Where the Wild Things Should Be

So it is now time to trade the streets and supposed comforts of Gothem and to exchange these Happy Hours that go until 8PM and long subterranean commutes, fancy dinner dates with friends just in from London, Paris, Milan, Moscow, with the long singular journey to North, the winterlands and scrub boreal forests of Newfoundland and Labrador.

Some of the comforts will be hard to leave behind. The food trucks, the dollar oyster specials, the constant stream of Beautiful People as well as the vicarious glamour of walking through film productions, fashion model shoots, and gangland shootings that make the news (hi mom). I will leave all this for wind, the call of the loon, and a silence so strong I will again hear just how bad my tinnitus has gotten. For much of this trip, perhaps we could have just taken it using Google Street View™ since this service is in many places you may not expect and can deflate the adventure of not knowing. However, we will attempt it in “real time,” to hazard the journey feeding our little auto gas and seeing how long it takes to burn through an entire tank until the next feeding.

I will perhaps miss the hot water on demand. I say that frequently. Not that this trip involves as much camping as previous ventures North. Still, I am sure I have gotten fat and sassy in my office chair, perhaps more out-of-shape than I know from constant clicking and mouse moving with a few leg stretches about the block just to see the sights. I will also miss the culture. This will be a time without access to the Internets. No music other than what little we can bring and knowing the car, the tape deck eats tapes after a few plays so much of this trip may be in silence. Except for the wind whistling over the hood and through our hair as we drive along or perhaps the smattering of rain as the forecast calls for some precipitation and up there one needs to expect the weather to constantly change. One issue about the rain and a drawback from driving a vintage car is that the roof canvas is quite in bad shape and the top actually held in place by a cord that I think was once a dog’s leash. I know there is a danger for the driver side windshield wiper to fall of the track and if it does I am not sure how to fix it this time. Also, if we are stopped in traffic, which I don’t expect outside of the border crossing, the exhaust pipe broke off about at the rear wheel, so it is best if we keep moving in order to breathe right.

I will also miss the food of Gotham and that harvested from our little garden. I know that there may be a few roadside eateries, truck stops and we will be obliged to stop there since they are 200-300 miles apart and we will need petrol and provisions. This time I will attempt to swear off the poutine, an addictive mixture of all that is bad in food, a pile of starch drowned in salt and fat masquerading as a traditional dish – truly the haggis of Canada and eatable only in jest – and that joke appears old as I write this… not that I may succumb in the moment to temptation and have some version of that dish just to prove that there is a “good” version out there in the world – oh look, this one is better than the one we had in Matagami two years ago…. Provisions will be basic camping fare otherwise, just whatever we can hop out of the car and ruin over a canister of gas or burn in a campfire just in time for the bears to show up. I am not so much looking forward to the gastronomic implications of this trip.

There may be a stage where there is a physical withdrawal to the lack of Internet and news from the outside world, such as the current body count in Gaza or the latest Russian misadventure or a correction of our currency, predicted by some as July 20th 2014, that will lead to financial collapse, the one several Doomers have been warning us about since 2008 put are failing to materialize as a singular event (meaning it is happening, just slower, and we sit here like frogs in increasingly hot water). I may have to look down at my hands every now and then as I constantly do with my smart iDevice. There are times when my left leg buzzes like I am getting a call, but this is strange since my iThingy is on the desk or the other pocket. I wonder when I will go through withdrawal, when will I wake up in the middle of the night and have to check email but can’t or look up a certain fact that arises in conversation and for which there is a disagreement of details – did Sally Struthers (sp?) pitch for International Correspondence School or DeVry University and which one is under investigation by the Attorney General? These questions and more may need to be answered.

Then there is the lack of Beautiful People in those parts. No casual walks to passed stunning men and women who make more money than I ever will be able to, are better educated than I can ever hope, and are better looking and more fit than I were I to binge on plastic surgery, exercise, and clean out the GNC and make a huge protein shake out of the contents of the entire store and blow it up my ass. No Unnamed as-of-yet Scorsese productions being filmed at my feet, no posters for cool free concerts in the park, no Rooftop Films, no friend with an extra ticket to some event. I will have to entertain myself, or hope that Mother Nature, in her unkind and majestic indifference, will provide me with the stimulation I need.

This is also to say that while this author will continue to write a post-a-day, that this blog may fall dark at times as my little car rockets from one distant cell tower to another WiFi connection. This also means that perhaps there will be a total lack of content when this blogger returns since how many times can one recount Ohwepickedblueberriesanditwassogreat?

Tonight off from Gothem to the wild areas of the Catskills and the hamlet of Fort Mudge to pick up the car. Then on to Boston and deep into the borderline between Cambridge and Somerville to reconnect with a friend who was also my landlord and who runs a safe house for Rainbow Gatherers, MIT graduate students, and whomever else needs a bed for the night.

We shall see where the wild things should be.

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