274 - Atlantic Reflections of the Sleep Deprived
Here we are once again, running full-throttle through the year 2004, headed god-knows where and at exactly what velocity. A small LCD sreen hanging from the roof of this aircraft tells me more specific information, for example: I'm over 2,400 miles from Atlantic City. For someone travelling from Edmonton (via Toronto) this is useless information, and for anyone else it would just be frivolous and unwelcome at this unhealthy time of day. I don't know why I'm writing at 40,000 in the air, travelling at a landspeed of around 520mph, I should be admiring the scenery, watching the sunrise or something. But I'm not. I feel like I should be mentioning the quality of the typewriter I'm using, but sadly in this modern age I can't include something as respectful as that - the writer's best friend - it's a niche now - something nobody but freaks and real journalists use.
I'm typing away as the plane glides smoothly (for now) towards Dublin with only 600-and-something miles to go. Somewhere in my mind I remember seeing a map not long ago with names spread across it like pieces on a chess board halfway through a tense match.. Reykyavik, Munich, St. Martins, Casablanca, London.. ah London, The Destination. Could I stay awake long enough to absorb the welcome arrival that Heathrow staff of-all-kinds would bestow up me? Did I even care? Even if I was in a basic state of consciousness, it would all be meaningless gibberish and lax security measures, women and men in bland uniforms staring at my picture for 20 seconds trying to work out if it REALLy is me. I had a lot more hair back then, and I was a bit wild, but come on, nobody would willfully take on a picture like that unless they had some kind of pseudo-mad love for themselves, it would make no sense. I'm getting ahead of myself though, hell, 620 miles is a long way--we still have time. The helpful, sometimes rude, but generally helpful crew of Air Canada are now serving a quick-heat breakfast to all who stay awake to fight the apathy of long distance air travel. And the rising sun that shines eye-watering rays through the tiny windows into the only eyes in the world that probably could never truly appreciate them. There aren't many of us left, but those who are awake will find breakfast hard to refuse. There is no common human condition that will stop the diligent efficiency of air craft crew with a job to do.
The television screens have returned to scheduled programming and The Simpsons runs seemingly in slow-motion. Occasionally I glance up, but the image is surreal and I find it hard to match it with the audio coming in through the awkward headsets. I settle with just listening, pretending to understand as I scribble madly and (glancing up) actually quite illegibly on a crumpled, folded copy of the (Canadian) National Post.
--Side Note: They never did show Chariots of Fire. The bastards. I stayed awake just to see it, and somehow they knew it.
Yes, you read it correctly, a newspaper. Granted a typewriter wouldn't really suit air travel, but its ink would long outlast the battery of any modern laptop--however fancy you makes it--including mine. Too many minutes playing classic console-games through emulators, re-living old favourites and past addictions. 'Healthy' addictions mind, not like traditional youth addictions; getting drunk on cheap alcohol, indulging in meaningless sex and smoking as much as their grubby little hands can find. No sir, this was the purest kind of ecstacy, at least in the 80's to mid-90's any way. Now it just makes me bitter. Since when couldn't I complete the Aquatic Ruins, Act 3 Level on Sonic The Hedgehog? That's enough to set anyone up for a bad flight. It's also one of the most likely reasons for the stressed and generally negative undertones in my words.
Trying to be creative after a mind-numbing day of the casual-vibrations (often confused, quite rightly, with mild travel-sickness) aboard Canada's finest, is like trying to drink coffee through your nostrils. Possible, but never recommended by anyone sane; painful afterthoughts and fairly unrewarding on critical reflection. I could have stayed in Toronto sipping a Grande Caffé Americano, through my mouth, and never even thought of the kind of frenzied yet subdued mindset I have firmly wedged myself into. I wouldn't even have to consider the awful fiendish reality that lurked outside the safety of Starbucks today, or.. yesterday, whenever the hell I was in Toronto.
I could have even picked up a danish, or an apple twist of some kind. I wouldn't particularly care for it but at least I'd be safe. Some nice baggage handler on a break (hmm) would find somewhere for me to plug in the laptop--power wouldn't even be an issue. No need to move. They probably have beds around too, for those people who just don't fancy the trip. At least not for now.
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Here we are once again, running full-throttle through the year 2004, headed god-knows where and at exactly what velocity. A small LCD sreen hanging from the roof of this aircraft tells me more specific information, for example: I'm over 2,400 miles from Atlantic City. For someone travelling from Edmonton (via Toronto) this is useless information, and for anyone else it would just be frivolous and unwelcome at this unhealthy time of day. I don't know why I'm writing at 40,000 in the air, travelling at a landspeed of around 520mph, I should be admiring the scenery, watching the sunrise or something. But I'm not. I feel like I should be mentioning the quality of the typewriter I'm using, but sadly in this modern age I can't include something as respectful as that - the writer's best friend - it's a niche now - something nobody but freaks and real journalists use.
I'm typing away as the plane glides smoothly (for now) towards Dublin with only 600-and-something miles to go. Somewhere in my mind I remember seeing a map not long ago with names spread across it like pieces on a chess board halfway through a tense match.. Reykyavik, Munich, St. Martins, Casablanca, London.. ah London, The Destination. Could I stay awake long enough to absorb the welcome arrival that Heathrow staff of-all-kinds would bestow up me? Did I even care? Even if I was in a basic state of consciousness, it would all be meaningless gibberish and lax security measures, women and men in bland uniforms staring at my picture for 20 seconds trying to work out if it REALLy is me. I had a lot more hair back then, and I was a bit wild, but come on, nobody would willfully take on a picture like that unless they had some kind of pseudo-mad love for themselves, it would make no sense. I'm getting ahead of myself though, hell, 620 miles is a long way--we still have time. The helpful, sometimes rude, but generally helpful crew of Air Canada are now serving a quick-heat breakfast to all who stay awake to fight the apathy of long distance air travel. And the rising sun that shines eye-watering rays through the tiny windows into the only eyes in the world that probably could never truly appreciate them. There aren't many of us left, but those who are awake will find breakfast hard to refuse. There is no common human condition that will stop the diligent efficiency of air craft crew with a job to do.
The television screens have returned to scheduled programming and The Simpsons runs seemingly in slow-motion. Occasionally I glance up, but the image is surreal and I find it hard to match it with the audio coming in through the awkward headsets. I settle with just listening, pretending to understand as I scribble madly and (glancing up) actually quite illegibly on a crumpled, folded copy of the (Canadian) National Post.
--Side Note: They never did show Chariots of Fire. The bastards. I stayed awake just to see it, and somehow they knew it.
Yes, you read it correctly, a newspaper. Granted a typewriter wouldn't really suit air travel, but its ink would long outlast the battery of any modern laptop--however fancy you makes it--including mine. Too many minutes playing classic console-games through emulators, re-living old favourites and past addictions. 'Healthy' addictions mind, not like traditional youth addictions; getting drunk on cheap alcohol, indulging in meaningless sex and smoking as much as their grubby little hands can find. No sir, this was the purest kind of ecstacy, at least in the 80's to mid-90's any way. Now it just makes me bitter. Since when couldn't I complete the Aquatic Ruins, Act 3 Level on Sonic The Hedgehog? That's enough to set anyone up for a bad flight. It's also one of the most likely reasons for the stressed and generally negative undertones in my words.
Trying to be creative after a mind-numbing day of the casual-vibrations (often confused, quite rightly, with mild travel-sickness) aboard Canada's finest, is like trying to drink coffee through your nostrils. Possible, but never recommended by anyone sane; painful afterthoughts and fairly unrewarding on critical reflection. I could have stayed in Toronto sipping a Grande Caffé Americano, through my mouth, and never even thought of the kind of frenzied yet subdued mindset I have firmly wedged myself into. I wouldn't even have to consider the awful fiendish reality that lurked outside the safety of Starbucks today, or.. yesterday, whenever the hell I was in Toronto.
I could have even picked up a danish, or an apple twist of some kind. I wouldn't particularly care for it but at least I'd be safe. Some nice baggage handler on a break (hmm) would find somewhere for me to plug in the laptop--power wouldn't even be an issue. No need to move. They probably have beds around too, for those people who just don't fancy the trip. At least not for now.
Recent Articles
273 Report: Edmonton FC Vs. Portland Timbers
Thursday 12th August 2004, update by jay at 15:53
Tomorrow I will be in Edmonton, Canada. As the first member of the wideasleep network to visit Canada, I feel it is not only my duty, but my personal responsibility to do the adequate beneficial research to aid the development and progression of our fine organisation. Whether this comes out as a couple of articles, a fancy and elaborate gallery or simply extending the cultural knowledge that I bring to all the work I do, it's hard to say. I've heard it's a nice country though.
There is one article finally completed, on the FIFA match a while back. Over the next couple of months I plan to up the ante a bit, by utilising the freedom that leaving sixth-form and work brings. I will run a shocking exposé on the horrifying truth behind a major UK catalogue store, as well as the usual cynical and humerous looks at the most frivolous and hollow subjects.
Recent Articles
272 The Second Great 90-minute TON FIFA Match
There is one article finally completed, on the FIFA match a while back. Over the next couple of months I plan to up the ante a bit, by utilising the freedom that leaving sixth-form and work brings. I will run a shocking exposé on the horrifying truth behind a major UK catalogue store, as well as the usual cynical and humerous looks at the most frivolous and hollow subjects.
Recent Articles
272 The Second Great 90-minute TON FIFA Match
Saturday 18th July 2004, update by jay at 17:04