caveats on what I am unsure of. To begin with, I know that it's an island in the Caribbean. I feel as if already I'm in fairly good shape on my Jamaica knowledge by comparison with some.

I also know that Jamaica was ruled by England for sometime. Further research revealed that it also was ruled by Spain, which I ought to have guessed. All of that being the case, the Jamaican people could understandably bear some ill will against some outsiders. Jamaica also being a hotbed of tourism, it may also be that Jamaicans are not wild about Americans and visitors of any other nationality. I know that I don't much like my brushes with tourists in LA.

First Time Out

This trip to Jamaica revived memories of my trip to Puerto Peñasco some years ago. I was then either nearly done with high school or just beginning junior college. In any case I was 18, which I found was enough for me to be able to drink. I didn't do a tremendous amount of that, since I was with my family. I do think I had a little at some bar, which I seem to recall being owned or managed by an American. There was a lot of that there.

In mentioning that trip as my only one out of the country, I'm always quick to make mention of the fact that they had my hometown newspaper available for sail just as early in the morning as it seemed to be available back home. I gave that as evidence that it wasn't truly a trip out of the country in any meaningful sense. I didn't actually buy a copy, but in retrospect a Mexican Arizona Republic would be a novel keepsake.

A Trip And A First

As I write this, I am also frantically getting ready for my trip to Jamaica. My dear sister is getting married, and has selected a very ambitious location for the ceremony. That being the case, there is somewhat more to deal with than there has been for any previous trip I have been on in my lifetime. I have been out of the country, but only barely. I never have felt as if Puerto Peñasco in Mexico counted really.

It was, of course, necessary to dig out my passport. I had gotten it years ago when I read an article about how few Americans possessed one. I was determined to be in the elite category of the haves instead of the have nots, and though I had no plans for travel that required it, I set myself to the task of obtaining it with great urgency. I was so delighted on receiving it that I took it everywhere just to have it to look at. Since then, its only use has been to serve as an ID for more mundane purposes.

This Close

A few days ago I was all stimulated by my first Greyhound bus ride in a little while, and jotted down a number of incidents from it that seemed worth writing about. I think I got to one of them before others ideas took precedence, but the ride back to LA from Phoenix gave me at least one idea (and there are no ideas crowding it out right now). It connects to something unfortunate that had happened on the preceding trip.

When the "meal stop" had come in the town of Blythe, California, I assumed we'd be stopping where the buses always had, where there were several options to eat. It doesn't stop there anymore, but rather someone a bit distant from many decent eating options. There's the gas station where they stop, and then there's a Burger King across the street and down a block or so. It's always crowded, and the stop is only for 25 minutes, so I passed.

Delay

Yesterday, as I said I would, I took a Greyhound bus from LA to see my family back home in Phoenix. Plenty happened over the course of the day, and I may or may not cover more of it than this. To begin with, I got going a little before six in the morning. I actually had been up for nearly four hours, having been unable to go back to sleep after waking up. I had maybe two or three hours sleep. It was an inauspicious beginning.

Still, I was doing well. I showered, finished getting my things together and ate some breakfast. Unfortunately, things did not stay entirely good. Shortly after getting on the subway, I hit a snag. Once we got to the second stop, they advised us that police activity on the track ahead was going to hold us in position for ten minutes. This might not sound like much, but it had the effect of keeping me from making the connecting bus.

Return To The Bus

As I write this, I am around fourteen hours from getting on a Greyhound bus to visit my family. By the time you read this, I will be better than halfway there. This is something I have done before, and enough times that I know fairly well what I am in for. There are apt to be surprises, since it's been a couple years, but I doubt things have changed so much that what I write here becomes entirely invalid. If so, I'll say.

By the time I'm on the bus itself, there's a fair chance that the trouble will be over. One thing Greyhound is not overburdened by is customer service. If things are going fine for you, you probably won't notice, but if you run into trouble, you may rest assured that you are on your own. If a ticket machine is broken (which assumes that there is one there), it's doubtful that you'll be warned or helped. If your reservation is missing or they overbook a bus (which happens), you are probably not going to get relief.

Across Town, Up & Down

I recently found myself in a dire moment. I was on one end of the LA metro area- the west side, to be specific- and I needed to get rather far in the other direction- to Burbank, in fact. I did not on this occasion have the benefit of a car. I hoped that I could manage on public transportation, but the three plus hours it would have required was simply not feasible. I would have to find a more creative means of getting to my destination.

I knew I would probably have to resort to a hired car. Although I've had positive results a few times with cabs, they are rather expensive, as you doubtless already know. It was my hope to mitigate the cost. I'd heard a lot about this Lyft thing. Basically regular people offer up their cars to those who need them, and all that is asked is a donation. Generally the expense amounts to two thirds of what a cab would cost. The cabs are naturally fighting this, and I can see their side.

Gettin' Up Early? Yup, and I'm Surly!

I don't happen to love getting up early. I know that puts me in the majority, and I don't think it's smart to whine about things that everybody hates like that, but there it is. I do it when I have to, as I did yesterday. I had to be at a Toastmasters contest by 6:30 in the morning, and I found that I would have to leave home before 5 in order to manage that. As is often the case when there's pressure to be up by a certain hour, I slept poorly.

I would guess that I got five or so hours of fitful sleep between the hours of 10 in the evening and 4:20 in the morning. I had meant to get up at 4, but somehow or another I overslept a bit. Worriedly, I looked to see whether that put me in big trouble, but was relieved to find that it didn't. I was glad that I'd had the foresight for once to get my clothes and things ready the night before. Every now and then, I show a little aptitude for organization.

Trapped Into A Trap

There was a pit stop on the way to Las Vegas over the weekend. There was no need for gas, but I suppose it's forgivable to halt the march so long as someone needs the bathroom. I didn't myself. I could have stood to adjust my contact lens, but I'm not about to do that at some roadside bathroom. In any case, we stopped at some highway trap that perhaps doesn't quite ascend to the standard of infamous, but is more or less in the same vein.

As it is in Nevada, it of course has to be heavily steeped in a scattershot of space alien and redneck iconography. I was more receptive to such things when I was perhaps ten or twelve, but can do without a little grey alien in a cowboy outfit these days. There was also some manner of alien car parked out front and festooned in warnings not to touch the thing. I would not have, but wanted to very badly simply as an act of subversion.

As A Man

Yesterday I was generous enough to grace this blog with two posts instead of merely one. Of course, that was an oversight, and we are all prone to those. I trust you will overlook it, as it came from my being occupied by a trip to Las Vegas. You'll recall that I wrote of anticipated experiences there. Having returned, I can say what happened and what didn't. It was a good time altogether, but by no means perfect.

The drive out saw me pretty tired, having slept relatively little before getting up very early. I had the idea that I might sleep along the way, but it didn't work out that way. I managed to muster the energy for the day, aided in no small part by the friend with whom I rode. It was a pleasure to catch up with those who I don't see nearly enough. A trip to someplace like Las Vegas may have the effect of numerous outings with someone in town.

A Return

As you read this, I am in Las Vegas. As I am writing it, I can only anticipate what the trip, for leisure purposes, will be like. If I remember correctly, I have not been there since I was fairly young. I think I might have been a young teenager or even less at the time, and I obviously did not partake of too many experiences unique to the city. This was at a time when there was a developing effort to create family-friendly options, for whatever reason.

I don't quite recall much of what I did. I remember unwittingly commandeering a cabana by the pool in the place where we were staying. As my sister and I watched cartoons, an employee of the establishment came to shoo us away, and we learned that one had to pay for the privilege. I think it may have been the Hard Rock Hotel. I also recall at some points  staying at Excalibur and Circus Circus. We never stayed at the Luxor, where I wanted to be.

Look Of A Man

I have come home to Arizona for Thanksgiving, and what is a person's first experience on a trip anyplace but its airport? I've always liked Sky Harbor in Phoenix, outside of the time when I had to get home from it via public transportation. Any airport is a fine opportunity for people watching, partly because there are such multitudes there and partly because they are invariably pushed to extreme levels of distress, which is inherently dramatic.

Waiting to be picked up out front, I observed at length a very interesting minor drama whose players were several drivers kept from pulling away from the curb by each other. Everybody ought to see the interest in such a spectacle, but I know not everybody does. I've described such things in the past as compellingly as it is in my power to, so there's no need to go into it any further than I already have. Luckily, there were other things worth mentioning.

Why Drive?

I suppose that it is very hard to fly a plane. I don't know that being a pilot is one of the very highest-paying jobs out there, but as far as jobs controlling a vehicle are concerned, it must be the best or close to it. There must be a lot to know, because it seems as if your average person is fit enough to get it done. I know that it takes a while just to learn the controls, because you don't get to the point of even being in a plane until well into the learning process.

It must be the tremendous amount of importance placed on training that makes flying statistically safer than driving. I think that being a pilot has to be a lot harder than driving. Then again, driving is not so easy. The statistics that make it out to be so dangerous would be not as bad if only the most qualified were allowed to do it. Of course, I suppose they only mean to allow qualified drivers, but it doesn't work out that way, does it?

Check Me Out

There is certainly an excitement to a hotel room, to begin with at least. You have a whole new home for at least a night, and there is a learning process. You must figure out where things are and how things work. I enjoy that part of moving, and so that's the main thing that I like about staying in a hotel. That is most of what I like though, outside of the obvious appeal of having a place that is very clean, or at least seems to be by comparison with my home.

I don't much like other elements of a hotel stay. Most of a day's routine is about making do under the circumstances. You just can't have all the things that you have at home, such as your own bathroom appliances. There are the little tiny soaps, shampoos and hair dryers, and it all feels like you are driving on four spare tires in a sense. How long could you live with a coffee machine designed to make two cups at a time?