Big Wednesday

what i saw

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Wednesday April 18th at 5.45pm was goodbye New Zealand time.

Wednesday April 18th at 9.30am was hello Los Angeles time.

And Wednesday April 18th at 9.45pm was welcome to the end of the world, time.

Your most simple run of the mill sequence of flight connections ever. How the bollocking high priest of buggery could it all go wrong...?

  But first: New Zealand, an epilogue.

New Zealand was like a traditonal mince pie; beautifully formed on the outside but when you take a bite, a cacophony of ingredients, textures and taste that is wrong and ultimatley way too fucking English for it's own good.

The landscape was awe-inspiring, the air clean and fresh, the nature more natural than organic possom panties but, alack, the streets and shops and people and boy racers and culture... I fear and cry for it's unstoppable future as England2.

Ultimatley mince and pies do not go together.

Now, the longest Wednesday in my life. 

I could write about the obligatory turmoil that comes all-expenses-paid with a connect flight ticket. That is, I could dwell upon the endless depth-defying infalliable black hole of boredom that is a series of flight connections, but that would be BORING.

 So, instead, a phsychoanalytical  representation of a profoundly poetic injustice.

Basically, i was tired.

I flew to LA wedged against the middle seat, in a scenario of complete cliche'd omnipotence, between one fat american and his fat american wife. When they slept they kind of wheezed from the challenging exertion of  sleeping or possibly from the air escaping their neatly iorned folds of skin I do not know. What i do know is that i did not sleep and was tired.

LA EX airport was the same. Worse.

I was too tired and discombobulated to even begin assessing this rich seething criteria for satircal gonzoisms. They were a literary viagra. A positive errection of description and idea amalgamated.

 They were actually WEARING Disneyland LA t-shirts, their ballooning obesity distorting the mildly cute and apathetic faces of catoon creatures, like Tweety Pie, into  abominations that were ultimatley cruel and evil. That middle aged and manically depressed looking man was actually parading a set of small strap-on mickey mouse ears against his shrunken cranium in a crowded airport. And, in the midst of this social chaos of form and fat arse, they looked at ME when i said "please" following my polite coffee request, and said "what's with the accent buddy?" with that nasal finger-on-blackboard speech impedimentation that is Americana sonically personified.

  In fact, this extreme, hyper-intense scenario of discombobulation, that is, being discombobulatedly launched across the Pacific Ocean in twelve hours to the root and channel resoviour of all my hate and poison tongued drifter diary ammo ultimatley fucked me up. In my shattered state I began to find comfort within the surging walls of blubber, high cholseterol and low patience that was America. I was actually awed and wowed by their presence, like walking with dinosaurs only fatter. Less teeth and more scales, or the other way around. Aaah and Ooooh and WaaahhWoooh.  

At the end of the day, and when i had regained my sanity and sleep-deprivation, I realised that they were just. fucking. Americans.

And i was stuck here.

If i said i was still rotting in a mire of conglomerate diaorreah and slogans in the gutters of an LA airport would you cry for me? If i said I had personally criticized the economic stance of the honourable heir of California Mr Arnie 'Conan the Republican' Schwarzeneggar esquire, and was benchlifted to buggery for my trouble, would you congratulate my forthrightness and politically astute enterprise in asthetic perceptiveness and cherish my radical left-wing memories for the ages? If i told you David fucking Beckham had plowed over my spleen with his 4x4 Hummer would you press for a Green Tax and less consumption of petrol in these days of global warming?

I hope so.

and now...now, now somehow, I was in Alaska, and i had to ask myself the pinnacle, tip-of-the-iceburg, million and one dollar question.

 Why?...