Skip to main content

Appalachian trail leaving day

I'm up until 2:30 a.m. doing God knows what. Seconds after my head hits the pillow my alarm blares and I shake myself awake. My brain is pudding.

Dad is already downstairs. Mom has made coffee. She's left a note directing me to some leftover sandwiches and cookies. This, along with a bag of chow mein noodles, I throw into a plastic bag to serve as my carry-on.

It's pouring rain. The roads to the airport are surprisingly busy.

"When did you get up?" I ask dad.
"Around three," he says. "I woke up and I couldn't fall asleep again. I had that song uptown funk stuck in my head. It kept repeating over and over again."
"I can see you lying awake, your analytical mind stuck in the hopeless task of analysing that song."
"What does it mean to funk you up?"
"Sounds dangerous."
"I guess it's a good thing, get funky, to make you funky?"
"But it happens against your will."
"What's the weather like in Atlanta?"

We arrive at the airport and say goodbye.
"Want to hear a joke about Spirit Airlines?" I ask.
"Sure," dad says.
"Well when you get on the plane you're a body and when you get off you're a spirit."
"That is not a very good joke."
"A Jesuit in the Philippines told it to me."

The people behind the check-in counter watch me as I wrap my hiking bag in plastic trash bags.
"It's to keep the straps from flying out and getting caught," I say.
"Uh huh."

Bag weighs in at 38 pounds, in line with my foot-scale measurements. What the hell did I bring? Already haunted by the ghosts of past mistakes.

The exhaustion and adrenaline render me manically polite. I smile and chitchat with everyone in the TSA. No bombs found in my bag of chow mein. Whew.

I'm dressed in my hiking outfit. I couldn't bring any superfluous clothing because I'd have to either carry it or throw it out. I'm cold.

I eat my sandwiches and cookies. Airport soundtrack is r&b and soul classics. Pretty sure Cat Stevens snuck in a couple time too. Ready for silence of woods.

Why did I get here so early?

Airport PA announcement REALLY wants you to park in the garage.

Bathroom towel dispenser jealously guards its hoard.

I got sunshine on a cloudy day. I guess you'd say, what could make me feel this way?

Flight delayed 40 minutes. Called Survivor Dave to let him know. Nightmares of setting up tent in the rain and the dark.

Popular posts from this blog

CrossFit: A Playground for Adults

Having suffered a bout of absentee self-discipline, I have joined the cult of CrossFit to mold my flesh into a more fetching vessel. It's interesting.

If you're lucky enough to have never heard of CrossFit, this is all you need to know—it's a jungle gym for adults. You run and jump and pick things up and put them down and throw them and jump rope and do hopscotch and work out all your heebie jeebies. There's some grade school math thrown in as well, since you'll be counting every time you do something, and you're always doing multiple somethings, and you're always doing a lot of multiple somethings. My gym is in an old converted garage with plenty of space, but at eight o'clock the rush hour hits and it is playground madness.

Likely there are serious types doing CrossFit who would quibble with this characterization, and there's no doubt that the serious types are serious. That ubiquitous American belligerence underpins the official CrossFit doctrine. …

Concentration camps in America and Urmpt learns he can make bad bad go away

Good article in the New Yorker yesterday chronicling the vicious misdeeds of Joe Arpipo:

It's clarion that under the Turmp [sic] regime we are a nation of men (and women) and not laws. Not that the facade of law and justice has ever been tatter-free but now it is being torn away completely. Now Urmtp [sic] is figuring out he has a magic eraser for criminal activity and I doubt it ends with two-bit authoritarian Arpi.

It's hard to imagine the GOP putting the breaks on this runaway train as long as in the carnage of the wreckage a few babillionairios get a hefty tax break.  When you get to be worth a tenth of a trillion dollars, laws are fucking inconvenient.

The arguments from the right wing insanosphere are already drawing comparisons to Clinton's pardons and claiming Arpaio's contempt of court conviction was unjustified. This is a man who boasted he was running "concentration c…

The Truth About Overwatch

Imagine a game of Overwatch with no duplicate characters—once a character is chosen no one else can play as them. In this scenario the characters of Overwatch are distinct persons.
In this world the characters of Overwatch are heroes cum mercenaries. Their watch ended, their struggle won or lost, they are reduced to venal pursuits to make ends meet or simply to stave off boredom. Puissant and bereft of a unifying cause, they often find themselves on opposite sides of a conflict. The battles revolve around mundane objectives—moving a payload from one location to another, capturing strategic territory.
In El Dorado and Junkertown a group of Overwatch mercenaries performs armored car duty. Perhaps they are transferring the weekly payroll for Union Pacific, or the ill-gotten gains of a cartel. In Hollywood the Overwatch mercenaries serve as bodyguards for Harvey Weinstein as he travels to the premier of a new Polanksi-Allen collaboration. Another group of Overwatch thugs attempts an assas…