Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Travel Never Goes the Way You Want

Kickin' It on 66 has been a goal of mine since, you know, I like...heard the song, however long ago. Travel was always completely romanticized for me, as I'm sure it was for, like, basically everyone else in the world. You, and you, and you...and you.

It started with survival stories, Jack London and Never Cry Wolf. Eventually, and predictably, in high school I read Kerouac and Burroughs and Henry Miller and understood about 15% of it, and I knew that I wanted to travel, and live. Of course in my head I was discovering unfound authors, and those books were "so hard to find," and "I had to go to this small, cryptic, used book store that's like, in the basement of some random building on some shady street in a nameless town" to find fucking On The Road, like it was this rare gem. Pretentious fuck, right here. At sixteen. And I still suck.

Sigh. Penguin Classics are sooooo esoteric. Shut up, Ross.

Of course, mine was a unique wanderlust, and no one could ever understand my nomadic desires.

Right. Douchebag.

And finding people such as my Self was an automatic Sergio Leone conundrum:

1. Good thoughts abound because, you know, someone shares my vision...finally, I've found a person who understands, and my dreams aren't so lonely.

2. Bad thoughts abound because, you know, someone shares my vision...I'm not as special as I thought I was.

3. Ugly thoughts abound, because, you know, someone shares my vision...and fuck you, I was fucking here first, oh, it's time to play the One Up game, dick. I'm gonna shove your uniqueness right up your goddamn wishful ass until I'm the uniquest mammajamma east of the Mississippi. Bitch.

You did it too, at sixteen. Maybe.

Prolly not.

But travel never goes the way you want it to, even when you have the time. Bumming around Europe started out as this fast-paced sightseeing whirlwind for the first month, and in the second month I ran out of money and cigarettes replaced food, and then I was robbed by goddamn gypsies and got lost in the middle of buttfuck Beauvais and stayed with some random French girl and her cocker spaniel until I found a flight to Ireland.

That makes it sound way more exciting than it actually was. In reality, it was a lot of stomping, and insulting the French, and a lot of laying around reading Harry Potter 5.

So, yeah.

That's one of my standard stories, I think. I tell it constantly. It's up there with the story about the time our neighbors thought we stole their snowman, and the one time I got hammered and helped Muffy cut off her dredlocks for a job interview and basically destroyed her entire head. Or the time that we went camping, and took down every single tent on the campgrounds while people were sleeping in them, and lined up our chairs, looking out at the wasteland of shriveled tents, drinking until the sun came up, watching people wake up pissed and confused because they were drowning in nylon, and how the fuck did that happen?

I was all, haha. Sor.

I tell those stories all the time. They're these signature narratives of mine that I whip out at parties and social situations, like Jude Law in I Heart Huckabees.

Pretty sure I have problems.

On a side note, I've decided that the shiny blog is back in business, because I'm not as embarassed about it as I was two weeks ago. I wrote it, fuck it, and it's something that I've thought for years and never voiced. Because I am crazy.

Eventually I will write about Route 66, and I'll talk about how Illinois was by far the best state, and how New Mexico is the seventh circle of hell. Don't even know if anyone cares, but I'll do it, and out of spite if nothing else.

This blog did not turn out how I thought it would. But at least I have a title.

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6 comments:

Bluestreak said...

You know why I love your blog? Cause I feel like I´m sitting next to you at the bar and you´re telling me all this shit and I´m loving you and laughing my ass off.

Yeah, I thought I was all cool n shit when I moved to Spain, til I got here and there were 500 million other americans that thought they were all cool n shit too.

I don´t think I´m so cool anymore.

Less cool everyday.

Rassles said...

You are very cool, shut up. Know why I love your blog? Because you actually moved to Spain, instead of visiting and pussing out.

iloveyousarahpalin said...

Man, sometimes I wonder if anyone's actually understood Tropic of Cancer. I mean really - who actually reads that book after the age of 18? And who at 18 can understand more than half of his language? I've been telling myself for years that I'm going to reread it (dictionary in pocket) one day, but every time I look at that thing it's so DAUNTING. Like "The Treatise of Human Nature" - a book I kept on my shelf for freaking years, with every intention of reading it... And every time I did, I'd get distracted and start doing abstract algebra. And people who had heard the title (probably from reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, like I had) would always comment on it and ask what I thought of it - 90% of the time I knew they were pretending to have read it, but so was I so who am I to call them on their bullshit? I finally sold that fucking book at a yard sale for 50 cents so it can sit on some other hipster's shelf and make them appear more educated while they try to fill the void in their soul with overpriced throwback fashion.

Breathe.

Henry Miller ruined my life, as you can see. Oh, btw, if you get a chance, read Under the Rooftops of Paris. It totally humanizes him in this disgusting pervert-for-hire kind of way. It was a commissioned porn novel. And it's funny. And totally non-threatening intellectually. Like you care. But I'm just dumb.

Okay, really, I'm done now.

Bluestreak said...

funny cause sometimes staying here feels like pussing out.

Gypsy said...

You know, my stories from study abroad are still my best stories, and I trot them out whenever possible. It's kind of pitiful, I guess. Until I decide to be more than mediocre it's what I'm stuck with.

Also, at 16 my big read was Anais Nin. Didn't get a lick of it (no pun intended), but damn was it hot.

Rassles said...

Ellie: I love that you said that, because I love to snicker at people for name-dropping "Treatise" after reading "Zen et. al." Like everyone who name-dropped "Slaughterhouse Five" after they saw Varsity Blues.

Blue: You are in no way a pussy.

Gyp: She is way hotter than Miller...he was like, a dirty, dirty man.