October 1, 2001
Still here. Spent the weekend with Don & Kathy up at a cottage on Georgian Bay (roughly an hour and a half north of Toronto) relaxing, chopping wood and not thinking much about anything. Despite being on what most people would call a vacation, I think a couple of days spent doing basically nothing were just what I needed. I think I'd underestimated just how taxing my current financial situation can be. I know I'm not supposed to be fretting about this sort of thing anymore, but the temporary labour search here in Toronto has proven to be far less than fruitful. I can't seem to find any work whatsoever, let alone a cash-paid-daily labour position in this city - which leaves me in the same position I was a week ago, only at a loss for ideas and feeling somewhat less than inspired.
So here I am on this Monday afternoon, sitting in the apartment after having gone over the employment classifieds and found nothing; wondering what my next move should be and where I'm likely to end up. I suppose the best course of action would be to head back to Vancouver and get to work, but I can't bring myself to give up on this expedidtion until I've seen all the folks I set out to see. I'm a Taurus - I'm allowed to be stubborn. Unfortunately, being stubborn is tantamount to shooting myself in the foot at this particular juncture: at this rate, things are going to get much worse before they get any better.
Why do I insist on believing that the check is in the mail? Every time I've spoken with Tetsu, he assures me that he's sending the dough (even though he's only sending half, due to a lapse in student enrollment at his ESL school) and that he's terribly sorry for having taken so long to do so - yet still nothing appears and I wait patiently for my ship to come in. Although with each passing day, that ship's cargo seems to get smaller as the debt piles up on my VISA and my liquid assets hover dangerously close to nothing. It's only through the kindness and generosity of my friends that has enabled my to make it this far - so on one side, I have this wonderful aspect of friendship to consider and on the other, well, a somewhat less-than-wonderful aspect to deal with. It's this disparity that keeps my faith alive, I guess.
October 4, 2001
Sitting down with the first of several cups of coffee this morning, I suddenly found myself thinking statistics - not that you should be expecting another page similar to the Shikoku Intrusion page, cuz I haven't been keeping track that closely this time out. Just a passing thought: if I've come roughly 5500 miles so far and the van gets about 300 miles to the tank (I know, I know...), then that works out to 18.3 (recurring) fill-ups. Somehow that just seems wrong - I feel I've spent more time at gas stations than that. I mean, a mere 18.3 (recurring - this part is important) tanks of gas to get across the country? At $15 a tank, that's only $275 grand total I've spent on gas. Which doesn't seem too bad at all, even when you make the conversion into Canadian dollars (at today's rate of 1.56650 CAD to 1 USD; works out to 430.788 CAD, in case you were wondering).
Even if you figure on 10 minutes or so per stop, that only works out to just over 3 hours (3.05 with the 5 recurring, to be exact) spent at gas stations; which really doesn't amount to much when compared to how long I've been on the road (0.00296%, rounded up and ignoring significant figures). So what is it that makes me feel as if a significant portion of this journey has been spent filling the tank, washing the windscreen and inhaling gasoline fumes? Could it be that because gas stations across the country are remarkably similar, thereby making a somewhat more indelible impression upon the mind than the rest of the scenery which slides past, intangible and ever-changing? Remember too that one performs roughly the same actions every time - it's not like the gas tank changes location or anything. Turn off the engine, take out the keys, walk around the car, pop the hatch, unscrew the cap, remove the nozzle, lift the lever, insert nozzle and fill up. Sure, there are going to be variations upon the theme, but the key elements remain constant. These are tasks which we have learned to perform mindlessly, without consideration or thought; meditation exercises for the 21st century. We perform this ritual over and over again, time becomes amorphous and we lose track of ourselves - what did you do the last time you filled up?
At least I've got the benefit of visiting different meditation centres during my travels: for people going to the same gas station all the time, it's got to be much harder to recall specific visits. Which makes it all the more meditative, I suppose - the state of non-self must be all the more sublime when one cannot differenciate between visits. Of course, time does seem to pass more slowly when the brain is processing new data (you know, like when you're watching a movie for the first time: it seems to go by faster if you watch it again), so perhaps that is the reason I feel I've spent more time at gas stations than I have. Then again, looking at the calculations again and considering that the 5 recurs ad infinitum, maybe I've reached a point where I never leave the gas station - maybe there is a part of me caught in that interval between 0.05 and 0.06 of an hour, pumping gas, watching the world go by and splitting the second until the end of time.Yep. Just another morning in Toronto.Ok. Have just spent the better part of the afternoon editing and reformatting a whole bunch of stuff on this here site. I should've done so a long time ago, but I didn't. Regardless, if you find some busted links or can't find some pages anymore, that would be the reason. If I scrapped something you really enjoyed, let me know and I'll see what I can do about it.
October 9, 2001
Arlington, D.C.: some might say far, far too close to Washington D.C., what with the recent airstrikes in Afghanistan. Seems the whole city is rigid with fear over possible terrorist retaliations. Recent anthrax scares in Florida and the thought of potential smallpox infection have got many people figuring the next terrorist strike will comprise the use of a biological agent, which has resulted in the increased sale of gas masks across the country - even though a mask would provide little to no protection at all in the event of a biological strike. I feel that the aura of fear surrounding this city is far more palpable than that I experienced in New York City after the attacks. I hate to say it, but at this juncture, I think the terrorists are ahead of the game. Why? Easy:-- Objectively speaking, the terrorists have already accomplished the most important aspect of their mission - to disrupt the standard of living in America by bringing the conflict onto American soil, shattering the illusion of safety and immunity that has blanketed these shores for so long. No amount of rhetoric or patriotic pride is going to convnce me otherwise; paranoia and fear are inarguably running rampant in this country.
- Consider the financial costs; the terrorist attacks of September eleventh were accomplished at an estimated cost of $400 000 - less than half the cost of a single cruise missile, yet how much more effective?
- Bin Laden has got people all over the world crying out for jihad against the United States and her allies - and I don't think it will take much more for these sparks to catch fire across the globe.
So what am I still doing here? Going to the Smithsonian, for starters. I'm definitely no military or political analyst - all of the above points could be refuted (to wit, the US has a much larger military budget than the terrorists and can afford a million bucks to blow up a house or two; folks all over the globe are crying out for peace as loudly as those crying out for war; and, well, I'm not afraid of anthrax, are you?), so there's no point in worrying about it too much.
I just went outside to have a cigarette and was struck by a thought: I wonder how many Muslims were killed in the attacks? A significant number, to be sure. Bin Laden and his supporters might call these poor souls martyrs for their cause, but you can't kill your own people and call them martrys, can you? Maybe that's why this situation is so hard to comprehend - the concept of jihad (or, to be fair, a crusade) requires two clear-cut camps of people and religious beliefs, but in this age of globalization and internationalism, there simply is no way to separate the two. We're caught in a particularly nasty situation where not only further terrorist attacks but also military strikes in Afghanistan are going to kill scores of innocents, all in the name of 'justice'. Justice may be blind, but not that blind."More than an end to war, we want an end to the beginnings of all wars."
- Franklin D. Roosevelt"An eye for an eye makes everybody blind."
- Mahatma Gandhi
October 14, 2001
A slow, rainy day in North Carolina. I have finally completed my quest to catch up with every member of the Higashimatsuura-gun crew after more than a year of waiting.Understandably, I am deleriously hungover today, which explains why I am sitting here in my pajamas at 6 in the afternoon, wondering when this case of the stupids (as Greg so eloquently put it) will go away. I don't think I've ever managed to knock myself on my own ass this well before - usually my hangovers consist of feeling somewhat slow for an hour or two after rolling out of bed; no headaches, no stomachaches, no physical anguish whatsoever - except for the occasional ball of phlegm that needs to be expunged. What can I say? I've imported a fine example of an eastern Canadian chest cold.
Well, I'm sure no one needs to hear about my self-inflicted woes, so I'll just leave things at that. Besides, if I keep on that particular topic, I might actually get into what exactly it was that we got up to last night - and I'm sure nobody wants that.
October 15, 2001 - Dad & Vanessa's birthday
Monday morning and I'm finally feeling up to speed. After spending the better part of the day lazing around and watching the rain, I went out with Greg and Barry to see Iron Monkey last night. It was no Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, but if you ask me, it's a different genre of kung-fu movie - what I'd consider to be more 'old-school'. I am a kung-fu junkie, after all - acting and character aren't really all that important when you've got mind-numbing action on the screen. Then again, if you're looking for incredible kung-fu action, it must be said that you really need look no further than Michelle Yeoh: Jackie what, Bruce who? So I've got two weeks left on the road - kind of an odd thought, seeing as I'm pretty sure I was only two weeks into this trek just the other day. Time flies when you're on the road. I've been thinking about the original reasons I'd given myself (and countless others) for embarking on this adventure; I find myself wondering if I've accomplished everything I set out to do, seen all the people I wanted to see and wrote all the things I wanted to write. Well, I'm 0 for 3 on that count, though in less than a week I'll have completed the people-visiting part... that counts, right? As far as writing is concerned, apart from this half-assed journal, I've not really written anything at all.
Granted, driving back and forth across the continent makes it somewhat difficult to write, as does spending time with friends (and recovering from such); but I know I've had plenty of time to sit down and get to work, but I haven't. I don't feel particularly upset about this, though. All those hours spent staring at the open road or looking up at the sky can't have been wasted.
Yet I still haven't uncovered any of the answers I was looking for. I still have no idea where to turn next, what options to explore upon my return, or even where exactly it is I'd like to return to. I guess that's one of the problems with only ever having short-term plans: they're pretty easy to finish, leaving you wondering what to do next. I've read that the average person these days will change careers 3 or 4 times over the course of their lifetime... I can't even settle on the first one. Is this a fear of commitment, or simply keeping all of my options open? I suppose it's all a matter of how you look at it.
I don't know - I'd say that I'm feeling the urge to start putting down roots, but I don't think that's the case. I think I just want to get mail again. I want to make renovations, wake up in my bed and look out my window (without seeing a hospital parking lot outside), or have someone pop in for a visit. This is not to say that I'm not enjoying myself on the road - I love to drive and the scenery has been fantastic all across the country; I go where I want when I want and I truly enjoy showing up on people's doorsteps (mostly just for the look of shock and dismay on their faces, but don't tell anyone I said so). Maybe this confusion has got to do with not having any money or source of income - I'm tired of waiting for my cash to arrive from overseas (it's taking far too long to get here and I'm beginning to wonder if it was even sent at all) and I can't seem to find any work anywhere - leaving me caught between the lure of the open road and abject poverty or a working man's life with all the comforts of home. This is not an easy choice for me to make, you know.
Where am I going with this? Beats me - but since I seem to be listing all sorts of things that I want, I should add that I want to go to outer space but I don't think that's going to happen so long as I'm a smoker. Curses.
October 20, 2001 "Why of course the people don't want war. Why should some poor slob on a farm want to risk his life in a war when the best he can get out of it is to come back to his farm in one piece? Naturally the common people don't want war: neither in Russia, nor in England, nor for that matter in Germany. That is understood. But, after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine the policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether is is a democracy, or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the peacemakers for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country."
- Hermann Goering, Hitler's #2 Man
Thanks, Zmag.
October 22, 2001
I meant to add a bunch of stuff after that quote, but I let myself get distracted by the uselessness of a Saturday afternoon. It happens.
Should be rolling out of North Carolina in the next couple of days - I don't particularly want to go; Chapel Hill is a quaint little town, chock full of good places to hang out and watch great live music. Granted, sharing a house with Greg out in the wilderness is kind of a plus as well. With no neighbours to worry about, we've been enjoying the simple pleasures of life.
To wit: keeping obscene hours, drinking whiskey, listening to music at ridiculous volumes, playing guitar, singing and so on. Very therapeutic - or it would be, if I had anything to recover from.
It isn't all senseless debauchery, however. Most days Greg is at work (I don't know how he does it...), leaving me to my own artifices - I've brought in the typewriter and begun work on My Father is a Waste of Bandwidth: the ideas have been pouring in. When not writing, I'm walking around the forests, looking at trees, finding poems and other such nonsense. I think there's something to be said for hermitude - although I don't think I'm ready to renounce the world just yet. Anyway, here's a little something I came up with the other day while, well, sitting.On Sitting it seems that
lately
i've taken to
sitting
and watching the world
go by
which is fine
just
i never get
anything doneexcept sitting i do a lot of that
watching blossoms
open, bloom
and fall i don't find many poems
in the trees, just
the occasional beetle
and maybe,
if i'm lucky
the muses
will send me silence I should be leaving Chapel Hill either tomorrow or Wednesday and seeing as I've got 4200-some-odd miles to cover in about a week, I'm not so sure when the next update will be. It's kind of hard to believe that two months have gone by so quickly, but that's the nature of the beast that we call time. I can't think of a better way to re-introduce and acclimatize myself to life in North America. Being out on the road has kept me from thinking too much about Japan and the life I left behind, but from what I gather, those thoughts aren't due for another couple of months or so.
In the meantime, it looks like work and planting a few more roots in Vancouver are in my future - something to consider as I drive ever-onward into the sunsets waiting for me across the country. It's a long road home, and who's to say whether the Mecca I've been seeking won't surface somewhere along the way. I might discover it lies exactly where I left from, but I don't think that would make this pilgrimage any less worthwhile. Sure it's been lonesome at times, I've encountered a few hardships along the way and I know I'll be paying it off for quite some time, but I'm learning things I should have a long time ago and discovering bits and pieces of myself that I didn't even know I'd lost along the way somewhere.Well, let's leave these half-formed thoughts and ruminations for another day. They're likely to metamorphose and crystallize into an altogether different form as I make my way through the next few months anyway. Besides, anytime I bust out 'metamorphose' and 'crystallize' in the same sentence, I can't help but feel there's some sort of masturbation going on. I've packed my bags, changed the oil in the van and planned my route - let's just leave it at that.
October 24, 2001
Well. Just as I figured I was making great time to Memphis (from Chapel Hill to roughly 120 miles west of Elvis' birthplace - some 600 miles in 9 1/2 hours!), the tables have turned. I'm currently holed up in a truck stop off of I-40 waiting out a vicious thunderstorm coupled with severla tornado warnings. Swell. One of the cashiers tells me that the warnings are in effect until 11 or so tonight; the clerk at the gas station (where I almost drowned putting in a mere $10 in gas) mentioned that there was a tornado spotted on its way from Memphis to here - I'm figuring now is definitely not the time to be bull-headed and press onward, heedless of whatever dangers may lie ahead. Still, I've got 3 more hours to kill and the itch to rack up more miles is growing steadily stronger. I'm still 200 miles short of the the daily minimum requirement I set myself to get home without having to pull any insane driving stunts. Snow in the north, tornados in the south - I might never make it home.
The van has been running well allday, even though I've maintained an average speed of 70 - 75 m.p.h. the whole day. Guess that oil change and lube job was worth shelling out for. Hell, after the oil change incident during the Shikoku Intrusion (in which Josh noticed the rapidly rising temperature of the area in the passenger side footwell, prompting us to pull over and check the oil, discovering that I had forgotten to change the ol for so long it had coagulated into a black, sticky mass that I'm sure was not doing anything for the engine whatsoever...), I figured I was never going to push my luck with engine oil again; the clerk at the Auto Shop pointed out the van was about 3000 miles past the reccomended change and some 1000 miles past the 'danger line' (his words). Oh well, some things never change.
Hmm. Glancing out the window, I'm seeing quite a lot of trucks pulling out of the parking lot... maybe things have blown over? I'm feeling terribly uninformed about this whole affair - I've never experienced a tornado before. Snow storms, pea soup fog, typhoons: fine. Black ice, blizzards, high winds: ok. A meterological event that can punch a pencil through a tree: out of my jurisdiction. Still, folks around here don't seem to be all that concerned about it. Just a fact of life, I suppose.
Hmm (again). I just asked the waitress her opinion on the situation, making a point of explaining my lack of experience on the particular subject. She laughed and told me to stay right here. Seeing as the storm is apparently coming from the direction in which I am going, running into it head-on out on the open road would be a Bad Thing. That much I knew, I just wanted to know how long these things hang around for.
Not that I mind all that much. This is a good time to kick back, relax, get some hot food and replenish caffeine and nicotine levels in my system. Heck, if things work out, I might even be able to push onpast Memphis tonight... maybe.
Stuck in Tennessee, that's kind of cool. The weather outside reminds me of Tom Waits' "Putnam County - Phantom 309" - which I drove through only a couple of hours ago. Hangin' in the Heartland: where the shit goes down. I'm really enjoying everyoone's accents as well.Eight-fifteen. All clear from the waitress. Hope she knows what she's talkin' about. I got no intention of finding myself on the Yellow Brick Road.
October 25, 2001
The waitress was right. Pulling onto the highway, there was almost no trace of the storm at all: the wind had died off, the road was almost dry and stars were beginning to peek through the rapidly thinng clouds. I hit Memphis at about ten, still an hour ahead of schedule, so I pushed on to a rest stop outside of Stuttgart, about 50 miles outside of Little Rock, Arkansas.
Am currently in Arkadelphia (a name which really appeals to me, for some reason...), refueling both the van and my belly. Have yet to look at a map today, but Texarkana is not too much farther and Austin shouldn't be more than a few hours past that. If I can pull off another 850-odd mile day today, I should be sitting pretty for the rest of the trek home. I might even have time to hang out in San Francisco for a bit. After that, one more burn and I'm home. There's a thought.Later
I drove 1000 miles today - what did you do?
October 26, 2001
Another 1000 mile day. Hallucinations in the desert past El Paso. Danger, Will Robinson, Danger!
Chickenscratches on my notepad this morning:spedometer locked at threescore and a baker's dozen
windshield lookin' like a Jackson Pollock painting
desolate reststops and run-down coffee shopsbig-buckled truck drivers
and the big-breasted girls that serve them mileposts like rosary beads
squad-car sisters in their black & white habits
handing out penance
to the highway sinners
careening along the psalm
of the open road sacrifice the remnants of this chrome christ
scatter these steel bones
like a blues melody
wafting in the Mississippi breeze
I might be able to work with this, given I make it home in one piece. Every time I saddle up behind the wheel, there's a tiny part of me that points out what a bad idea driving across the country in 3 days is.
October 31, 2001
Well, that's that. Home again. Now what?
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