High School Reunion and the Duality of Man Part. 3

I have to preface this.  I, simply, won’t be able to live with myself, if I don’t give you a fair warning.  You must know the scrutiny and dysfunctionality I have been dealing with since I have returned from this excursion….half way across the country.  There has to be a way for me to let you know, that since I have returned from this trip, all sorts of emotions, feelings, ideas, and sleep schedules, have been COMPLETELY strained and taken to their limits.

I have become a shut in, that is never actually in his home.  It has been an endless cycle of school, campus library, work, car, house, bedroom, bed.  Despite the fact the cycle is endless, the time frames are NOT.  So, tonight, I am drunk.  I have splurged on the Neolithic period, the Paleolithic period, the Summerian period, and have begun to learn the philosophy of Statistics. NOW, I have to write a response to the insanely BIzarre The Epic of Gilgamesh, followed by reading the book of Genesis, as per the Hebrew Bible.  Of course this is ALL post-gamed by writing a response to that as well.

So, I guess what I am trying to say is:
“SHI%”S GONNA GET REAL WEIRD!”

The morning came FaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAR too early, yet it came, so I am thankful.  It turns out, the Karma of Buddha Beer, Attacks you with every evil you deserve.

It may not help that my alarm tone is “Soon, There’ll be Thunder,” by the Common People, because, now, I associate that song with Hell.  It turns my stomach and makes my brain click, but it is an uncomfortable and interrupting kind of click.  I IMMEDIATLEY hit snooze.  I couldn’t stand hearing that sharp, twangy note that opens the song up to a CSN groove, with a Burton Cummings Fan-Boy singing with ferocity, “SOON THER”LL BE THUNDER,”  It sticks in my mind like a sucker stuck to the sidewalk on a toxically hot Kansas August Day; but in my haste to shut the Hell in a Song off, I lost my phone within the depths of my sleeping bag.

In comparison (Here comes another Star Wars reference.  {I hope you guys like the Star Wars references.  I love them.  I can compare Star Wars to almost anything.  I once, considered comparing Luke Skywalker’s journey towards becoming a Jedi, to Plato’s Allegory of the Cave.}  I love Star Wars references.)  my phone was Boba Fett when he violently fell into the Sarlac Pit.  No one knows if he is dead or alive.  Maybe he survived, maybe he didn’t.  Maybe he found an advantage spot that allows him to study the Sarlac’s habits, beyond the vision of the Sarlac.  Maybe he knows exactly how the Sarlac reacts to things, and maybe he is just waiting for his time to kill the beast and escape the pit, in an effort to finally gain his bounty for catching Han Solo.  My phone is Boba Fett and I am Han Solo, and my one person, military issued tent, in the shape of a coffin, with the figure of a body bag, is the Sarlac Pit.  So, when it went off again…..I didn’t hear it.

The alarm originally went off at 8:45 a.m., by the time I woke up, naturally, and as God intended I would, it was 10:56 a.m.  I remember it was 10:56, because, I hate to gaze upon even numbers, because they look sinister, so I shuddered a bit under the pressure of the devilish, number 6, as it burned a whole in my soul.  But, I was on the road by 11:15.  Five looks like a dancing paraplegic.  It is uplifting and happy.  GOOD for YOU Paraplegic guy!!  Dance your ass off, otherwise, you are just “six,”

(look closely:
5
&
6
Creepy right?)

I drove for about 3 hours, before I decided to stop for coffee. I got it from a rest stop on the Ohio/Indiana border.  There was a hot girl doing yoga there, it inspired me.  The coffee came from one of those weird vending machines that asks if you want cream, then sugar, then decaf or regular, by way of a letter/number sequence, and it seems as though you are taking a multiple choice test, and you have to make sure you read all the disclaimers, to insure yourself they aren’t secretly signing you up for their daily email newsletter, or “Deals” on future purchases within the family of 12 different vending machine siblings; So you hope you score well on the pop quiz, because you must be garnished with a half decent cup of coffee for a dollar and a quarter.

By the way, does anyone ever actually have a quarter when they approach vending machines, or does everyone just opt to put in two bucks and get change?

Once I reached Indiana, the second playlist I made for the trip was carefully inserted into the CD player of my Lincoln.  It was cleverly titled, The Drive, because it was a timeless collection of songs that sound FUck!ng awesome when you are driving.  The songs encourage switching lanes, and they relish your ability to pass slower drivers, that impede your progression.  The songs are intense and moving, like a rapid tainted river.  They have little progression instrumentally, but they sound like a collection of statistically, continuous data, that pressures the singer to show off his chops.
AND, by the light of ERIDU (the Summerian God of creativity, water, wisdom, and fertility), it was working and I was cruising.  Jamming out as I blasted the air drums at Spinal Tap caliber volumes.

This playlist got me deep into the heart of Illinois.  Well…this playlist….plus a guy in a black Dodge Ram, acting as my “bird-dog” as he traveled at speeds close to 115 miles an hour for a consistent 3 hours….give or take.  So, mathematically, I travelled 348 miles in 3 hours.  Illinois is only 221.6 miles across, if you take I-70.  That is a good day worth of driving. I eventually lost him, because of a couple semi trucks that felt it was necessary to pass each other, not once, not twice, not even thrice times.  They took turns passing each other a total of 5 times EACH, mathematically, that is a total of TEN passes.  This happened over the course of 30 miles….give or take.  So I stopped at a rest stop.

As I urinated in the well kept Illinois I-70 rest stop, a thought came into my head.  (Now you are in for it.)

When we are out on the road, we pass a lot of signs.  We have grown accustomed to what each sign means.  For me, I find color coding them is very effective.  For instance:

Green signs are directional, Yellow signs are cautionary, White signs are threats, and blue signs explain possible exit enticements, but Brown Signs…….WHEW….do I love me some brown signs….They, not only entice you, but they urge you to go to landmarks,  Parks, and trails, camp grounds, lakes and historical locations.

Then I remembered, sometime, before, I got stuck behind the two semi-trucks, and lost my “bird-dog” to the abyss of warp speed, I saw a brown sign that enticed me, then urged me to witness two attractions.  Both were located in the small town of Casey-Kansas, IL.  The more intriguing of the two was the World’s Largest Wind-chime.  The less exciting attraction was the World’s Largest Golf Tee.  Considering I had put in a hard day’s work of driving, caused a lot of strain on my beautiful Lincoln, and filled my bladder full of diuretics (such as coffee, dried cranberries, and about 3 liters of water), a nice relaxing stop, to view the scenery, was in order.  So, I drove the 5 miles beyond the rest stop to check out the World’s Largest Wind-chime.

Let me tell you, the Wind-chime is very large, is very pretty, and conveniently placed in the courtyard of a very cute, little, coffee shop called, The Whittling Whimsy.   The potential for the idea, of the World’s Largest Wind-chime, is out of the park; the reality, of the World’s Largest Wind-chime, is lackluster,  albeit, gratifying.  It is similar to watching the Chiefs in the post-season.  You’re happy they made it there, but you have come to terms with how it turns out.

The wind-chime, though beautiful and huge, isn’t that practical….as a wind-chime.  Considering it is a staggering 49 feet in height, and the nearly 3,000 pound steel tubes, are not conducive to creating naturally beautiful music, conducted by the wind.  That is, unless, the wind is a conductor propelled by an F-3 or higher tornado, and is accompanied by a percussion section with no qualms about using 1/4 inch rain drops, golf ball sized hail, thunder and a gimmicky flash of lightning, to propel their drum solo to new heights (Like at a Motley Crue concert.)

So, the string…. NO, rope, that you had to pull, to make the Wind-chime…chime…provided a dull, flat, baritone sound, that seemed more like the tired sheriff in Fievel Goes West, than it did a beautifully toned wind-chime that brightens a day while you work in the garden.

Something else fairly exciting….well, exciting by Casey-Kansas, Illinois’ standards was…. across the street from the World’s Largest Wind-chime, gathered a group of carpenters, architects, and artists that were teaming together to build the World’s Largest Rocking Chair.

Though this may be exciting to Casey-Kansas, Illinois, I think George Jones said it best when he sang, “I don’t need your rockin’ chair.”  So, onward to Kansas.

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3 thoughts on “High School Reunion and the Duality of Man Part. 3

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