Leaving on a Jet Plane Pt. I

So I missed out on a Chris Isaak concert last night due to scheduling and traveling issues. I compensated with playing Grand Theft Auto for an hour or two, basically forgoing the missions, boosting only the fast cars and motorcycles from poor, helpless civilians, killing in the name of greed/money and taking long, scenic rides by the coast of San Andreas and other gang infested areas. Even with all the fun mayhem and ultra violence of the street, I'm still none the less bummed this morning. Top that off with having to come to work on little sleep and I'm a serious risk.

I have an opportunity to be blogging from California in a couple of months. Not to live (but who knows), just on a short and much needed vacation. The prospect of having fun in another state, drinking incessantly, writing, meeting new people and drinking incessantly with them sounds great and fun. I can't really wait to get out into the sun and get a decent tan that doesn't involve pain and red skin.

The great thing about this certain trip is that I'm going it alone for the first time. I've always been in the situation of traveling with family, friends or groups. I am looking forward to being solo on my way to the coast. Not having to small talk, explain or entertain anyone but myself. Nameless and unknown in the terminal, getting my cute suitcase (that I just bought for a damn good price) off of the carousel and eventually/silently catching a cab that will take me wherever I want to go.

To be continued...

Nothing Like a Sunday

I don't know what it is but you got to do it

I don't know where to go But you got to be there

I don't know where to fall

But I know that its comfortable where

I don't know where it is

Putting all of my time In learning to care

And a bucket of rhymes I threw up somewhere

Want a locket of who Made me lose

my perfunctory view Of all that is around

And of all that I do

So I knock on the door, Take a step that is new

Never been here before

Is there anyone else who's too

In love with beauty

Playing all of the games

And thinks three's company

Is there anyone else who has slightly mysterious bruises

I don't know what it is

Sick of looking around at friendly faces

All declaring a war on far off places

Is there anyone else who is through

With complaining about what's Done unto us

So I knock on the door

And I am on a train

Going god knows where to

To get me over, To get me over

Give me heaven or hell

Calais or Dover

I was hoping the train

Was my big number

Taking the Santa Fe and the Atchison-Topeka

But we're chugging along, put Dunaway by the crossing and

Could be heading for Portland, or limbo or Lower Manhattan

Find myself running around

I don't know what it is to get me over

I don't know what it is to get me over

I don't know what it is to get me over

To get me over

You gotta do it.

You gotta be there.