Maybe it’s the forced complacency and shepherding that, ironically, induce contemplation among the masses traveling via air. Maybe it’s just the hours of waiting. Or for some, maybe it’s anxiety from being severed from their most precious fluids: what else is a gal to do when her Tom’s of Maine is checked in cargo?
Caveat: this commentary excludes business travelers, who have numbed themselves with the ritual—remove shoes, belt, isolate keys, laptop, wait, turn off electronic devices, fasten seatbelts, hold pee, traytables in upright position, disembark, attend meeting, repeat—and instead applies to the casual flyer—college student going “home,” lower/middle manager returning from her one week on a beach, adolescent making rounds with divorced parent, etc.: those with traytables remaining in upright positions, affording the luxury of independent thought, rather than expense reports and marketing presentations. Yes, that was one sentence. Those…whose souls will change, or have changed, as a result…of air travel.
The departure flight provided ample fodder for contemplation/obsession, as I was prevented from carrying my diminutive suitcase on the plane: too many fluids. Predictably, I had cut it too close for checked baggage, arriving at EUG at 5:35 a.m. for a 6 o’clock direct flight to LAX. Instead, I was placed on a flight departing at 6:40, routed north through SEA, to arrive at LAX four hours later than initially planned.
I was on time for the return flight. Leaving LAX at 9:30 p.m. and arriving at EUG at midnight was not as conducive to recording errant musings as had been the morning flight/s. They exist here as mere, uh, reflections of their former selves—bastardizations of recollections, past realities, and hindsight that is often—but not always—20/20.
Before I continue, I’d like to note that someone I care about has recently been committed to a mental institution. S/he has been there for almost two weeks. A release date is, at this point, not in sight. This person, though slightly eccentric and endearingly neurotic, was not, until two weeks ago, what most people would consider “crazy.” Why am I mentioning this? I don’t know. Maybe it’s to remind myself (and the reader) that the tightrope we walk between sanity and insanity is much more fragile than most of us care to admit. This paragraph would be completely acontextual were it not also a reminder that our problems are not as tragic as we think. I can’t think of an antonym for “contextual” that doesn’t involve multiple words, so why is “acontextual” not in the dictionary?
What follows are excerpts from my notes of the morning of 7/28:
What would happen if I finished my incompletes for school? Hm, then I’d need to get a job. And then I wouldn’t be able to stay at home with the dogs in the garden. And if I got a job, I might get fired from it, and if I got fired, that would mean [by some convoluted logic] that I’m useless. I want to be useful—but more likely it’s that I want to be needed. That’s why I stay with the dogs; they “need” me. Or I need them. To need me? Is this why I’m spending cash I don’t have in order to fly down for a family reunion? Because I need to feel needed? Is that why family reunions happen? Because people need to feel needed? Is that why they have children?
Alaska Airlines doesn’t recycle the plastic cups. How many plastic cups get thrown out on how many flights on how many days of how many years? I want to write a letter. Send the CEO my cup. Why are we in Iraq? Petroleum. What are plastic cups? Petroleum.
Yesterday at the mall (after an unsuccessful attempt to procure electronic consumables at Circuit City), I was overwhelmed (or maybe underwhelmed) by how stupid people are. There is honestly no way to express this in a more diplomatic or kindly way that wouldn’t dilute the sentiment. I’m not sure why the revelation didn’t occur to me in this, its broadest form, until recently. Yes, we all know that people are dumb. But I’m not so sure that many people realize just how dimwitted the masses are. Hopefully, some of the mediocrity is simply veiled apathy. (It’s sometimes hard to tell the difference, especially in Circuit City employees.)
Why has it taken me 33 years to recognize our idiocy? I don’t think that it’s my own getting wiser. Is it just where I live? Would I share my sentiment were I still living in NYC? There is, of course, the chance that I’m the incoherent one, which may explain why certain corporate peons can’t understand anything I say when I call their customer service numbers. But even if most people are dumb, why do I care?
It’s not about whether people agree with my ideology. Most of us think that those who disagree with us are simply ill-informed, ignorant, or dumb. Why then, should I care whether other people seem intellectually challenged? They probably think the same of me, so it all comes out in the [brain]wash, anyway.
On a different, but related topic—how close are most people to insanity? What does it take to push a normal person into neuroses, psychoses, or over the edge? Primates are, for the most part, social animals. Yet we exist in an increasingly alienating society, despite (or in spite of) our increasingly sophisticated technology. The Internet, a dog, or a couple o’ cats cannot completely redress human alienation. We’ve separated ourselves so much from our peeps that, like a monkey separated from her troop, we’re forgetting how to function in society. We’re collectively breeding a new species: antisocial, requiring immediate gratification, and highly skilled at following rules (robots?). Natural selection dictates that only the callous and numb will thrive.
August 4 commentary: Yikes.
Return flight of 7/31 & post-return flight musings:
Will roommate show up on time to pick me up? Probably not. I don’t want to go back to Eugene. It’s like that room in Sartre’s No Exit. (Though not exactly, since I did just exit for a few days. But that only served to illuminate how purgatorish Eugene really is.) But this is a public blog, not a bitchfest.
Human animals can be perplexing. Though we’re not, really. We’ve just created a perplexing and complex environment for ourselves. Were we all still swinging from vines in the rainforest, punching people who annoyed us and fucking people who didn’t, we’d probably be much happier. But that’s a given. As monkeys trying to navigate cities and governments and careers and mixed cultural messages, we’re pretty confused. Why does the human-monkey brain yearn for both complexity and chaos? Boredom? It’s unfortunate that boredom manifested asphalt-infested parking lots like Los Angeles. No offense to Lala-lings—it’s not your fault. I’m sure the place has many redeeming qualities. Just not that many. Of course, I’m biased. This monkey digs in dirt daily, grows vegetables and fruits, and hangs out in hammocks strewn between trees. So uncivilized!
The irony is, I may very well end up in a place like LA, if I ever manage to extirpate myself from purgatory. I’d like to think that, with my “expertise,” I’ll help to bring order to the chaos, or chaos to the order, or just help to get a decent light rail system in place—but that would be naïve. I’m just one monkey, and sociologically-speaking, I’m kind of at the fringes of the clan. What is a group of monkeys called? A clan? A troop? A society?? Here’s another: what’s a baby monkey called? We’ve got cubs, pups, calfs, and goslings. Monkling? Doesn’t sound right. (These questions were posed to the nice couple sitting next to me on the SEA-LAX flight. Though clearly wanting to be helpful, they came up empty.)
Where was I? Oh yes, we’re confused. We tell others that we “don’t play games,” we’re “no bullshit,” “say it like it is,” etc. Some will even say they “have no baggage.” (Those are the most confused of all.)
It’s not that we don’t mean what we say, but rather, we just don’t know what we mean. It’s that monkey-brain complexity at work. We want certain things in our lives, but the action we often take would suggest otherwise. This wouldn’t happen if we were dogs. If a dog doesn’t like you, it’s probably because she’s afraid of you. That fear may not make sense to humans—just because one guy was an asshole to the dog doesn’t mean that all guys will be—but the dog’s gonna bark at every guy who walks down the alley nonetheless. She’s not gonna get all cuddly-wuddly with the guy, and then wait for him to act like an asshole before she barks at him. No bullshit: fight or flight. Dogs don’t cuddle up to people they’re afraid of.
On the other hand, dogs don’t invent reasons to be afraid of people. They don’t care how ugly you are, they’ll lick your face regardless. They’ll generally forgive minor transgressions in short order. Face-licking is more fun than barking at assholes, in any event.
I may be digressing a bit here: monkey-brain complexity is the topic. Monkey brains are more complex than dog brains. Monkeys generally want the same things as dogs, they’re just more sophisticated about getting them. And monkey troops (clans?) tend to be bigger than dog packs, so there’s more allegiance-shifting and ass-kissing going on. At the very least, a monkey wants to be accepted, even if it means going unnoticed most of the time. At best, a monkey wants to be the pimp-daddy—the top monkey-dog, making lots of monkeylets with bunches of hot monkey-mamas. I imagine some monkeys are more content to chill somewhere in the middle, probably because that’s less work—no need to strut your stuff all the time, and perhaps less need to keep all those allegiances and alliances straight. Then again, maybe the hardest place to be is just under the shadow of top-monkey—you gotta kiss a lot of ass, yet bite a lot of backs, to stay within Top’s top 8. And you don’t even get the hot monkey-mamas, unless you’re really sneaky about it.
I like that middle ground. If you can find another monkey who also likes to hang out there, even better. It’s like you’re the pimp-daddy monkey of your own little two-monkey clan. Or pimp-mommy. Top won’t mess with you, since you’re just two monkeys. And because you and your other monkey have an understanding, there’s a lot less back-biting and a lot more monkey-business going on.
That line between sanity and insanity? You think I’ve crossed it.
In short: too many of us are scared little monkeylets, vehemently defending our status/territory/ego, when instead we could just be monkeyin’ around.
