Sunday, April 13, 2008
I really hated being on the road. Having a "job" that required visiting cities all over the world was wasted on me. Having an insanely fast metabolism is also an injustice in that it allows me to eat everything and anything in sight yet I couldn’t care less about food. I would often start the habitual bitching a day or two before having to hit the road.
ME: Ughh…I have to be in Barcelona tomorrow.
YOU: And this is horrible, why?
ME: ‘Cause it’ll be a nightmare trying to find a nice quiet place to sit and have a meal. I’ll have to walk all over the place peeking inside smoke filled taverns packed with rotten toothed old men. If I do find a place I’m reduced to infancy looking at the menu and trying to order.
YOU: Won’t you be meeting up with musicians and local jazz lovers that’ll take you out for multi-course meals in amazing restaurants where you’ll sit for hours drinking wine and gorging on the finest native epicurean delights?
ME: Exactly! Food is just fuel as far as I’m concerned. Who the hell wants to sit around at a gas station. I want to fill up and then move on.
YOU: What about all the unique cultural aspects, like say…the architecture?
ME: It’s not like I’m playing at the foot of the Pyramids. It’s an urban metropolis. That means stores and hoards of people shopping in the stores and big signs everywhere advertising all the shit in the stores. It’s the exact same shit you find in any town in America except it's harder to tune out because it is just slightly different enough to fool you for a split second that their crap might be of a nobler quality than your crap. This momentary deception is incredibly exhausting.
YOU: You are a complete idiot. (Delivered with a look of disgust and contempt).