:: In-flight moody ::

Wednesday, May 28, 2003

Ice crystals formed on one of the panes of the window next to my heavy head, and I looked to its adjacent ilk to see it this was a common occurrence. I saw no such crystalline latticework on any window but mine. If the darkened wing of the plane hadn't contrasted so starkly with the gossamer whiteness, I wouldn't have even known it was there. It seemed my seat had been twice blessed - with both salubrious plexiglass for a nice icing-over, as well as the right backdrop with which to see it.

The girl (woman? if so, she'd tried awfully hard to regress) next to me sat restlessly, alternating between toying with her ipod (one of the tony new 15 or 30 GB models), flicking through pictures on her digicam (much nicer than mine), scribbling/sketching in her cute little notebook, and reading some fashion rag I couldn't make out, lest I risk leering too long. I started to wonder about a time when two such wholly divergent passengers seated next to each other wouldn't have brought the exact same electronic accoutrements to occupy their time (supposing that such a time ever existed... in such a situation, one is prone to conjuring spurious delineations) or at least a time when being artsy didn't require so much capital investment.

Then I felt guilty, taken aback by my own unwarranted self-righteous vitriol, like some Trotskyite class-warrior brimming with derision or some reactionary old-guard luddite repulsed with disgust. The beauty/pitfall of sitting next to a stranger for 5.2 hours is that you're lulled into a false sense of familiarity, as if their personality were as easy to trace as the ice-lines on the window. Hell, you virtually feel compelled to do so: there's no other view.

Damned foreign and forced plane travel. It's not natural to witness ice forming like that in front of your eyes, like the scattered results of some high-energy particle accelerator, only to fade away mere hours later. It's equally as odd to sit next to a perfect stranger for 5.2 hours and comfortably fall into an implicit pact of mutual indifference and reciprocal ignorance.

There's no exit strategy, no end game, no pareto optimality. In my head, we've fallen in love, fought, made up, betrayed each other, discussed common friends, laughed at the fact that we both hate cancer (a sentiment shared by the majority, but a consonant sentiment nonetheless), jousted, gone fishing, died in every vulgar way imaginable, won free Celine Dion tickets, burned said tickets in effigy, participated in a focus group trying to gauge our thoughts on a new microwavable pastry, navigated the purgatorial waters of middle-age, and lived a lifetime of cloying but unrewarding bliss a million times over. Even saying hello is a step backwards, though judging from the 80s attire a step backwards might suit her fine.

Had I sat in another seat I wouldn't have noticed the ice, and I would have assuaged my boredom by obsessing over someone else. It doesn't really matter though, they were both shortly gone; the ice during our descent, and the girl soon after.

Restraining orders, however, last a lifetime.

Posted by morland @ 10:06 PM

:: Comments ::

As we discussed tonight, after much mimbling (you realize that I write these words only because I can and because I may never be able to again), the new ipods come in 20 and 30 now. Not 15 or 30 as you mindlessly referenced. Get your shit straight.
Also, you just said that you would fuck a cow. Cowfucker.
Third of all, please don't fuck yourself. I know that you want to, but refrain. It will make the world a better place. Trust me on this one.
Fourth of all, I was fifteen feet from Thom Yorke this weekend and you weren't. Put that in your palm and snort it.

Posted by: choistein on June 9, 2003 04:01 AM

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