Europe Adventure Journal part 1
The most important thing I need to remember is how hard this is going to be. I was up all night trying to make sure my pack was secure, and that my washboard would be properly attached to it without the risk of coming off between Atlanta and Milan. I haven't slept. I probably should, but in an hour and a half I should be landing at the New York City airport. Whatever. I just drank a huge iced coffee from a Bojangles that wasn't even on the menu. So far everything has gone far more smoothly than I would have thought possible. I have a consistent state of being aloof at times- bumping into things, leaving stuff in foolish places, knocking stuff over- yet here I am, on this giant metal tube about to be shot into the sky on the harnessed powers of sustained explosions and some aerodynamic principle called "lift". I wasn't late. I had enough money to get here and a place to stay in Atlanta the last two nights. I was able to acquire damn near everything on my list. Even the few things that have gone wrong seem so small to me. I'm pretty sure I just lost a hundred dollars to absolutely nothing- this is because I don't know how checking baggage works, and the guy at the desk wasn't very helpful about much of anything. He was pleasant at least, though. Airport employees are professionals at hating all of us and being nice about it. I don't have as many demo CDs as I was hoping to bring to sell in Europe, but perhaps I will be able to make more in the future. Yes, everything has been going just fine- so much so that a part of me is suspicious of it. Like surfing the crest of a tidal wave, taking on the forces of the abyssal unknown- Can this really end all that well? Sure. Why the hell not? I just hope I get my guitar case and backpack with all of the things in and attached to it. Even if I don't though, I'll live. Probably. As strange as it may sound, the thing I am most anxious about is precisely how not anxious I am. I feel confident and empowered to be making this journey happen. I expect hardships in Europe beyond whatever I would even conceive of, but I'm not even as nervous as I was for my first day of high school. I just feel... Free. Well of course, wouldn't you have it: The damnable fuckers of Delta Airlines have lost my washboard. I arrived at the Languardia airport in New York City and was told I needed to collect all of my bags and take a $13 bus to the JFK airport, where I would do the whole "I swear I'm not a terrorist" song and dance all over again. Have I mentioned that I hate airports? I think it has something to do with not being a masochistic beastie who is comfortable with the lurid anguishes of hell incarnate. So I did what any sane man would do and collected my stuff and made my way the hell out of the first airport I could. I noticed that my sleeping bag had been removed from its place and tied back on in a strange and inefficient manner; my stuff had clearly been searched- but this was something I would gladly fix on the 22 mile bus trip. Unfortunately as I began to do this, the first thing I noticed was that one of my 4 parachords was cut, followed immediately by the sinking recognition that one of my most prized possessions was gone. I do not believe this was an accident: losing one of those parachords was not enough to lose my washboard. I've talked to a few people and customer service agents, and nobody anywhere seems to have found it. They tell me I can file an official report once I have arrived in Italy. I haven't even bothered looking through the rest of my stuff to see if anything else was missing. Is there even a point? Sitting at what is supposed to be my terminal at the JFK airport, I'm not quite as upset as I was earlier. I am surely disappointed, as the washboard is a great way to meet and interact with musicians- and my great love of airports has decidedly suffered some- but as I said before in oddly prophetic fashion: I'll live. Probably. Maybe I'll even get my hands on another one. I'm sitting here typing this, glancing at the sensationalist swill that the television calls "news", lazily working my impossibly matted hair out with one hand, and contemplating my arrival to Italy- let me tell you, this is the peak of my multi-tasking ability. What time will I arrive? How long will it take me to get through European customs? Will they even let me in? Will they take one good look at me and say "Hell no, get this broke-ass hippie out of here!" (in Italian)? When will I meet my friend Tom in Milan, and how bad is it that I haven't booked a hostel for tomorrow night? Why don't I know even a little bit of Italian other than "grazi"? How did my hair get this impossibly matted? Will my dearest friend call me before I lose the ability to take phone calls for an indefinite period of time? What does it say about me that I'm so willing to leave everything behind- and when things were all going so good, too? Why isn't anybody in this godforsaken place smiling? These are the questions going through my mind, and a washboard is just a thing I need to get now, rather than a terrible loss. JFK Airport, day 2. I wasn't supposed to be here for two days- and yet here I am, presumably at the conclusion of my little New York City adventure. Now, if you've been reading this sequentially (because you are boring; I myself just like to read everything in it's entirety within a single unified instant), then you may be a little confused as to why there was a "little New York City adventure", or a "JFK Airport, day 2". Worry not, for I shall alleviate this confusion with the power of song! Here we go: There once was a Delta employee Who found my worn passport quite funny It wasn't quite tore 'till he fondled it more then he let me on in through the door. 9 hours later It should have been great but I got to the gate and met another Delta man with eyes full of hate. He snarled "Nice try, but you'll never fly. Pay $200 for a new passport and I hope that you die." I'd not let out a sigh when the beast rolled his eyes and said "Here's a hotel voucher- now get out of here, guy!" Did you like that? I'm really proud of it. I don't know if you could hear it, but the melody was supremely technical- masterful even, if I can say so myself. So I made my way to room 403 of a Raddison hotel, took a cab to the Walgreen's with perhaps the most lucrative passport photo business in all the world, ate inexpensive and delicious lamb from perhaps the most strategically placed street vendor in all of New York, and then slept hard for the first time in two days atop the crisp bedsheets of my hotel bed. Then I got up at 5 in the morning to go to the federal passport services building in Manhattan. It was a good thing too, because the line outside of the building curved around the whole building and then doubled over itself in no time. This is a thing that happens a lot. And say what you will about beuaracracy, but the experience was quick and efficient, and nothing like a DMV. In no time, I was out wondering around the streets of Manhattan for a few hours while waiting to pick up my fancy new passport. To be honest, nothing incredibly interesting happened that is worth recounting here- but it's Manhattan. It's dope, for lack of a better word. Now I'm back at the JFK airport, waiting to board my flight. Not that I'm indignant about it, but I find it interesting that such a busy and technologically modern place is completely bereft of free wi-fi and has less cell phone reception than a German dictator in a historically remarkable underground bunker. Though I'm sure the cost of providing wireless internet for such a large area, along with the bandwidth for so many people to tweet about how much they hate airports would be ludicrously astronomical. Either way, it gives me this chance to write. Karma has awarded me in the last couple days with free coffee, free whiskey, free pancakes, and a Pokémon card I found on the floor of the the Federal Passport Services building. It's one of the lame new ones: it's literally a sword with an eye called Honedge (get it?). But it's motherfucking holographic, bitches. This time I am actually nervous- not unlike a kid about to start their first day of high school. Something about that actually makes me feel far more confident. This time I am actually going somewhere, I know it. My mother is worried they will send me back once I arrive in Italy, but I am not too concerned about that. I am going to see my friend Tom tomorrow at the Milan Cathedral. I am sure of it- and I am so excited. In the meantime, I read that Wes Anderson's new film "Grand Budapest Hotel" will be one of the options available to watch on the plane. I really wanted to see that, but I missed it when it was in theatres. Thanks, Universe. You always come through for me.