Tuesday, September 13, 2005

It was the lack of a comma that made yesterday’s picture so appealing, quite honestly, and of course the joy of thwarting grammar can only be enhanced by racial slurs. The white space also emphasized the futility of sermonizing and, in tandem with the stark black drawing, the very nature of existence was questioned, but that’s the art critic in me speaking. Hold on, my shovel just broke.

Why is moving overseas so compelling? What began as a passing thought has stuck in recent months, though I doubt it’s something I’d see to the end. Still, I can’t help thinking that far across the ocean, on a plot of foreign soil, lies something I didn’t even know I needed. I bet my French doppelganger is wondering the exact same thing right now, imagining a land whose streets are paved with Krispy Kremes.

Maybe it’s the simple act of crossing a large body of water. Cortez, the Pilgrims, Earheart–it worked for them. Accents are also hot. I realize I’m probably projecting my personal Shangri-la on an unsuspecting hamlet somewhere, portraying it as a salve for a phantom sickness, a cure for something I can’t pinpoint, when really the newness of it all would wear thin after a few months.

Can’t hurt to wonder, right? Let’s see, I know a little German, some English, also a bit of Mandarin. I’ve got money in the bank. Lease ends this June. Clearly I should set course for P.F. Chang’s.