Friday, April 21, 2006

Low as your expectations may be tonight, they shall be met and met well, you may count on it, such is my drive to offer you the very best for your dollar. The themes for this weekend are heavy lifting and intense sitting, the latter of which will involve church on Sunday or more likely devout consideration of attending church on Sunday.

Had you asked me a few years ago to hold forth on the fundamentals of a good weekend, I would’ve parroted all the best morsels propagated by the tourism industry: an affirming road trip, sumptuous dining, locales fit only for glossy paper and postcards. One day, however, there was a great change when verily upon the true face of travel did I gaze and, lo, realization struck.

Call it cynicism or, if you’re sympathetic, realism, but travel is just too transient. I suppose this is inherent in the word itself, which is kind of an antonym for permanence, yet there’s a unique tension seen in postcards, gift shops, and the photos taken in desperate abundance. There’s a pull to create a lasting facsimile of the experience.

After the expense and the wonderment, however, all you have to show for it is a lot of walking and camera snapping. You choose your landscape–rural, hellish tundra, small town, urban–and language, and then you amble from place to place. Sure, there may be a fun attraction or a night at the opera, but arguably the meat of the matter–the local culture at large, interpersonal idioms, when the market has the freshest oranges–is lost.

There was a grand family outing to Europe I had planned with my pop, but over winter vacation the reality of two weeks of sightseeing was revealed. Food poisoning. Dirty hostels. Castles.

“You know, I can imagine a castle,” I concluded.

My pop agreed, dinner was had, then he showed me a shotgun straight out of Evil Dead that he purchased in light of Katrina looting footage, and filial pride was at an all-time high.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

I chuckled entirely too much to be a good Netizen. Certainly the vulgarity gets a little tiring, but this reimagining of Strong Bad is compelling.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Panhandlers in Wilmette only accept cash and possibly Mastercard, I recently discovered, and heaven help you if you stray from this trodden path. Theirs is a plight for which my conscience stirs–stirs with heartache, sir–even though I care little for Streetwise, that sensationalist rag they’re always trying to pawn for my hard-earned money. I bought a copy once, only to read the most boring articles with headlines that simply weren’t compelling, you know? All I want is something slightly riveting, such as

BAG OF DIMES MISTAKEN FOR DIME BAG, SMOKED ANYWAY

But that would be demanding far too much. Anyway, the local hotzone is right outside the grocery store, so my standard procedure is to give a food item, usually some kind of fruit. This has gone well enough in the past, and I remember one guy was torn about taking a few apples because his teeth, he told me, weren’t up to snuff. After a few moments, it was decided the fruit could be traded for a cigarette or something.

That was then. Recently I tried the same offer on a new guy, a younger, brasher version of the Streetwise vendor of yore. The fruit: a red delicious. The reply:

“An apple?” he scoffed. “I don’t want no apple.”

Ho ho! Believe what you will, but I actually prepped for this particular scenario, so a shocked, insulted look was instantly deployed.

“Uh, but thanks anyway…” came the concession.

There’s that one lesson about beggars, which I’m sure you know, and I have a feeling this dude got so far as “beggars can’t be–” and promptly stopped. I had purchased indignation and exemption from future donations, USD or produce, for about $0.13. A damn shame for him, too, because it was a pretty good apple.