«The Road Trip – Day 3»

The scenery passing my window was as dull as it had been for the past 400 miles. In the late afternoon of our third day on Luna, we drove by nothing but flat farmland as far as they eye could see. The occasional hill speckled the horizon, and more common were clusters of trees clinging to ponds–and each other–for dear life. It’s all we’ve seen since before we even left the last region we drove through.

Yesterday, after leaving Saline, we had a relatively easy journey. We stopped off at a few roadside destinations, the little scenic points you could spot while driving–even make a quick u-turn if you had to– and spend half an hour fucking around on the rocks. If you take a moment to really breath it in, each offers a unique view of what moon was to come.

At the first stop, Salt Wash, natives spread their cheap jewelry over the white stones, a secretive trap, well-laid for tourists to meander through. The lizards basked on the early morning rocks, which we bounded over to get a good view over a little canyon. It was the most dry land and scrub I’d seen up close though, the spectacular views from the night before had been too high and vast to feel this close to the terrain. We could see the road ahead, winding about behind the largest pillar, and knew we’d have to get back to it without delay.

The next point was called Ghost Rock, and here we took longer to enjoy the view. Ghost Rock itself was a large, prominent outcropping that towered the road beside it, and it’s aptly named for looking like it were draped in a sheet. Brick spotted a strange plant I’d never encountered before and we spent a half hour searching for more bizarre flora. When our search turned up empty, we returned to inspect it, only to find it was a plastic piece that belonged in a terrarium. When we’d shaken off our embarrassment, we noticed we could observe great views off both sides of the point. One side offered an angle on the way we’d come, the other laid out the path before us. We stood a moment trying to imagine the plains that dinosaurs once populated in all their glory.

Spotted Wolf was an interesting point, especially since I couldn’t see why it was named so. From the parking lot, a peninsula ridge ran between two depressions, leading to a larger sink valley, like a giant, sandy “Y”. If you could brave the wind sheering across the top of the narrow path, the view down through the valley and beyond was incredible and endless. The two valleys that met were wrapped by two giant, jagged walls which seemed to sink into the middle where the road weaved and disappeared into the rocky land on the other side.

“You remember those pictures from my trip last year, right?” Brick was almost shouting to be heard of the squall. “This is that one I did the 360-shot at, you know?”

“I do,” of course I recognized it, “but the pictures did nothing for it.” It was really something to behold up close, and we couldn’t help but spend a while staring it.

Within the hour we were turning off the main route and approaching Arches Park, one of the dark side’s more prized tourist destinations. The erosion effects on the different levels of basalt and sandstone, and other sediments, have caused looser stripes to dissolve away beneath tougher ones, leaving behind a rigid layer above exposed to the wind. Large enough to walk through, enough to stand up straight in. Even wide enough to drive a big rig right through. More hoodoos, walls, pillars and dangerously balanced rocks delighted us on the way to the view point we figured we’d have to time to reach.

“Our batteries are so low anyway, we’ll be back soon enough. We don’t need to put on any block or even bring a water bottle” I remember saying before wandering around the point for an hour and a half.

“One of these is the South Window and the other the North Window,” Brick said, reading off the map supplied to us at the gate.

“That’s real convenient,” I said looking up at the sun, seeing that it was directly above us in the sky and dead in between each of the massive arches. “Well I guess it couldn’t help us either way…”

“Yeah, plus you don’t know anything about Luna,” Brick kindly reminded me. “That one’s the South cause it’s closer to Turret Arch on the map, which is right…there,” he pointed to our right.

“Huh…didn’t even see that one.”

“That J on the drive in may not have been a good idea, good sir.”

“Hush, you know it’s making this so much better,” I said snatching the camera from him. “I need to waste some more battery.”

Each window was a strange portal, one offering a view to a greener land, the other to a field of petrified dunes. The third arch gave way to an impressive natural amphitheater, and I suddenly wished I’d brought my guitar from the crawler. There were arches within arches mounted on top of arches they called the Parade of Elephants, visible from the back rows, if you turned around. There was also a spot with a whole bunch of strange pillars, like a mini Ingenii, they called the Garden of Eden.

“Alright, nice as this is we really need to be getting on the road,” the PDA was chirping off in Brick’s pocket, we knew it was sounding the hour.

“That’s four?” I asked, looking away from the view finder for a moment.

“Yeah,” he answered, inspecting the device. “And we’re barely a third of the way for the day.” I looked back to the camera to watch just as it powered off.

“Good timing, lets get the fuck out of here.”

Once we got back on to the main road, we cut north along the Lunarado river, watching get smaller and smaller as we went along. High walls dwarfed us on all on sides, and a murky green water flowed against us for miles. The striated cliffs eventually bowed to either side and gave way to a flat plain lands. These too melted away into foot hills of a great mountain in front of us.

Before it could get dark, we began to ascended this rocky mountain range. Steep grades to both directions beset us as we weaved in and out of slower freight traffic. In less than an hour we had reached an elevation of 10,000 feet over sea level. I’d have never known to check our altitude if my jaw didn’t feel two sizes too large all of a sudden.

“So we’re still taking the shortcut, right?” Brick leaned over, rubbing his eyes while he kept one hand on the wheel.

“It’s all we have directions for…I mean, I could-” I started.

“No, no. We’ll just use what we’ve got, there might be traffic on a Saturday night,” he cut me off.

“Alright, take a right in three exits.”

The canyon we pulled into turned out to be another death drive of a winding road. The darkness engulfing us suddenly cut off light from the stars and all Earthshine, making it utterly pitch black within the sheer walls. No street lights in here, the only illumination was from our headlights, which was absolutely negligent compared to the high beams shined upon us from every oncoming vehicle. Mantra: look to the other side, don’t take your eyes off the right line! After the second potentially fatal late night drive, we were glad to finally be at our destination of Crater, Luna.

This is when our directions turned on us. Crater is apparently a very un-google-friendly location, adding an extra hour of driving through the residential streets of this suburban community. It was a really nice place though, lots of trees and little houses that reminded me a lot of where I grew up. Though people seemed younger and more active; a lot of athletic gear on with back packs, and waterbottles, like everyone was constantly prepared for a hike.

We eventually found our hotel, after having to call a few relatives who were much closer to a computer screen. We checked into our room, near identical to the one we’d spent the night before in, but this one with the scars of murphy-beds on the wall and ceiling. We stole the same sample portions of hand soap and shampoo that we’d snatched from the last place and cursed those same unstealable coat hangers. Then we went out for some stoner pizza and passed out after gorging ourselves on it.

*****

When looking for a good place to eat breakfast, a tip is to see where the locals gather. In the middle of the rush, we looked for a slightly busy restaurant that bore the sign of a local crowd. The one we’d looked up on my workstation turned out to be stuck to the walls with yuppie, tourist families.

“45 minute wait? Yeah, put us down for two under ‘Pied’,” I said turning away from the host and nodding to Brick, who followed, slightly confused.

“Pied?” he asked me.

“Long story…ex-girlfriend.”

“Ah…so then we’re not going back. Alright, where to now?” he inquired.

“Uh, not sure. Let’s just keep walking, it’s a rather nice day,” I said, blindly leading the way through the town square.

Around us they were setting up for some sort of cultural festival that we had no interest in wasting our money at. There were a multitude of craft shops about, the same kind of wind chimes and iridescent knick-knacks we’d seen at every tourist town we’d passed since we’d left Mars. But here in downtown Crater, we also counted 5 boutiques specializing in athletic shoes with all sort of support and springs. A café around the corner had a patio filled with the same people you would expect to buy these shock absorbing sneakers. It also had prices that looked promising, so we entered eagerly.

When we got on the road late this morning, it was only a short roll through the industrial bit of Reiner. Crater is a suburb of the mile-high city, located within Reiner Gamma, and just about as far away from the metropolis as my hometown is from the capital of Earth. The city was an ugly smear of silver and grey that luckily disappeared quickly. In moments we saw the last of the mountainous terrain we would for days. The scenery flattened out, rocky outcroppings dissolving into rolling, grassy hills abruptly emerging to take their place.

“Get used to this. It’s all we’re going to be seeing for a while,” he muttered, glancing out his window.

“It’s just so gorking flat,” I was beginning to become disappointed with the moon.

“You know, it’s kinda like a huge wave function. The amplitude and wavelength will steadily decrease until there aren’t any more peaks to get in our way.” His mind was knee-deep in an old physics lesson.

“Kinda like a rubber ball bouncing half as high each time?” I interjected.

“Yeah, like that… but not so uniform.”

“And probably not in one direction either,” I attempted to correct myself.

“Nah, it’s actually pretty much a straight line from here. If I just set the cruise and avoid touching  the steering wheel, we should be fine until the hotel,” he said confidently.

“Seriously?”

“No. We have to adjust our course at some point,” he half-scowled at me.

“Oh right,” I felt awkward for a moment. “Number one?” I asked as I retrieved the compact ashtray from the armrest compartment.

“Might as well, it’s not going to get anymore thrilling around here without it,” he confirmed, checking his phone and heavily sighing when he realized we hadn’t even been on the road for a solid hour.

“Who knows, today might be the most exciting,” I suggested.

Of course, it wasn’t. But what to expect that from boring, old Luna? The ‘seas’ of flat terrain stretching off for miles and miles were poorly named by early Earthling astronomers. Oceanus Procellarum, the so-called “Ocean of Storms” was superfluously devoid of anything worth observing, besides that Adult Superstore, of course–overly hyped by the hundred ads we saw along the way. And Mare Imbrium actually stood up to it’s name with a slight drizzle, meager as that was.

The most amazing spectacle all day was the rainbow we spotted before entering Mare Serenitatas. It was gigantic and endless, and seemed to avoid our pursuit for miles, running on ahead of us for the better portion of an hour. It was truly the biggest I’d ever seen in my life, as large as the limb of the Earth itself, which made an equally impressive sight as it too emerged, over the pale horizon. The rainbow suddenly vanished, as if we overcame it and passed it without noticing.

“Well that was sure neat while it lasted,” I lamented.

“Aghh!! We still have another 75 miles to go,” he growled angrily at the dashboard. “We need to get out of this god damn place.”

The scenery passing my window was as dull as it had been for the past 400 miles. In the late afternoon of our third day on Luna, we drove by nothing but flat farmland as far as they eye could see. The occasional hill speckled the horizon, and more common were clusters of trees clinging to ponds–and each other–for dear life. It’s all we’ve seen since before we even left the last region we drove through.

Yesterday, after leaving Saline, we had a relatively easy journey. We stopped off at a few roadside destinations, the little scenic points you could spot while driving–even make a quick u-turn if you had to– and spend half an hour fucking around on the rocks. If you take a moment to really breath it in, each offers a unique view of what moon was to come.

At the first stop, Salt Wash, natives spread their cheap jewelry over the white stones, a secretive trap, well-laid for tourists to meander through. The lizards basked on the early morning rocks, which we bounded over to get a good view over a little canyon. It was the most dry land and scrub I’d seen up close though, the spectacular views from the night before had been too high and vast to feel this close to the terrain. We could see the road ahead, winding about behind the largest pillar, and knew we’d have to get back to it without delay.

The next point was called Ghost Rock, and here we took longer to enjoy the view. Ghost Rock itself was a large, prominent outcropping that towered the road beside it, and it’s aptly named for looking like it were draped in a sheet. Brick spotted a strange plant I’d never encountered before and we spent a half hour searching for more bizarre flora. When our search turned up empty, we returned to inspect it, only to find it was a plastic piece that belonged in a terrarium. When we’d shaken off our embarrassment, we noticed we could observe great views off both sides of the point. One side offered an angle on the way we’d come, the other laid out the path before us. We stood a moment trying to imagine the plains that dinosaurs once populated in all their glory.

Spotted Wolf was an interesting point, especially since I couldn’t see why it was named so. From the parking lot, a peninsula ridge ran between two depressions, leading to a larger sink valley, like a giant, sandy “Y”. If you could brave the wind sheering across the top of the narrow path, the view down through the valley and beyond was incredible and endless. The two valleys that met were wrapped by two giant, jagged walls which seemed to sink into the middle where the road weaved and disappeared into the rocky land on the other side.

“You remember those pictures from my trip last year, right?” Brick was almost shouting to be heard of the squall. “This is that one I did the 360-shot at, you know?”

“I do,” of course I recognized it, “but the pictures did nothing for it.” It was really something to behold up close, and we couldn’t help but spend a while staring it.

Within the hour we were turning off the main route and approaching Arches Park, one of the dark side’s more prized tourist destinations. The erosion effects on the different levels of basalt and sandstone, and other sediments, have caused looser stripes to dissolve away beneath tougher ones, leaving behind a rigid layer above exposed to the wind. Large enough to walk through, enough to stand up straight in. Even wide enough to drive a big rig right through. More hoodoos, walls, pillars and dangerously balanced rocks delighted us on the way to the view point we figured we’d have to time to reach.

“Our batteries are so low anyway, we’ll be back soon enough. We don’t need to put on any block or even bring a water bottle” I remember saying before wandering around the point for an hour and a half.

“One of these is the South Window and the other the North Window,” Brick said, reading off the map supplied to us at the gate.

“That’s real convenient,” I said looking up at the sun, seeing that it was directly above us in the sky and dead in between each of the massive arches. “Well I guess it couldn’t help us either way…”

“Yeah, plus you don’t know anything about Luna,” Brick kindly reminded me. “That one’s the South cause it’s closer to Turret Arch on the map, which is right…there,” he pointed to our right.

“Huh…didn’t even see that one.”

“That J on the drive in may not have been a good idea, good sir.”

“Hush, you know it’s making this so much better,” I said snatching the camera from him. “I need to waste some more battery.”

Each window was a strange portal, one offering a view to a greener land, the other to a field of petrified dunes. The third arch gave way to an impressive natural amphitheater, and I suddenly wished I’d brought my guitar from the crawler. There were arches within arches mounted on top of arches they called the Parade of Elephants, visible from the back rows, if you turned around. There was also a spot with a whole bunch of strange pillars, like a mini Ingenii, they called the Garden of Eden.

“Alright, nice as this is we really need to be getting on the road,” the PDA was chirping off in Brick’s pocket, we knew it was sounding the hour.

“That’s four?” I asked, looking away from the view finder for a moment.

“Yeah,” he answered, inspecting the device. “And we’re barely a third of the way for the day.” I looked back to the camera to watch just as it powered off.

“Good timing, lets get the fuck out of here.”

Once we got back on to the main road, we cut north along the Lunarado river, watching get smaller and smaller as we went along. High walls dwarfed us on all on sides, and a murky green water flowed against us for miles. The striated cliffs eventually bowed to either side and gave way to a flat plain lands. These too melted away into foot hills of a great mountain in front of us.

Before it could get dark, we began to ascended this rocky mountain range. Steep grades to both directions beset us as we weaved in and out of slower freight traffic. In less than an hour we had reached an elevation of 10,000 feet over sea level. I’d have never known to check our altitude if my jaw didn’t feel two sizes too large all of a sudden.

“So we’re still taking the shortcut, right?” Brick leaned over, rubbing his eyes while he kept one hand on the wheel.

“It’s all we have directions for…I mean, I could-” I started.

“No, no. We’ll just use what we’ve got, there might be traffic on a Saturday night,” he cut me off.

“Alright, take a right in three exits.”

The canyon we pulled into turned out to be another death drive of a winding road. The darkness engulfing us suddenly cut off light from the stars and all Earthshine, making it utterly pitch black within the sheer walls. No street lights in here, the only illumination was from our headlights, which was absolutely negligent compared to the high beams shined upon us from every oncoming vehicle. Mantra: look to the other side, don’t take your eyes off the right line! After the second potentially fatal late night drive, we were glad to finally be at our destination of Crater, Luna.

This is when our directions turned on us. Crater is apparently a very un-google-friendly location, adding an extra hour of driving through the residential streets of this suburban community. It was a really nice place though, lots of trees and little houses that reminded me a lot of where I grew up. Though people seemed younger and more active; a lot of athletic gear on with back packs, and waterbottles, like everyone was constantly prepared for a hike.

We eventually found our hotel, after having to call a few relatives who were much closer to a computer screen. We checked into our room, near identical to the one we’d spent the night before in, but this one with the scars of murphy-beds on the wall and ceiling. We stole the same sample portions of hand soap and shampoo that we’d snatched from the last place and cursed those same unstealable coat hangers. Then we went out for some stoner pizza and passed out after gorging ourselves on it.

«←→»

When looking for a good place to eat breakfast, a tip is to see where the locals gather. In the middle of the rush, we looked for a slightly busy restaurant that bore the sign of a local crowd. The one we’d looked up on my workstation turned out to be stuck to the walls with yuppie, tourist families.

“45 minute wait? Yeah, put us down for two under ‘Pied’,” I said turning away from the host and nodding to Brick, who followed, slightly confused.

“Pied?” he asked me.

“Long story…ex-girlfriend.”

“Ah…so then we’re not going back. Alright, where to now?” he inquired.

“Uh, not sure. Let’s just keep walking, it’s a rather nice day,” I said, blindly leading the way through the town square.

Around us they were setting up for some sort of cultural festival that we had no interest in wasting our money at. There were a multitude of craft shops about, the same kind of wind chimes and iridescent knick-knacks we’d seen at every tourist town we’d passed since we’d left Mars. But here in downtown Crater, we also counted 5 boutiques specializing in athletic shoes with all sort of support and springs. A café around the corner had a patio filled with the same people you would expect to buy these shock absorbing sneakers. It also had prices that looked promising, so we entered eagerly.

When we got on the road late this morning, it was only a short roll through the industrial bit of Reiner. Crater is a suburb of the mile-high city, located within Reiner Gamma, and just about as far away from the metropolis as my hometown is from the capital of Earth. The city was an ugly smear of silver and grey that luckily disappeared quickly. In moments we saw the last of the mountainous terrain we would for days. The scenery flattened out, rocky outcroppings dissolving into rolling, grassy hills abruptly emerging to take their place.

“Get used to this. It’s all we’re going to be seeing for a while,” he muttered, glancing out his window.

“It’s just so gorking flat,” I was beginning to become disappointed with the moon.

“You know, it’s kinda like a huge wave function. The amplitude will steadily decrease and the wavelength stretch until there aren’t any more peaks to get in our way.” His mind was knee-deep in an old physics lesson.

“Kinda like a rubber ball bouncing half as high each time?” I interjected.

“Yeah, like that… but not so uniform.”

“And probably not in one direction either,” I attempted to correct myself.

“Nah, it’s actually pretty much a straight line from here. If I just set the cruise and avoid touching  the steering wheel, we should be fine until the hotel,” he said confidently.

“Seriously?”

“No. We have to adjust our course at some point,” he half-scowled at me.

“Oh right,” I felt awkward for a moment. “Number one?” I asked as I retrieved the compact ashtray from the armrest compartment.

“Might as well, it’s not going to get anymore thrilling around here without it,” he confirmed, checking his phone and heavily sighing when he realized we hadn’t even been on the road for a solid hour.

“Who knows, today might be the most exciting,” I suggested.

Of course, it wasn’t. But what to expect that from boring, old Luna? The ‘seas’ of flat terrain stretching off for miles and miles were poorly named by early Earthling astronomers. Oceanus Procellarum, the so-called “Ocean of Storms” was superfluously devoid of anything worth observing, besides that Adult Superstore, of course–overly hyped by the hundred ads we saw along the way. And Mare Imbrium actually stood up to it’s name with a slight drizzle, meager as that was.

The most amazing spectacle all day was the rainbow we spotted before entering Mare Serenitatas. It was gigantic and endless, and seemed to avoid our pursuit for miles, running on ahead of us for the better portion of an hour. It was truly the biggest I’d ever seen in my life, as large as the limb of the Earth itself, which made an equally impressive sight as it too emerged, over the pale horizon. The rainbow suddenly vanished, as if we overcame it and passed it without noticing.

“Well that was sure neat while it lasted,” I lamented.

“Aghh!! We still have another 75 miles to go,” he growled angrily at the dashboard. “We need to get out of this god damn place.”

«The Road Trip – Day 2»

The sun was up, high over the ridges that surrounded the little town of Saline. The pale rock face and sparse peppering of green scrub seemed more vibrant now that they were illuminated in the day. I squinted as I glanced up at the blue sky over the lip of the crater wall that our motel was nestled into. I released a sigh of appreciation for the nice morning.

“Shall we?” Brick insisted, coming up from behind me with all his luggage. I was standing by the entrance with my guitar and backpack, smoking my breakfast.

“You know…we really shouldn’t be alive right now,” I reminded him, “We should have died on that forsaken mountain.”

“I do,” he stopped to contemplate it all again, joining in staring over the wall of dirt. “I can’t believe we survived that drive.”

“What were we thinking,” I asked rhetorically, turning to him.

“We weren’t,” he sighed to himself and picked up his bags again. “Let’s go, we have to get a move on. There’s a lot of Moon to cover today.”

We situated our gear back in the crawler, had ourselves a hearty breakfast at a little mom-n-pop diner, literally named Mom’s, and were back on the road in no time. The terrain streaming past the windows was beautiful, I had no idea how breathtaking the scenery on Luna could be, but maybe I was just appreciating it more since Brick and I just received new leases on life.

Last night had been treacherous, or retarded to say the least. In a small town called Hatch we pulled off to the side of the road. While the sun was still in the sky, before the limb of the Earth began to chase it, we ate the Flowers of Taurus. Only half a bag each, but apparently even that was too much.

The next half hour was a worrisome blur. The whole time, my mind cranked away at full speed, shutting me off from control so it could run operations more efficiently before it would take an extended break from functioning properly. I can just remember damning the speed and groping the lane lines, my autopilot more concerned with making it to the Ingenii Canyon National Park before the awful crunchy things kicked in.

The tollbooth warden warped to hand back my change with his blistered tentacle. With the other hand, covered in pale spots, he handed me a receipt and a clear plate with the map of canyon uploaded. I smiled and thanked him as best as I could, pulled away and straight into the closest parking spot.

“I can’t drive.”

“I figured,” said Brick, sounding ultimately more composed than I’d ever be able to again, I felt. “Is it really hitting you yet?”

I simply stared back at him. There was something in my look–whether it was my quivering limbs, twitching face or my planet-wide eyes– that seemed to convey my utter uselessness behind the wheel.

“Yeah, I’ll drive from here,” he said, unfastening his seatbelt and opening his door simultaneously.

When we reached the top though–oh, what a magnificent view it was. Who cares if all the way up the setting sun, sifting sideways through the spine-like evergreens, didn’t flash in our faces like a strobe. What does it matter if half the rock features were supported by what seemed to be discolored patches of plaster, begging for collapse. Gork all if there weren’t elk to throw themselves in front of oncoming traffic. Everything we crossed along the climb just made the end so much better.

The view from the top Mare Ingenii was to die for. The Large plateau that we stood on the edge of seemed to dissolve away from below our feet. Millennia of slow erosion from the small trickle of water the moon’s thin atmosphere could supply had worked magnificently upon the rock face. It had sculpted thousands of tall pillars, segmented with years of alternating sediment, which seemed to reach up to the cliff edge with a forest of fingers.

From where we stood at the next view point, the hoodoos were fewer and seemed squat. Maybe there was heavier water flow here and only the strongest of rock could survive entropy. The audience of tall, rounded headed children was now seated before us in geometric rows that defied natural logic. Positioned at the head of the class, one enormous pupil that rose above the rest. It’s long flat skull extended from the wide base of its feet, an island that stood resilient against a crevasse that appeared to once direct a waterfall at him. The arm of the Earth began to reach for this hammerhead from a distance, covering beneath it the expanse of uneven Lunar terrain that seemed to stretch on to infinity.

“You realize we still have to drive more after this,” a sudden shot of terror crept my spine.

“I’m only starting to now, painfully,” Brick admitted, turning with a look that expressed to me his inability to process the world around him properly enough to do so. “What should we do?”

“Well… we can wait it out for about an hour, see how were feeling then. Or we could just try to get as much ground beneath us as possible before that sun comes crashing down,” I reasoned to the best of my ability in my impaired state. We both glanced west to note the position of the sun, well bitten by the teeth of jagged pines all around us. A shudder passed through us, whether from worry or another cool gust blowing up the aisles of stone. “Lets just go now.”

“Agreed.”

Brick seemed to be doing fine behind the wheel. He has considerably more mass than I do, so the same of drugs as were in my system weren’t coursing through him so violently. Driving directly into the setting sun was a little bit of a hazard, given our hypersensitivity to light, but we turned north eventually, and were back onto the main road in what seemed like no time at all. The sun soon set behind the high ridge now on our left, bathing the valley before us in purple shadow, it was quite a site at twilight.

“How are you feelin?” the song playing on the stereo seemed to ask me. I shook my head in disbelief, but when it asked me again, I realized it was just Brick speaking without taking his eyes off the road.

“Pretty good until you asked that,” my excitement subsided quickly though. “Yeah, I’m not feeling it so much anymore.”

“Do you think we should spark the last joint of the day now that its getting dark out here?” Brick asked, turning at me now to make sure I knew it was him speaking.

“Well, as long as the road from here on out remains as easy as it’s going now, we should be perfectly fine,” I assumed, though I wasn’t even sure how difficult it was for him to navigate this straight-a-way.

“Besides, it’s just a little weed. What harm could it possibly do?

The sun was up, high over the ridges that surrounded the little town of Saline. The pale rock face and sparse peppering of green scrub seemed more vibrant now that they were illuminated in the day. I squinted as I glanced up at the blue sky over the lip of the crater wall that our motel was nestled into. I released a sigh of appreciation for the nice morning.

“Shall we?” Brick insisted, coming up from behind me with all his luggage. I was standing by the entrance with my guitar and backpack, smoking my breakfast.

“You know…we really shouldn’t be alive right now,” I reminded him, “We should have died on that forsaken mountain.”

“I do,” he stopped to contemplate it all again, joining in staring over the wall of dirt. “I can’t believe we survived that drive.”

“What were we thinking,” I asked rhetorically, turning to him.

“We weren’t,” he sighed to himself and picked up his bags again. “Let’s go, we have to get a move on. There’s a lot of Moon to cover today.”

We situated our gear back in the crawler, had ourselves a hearty breakfast at a little mom-n-pop diner, literally named Mom’s, and were back on the road in no time. The terrain streaming past the windows was beautiful, I had no idea how breathtaking the scenery on Luna could be, but maybe I was just appreciating it more since Brick and I just received new leases on life.

Last night had been treacherous, or retarded to say the least. In a small town called Hatch we pulled off to the side of the road. While the sun was still in the sky, before the limb of the Earth began to chase it, we ate the Flowers of Taurus. Only half a bag each, but apparently even that was too much.

The next half hour was a worrisome blur. The whole time, my mind cranked away at full speed, shutting me off from control so it could run operations more efficiently before it would take an extended break from functioning properly. I can just remember damning the speed and groping the lane lines, my autopilot more concerned with making it to the Ingenii Canyon National Park before the awful crunchy things kicked in.

The tollbooth warden warped to hand back my change with his blistered tentacle. With the other hand, covered in pale spots, he handed me a receipt and a clear plate with the map of canyon uploaded. I smiled and thanked him as best as I could, pulled away and straight into the closest parking spot.

“I can’t drive.”

“I figured,” said Brick, sounding ultimately more composed than I’d ever be able to again, I felt. “Is it really hitting you yet?”

I simply stared back at him. There was something in my look–whether it was my quivering limbs, twitching face or my planet-wide eyes– that seemed to convey my utter uselessness behind the wheel.

“Yeah, I’ll drive from here,” he said, unfastening his seatbelt and opening his door simultaneously.

When we reached the top though–oh, what a magnificent view it was. Who cares if all the way up the setting sun, sifting sideways through the spine-like evergreens, didn’t flash in our faces like a strobe. What does it matter if half the rock features were supported by what seemed to be discolored patches of plaster, begging for collapse. Gork all if there weren’t elk to throw themselves in front of oncoming traffic. Everything we crossed along the climb just made the end so much better.

The view from the top Mare Ingenii was to die for. The Large plateau that we stood on the edge of seemed to dissolve away from below our feet. Millennia of slow erosion from the small trickle of water the moon’s thin atmosphere could supply had worked wondrously upon the rock face. It had sculpted thousands of tall pillars, segmented with years of alternating sediment, which seemed to reach up to the cliff edge with a forest of fingers.

From where we stood at the next view point, the hoodoos were fewer and seemed squat. Maybe there was heavier water flow here and only the strongest of rock could survive entropy. The audience of tall, rounded headed children was now seated before us in geometric rows that defied natural logic. Positioned at the head of the class, one enormous pupil that rose above the rest. It’s long flat skull extended from the wide base of its feet, an island that stood resilient against a crevasse that appeared to once direct a waterfall at him. The arm of the Earth began to reach for this hammerhead from a distance, covering beneath it the expanse of uneven Lunar terrain that seemed to stretch on to infinity.

“You realize we still have to drive more after this,” a sudden shot of terror crept my spine.

“I’m only starting to now, painfully,” Brick admitted, turning with a look that expressed to me his inability to process the world around him properly enough to do so. “What should we do?”

“Well… we can wait it out for about an hour, see how were feeling then. Or we could just try to get as much ground beneath us as possible before that sun comes crashing down,” I reasoned to the best of my ability in my impaired state. We both glanced west to note the position of the sun, well bitten by the teeth of jagged pines all around us. A shudder passed through us, whether from worry or another cool gust blowing up the aisles of stone. “Lets just go now.”

“Agreed.”

Brick seemed to be doing fine behind the wheel. He has considerably more mass than I do, so the same of drugs as were in my system weren’t coursing through him so violently. Driving directly into the setting sun was a little bit of a hazard, given our hypersensitivity to light, but we turned north eventually, and were back onto the main road in what seemed like no time at all. The sun soon set behind the high ridge now on our left, bathing the valley before us in purple shadow, it was quite a site at twilight.

“How are you feelin?” the song playing on the stereo seemed to ask me. I shook my head in disbelief, but when it asked me again, I realized it was just Brick speaking without taking his eyes off the road.

“Pretty good until you asked that,” my excitement subsided quickly though. “Yeah, I’m not feeling it so much anymore.”

“Do you think we should spark the last joint of the day now that its getting dark out here?” Brick asked, turning at me now to make sure I knew it was him speaking.

“Well, as long as the road from here on out remains as easy as it’s going now, we should be perfectly fine,” I assumed, though I wasn’t even sure how difficult it was for him to navigate this straight-a-way.

“Besides, it’s just a little weed. What harm could it possibly do?

«The Road Trip – Day 1»

I woke up a lot earlier than I usually do, got out of bed and showered. Then I clipped my nails, shaved what I can call a beard, and actually brushed my teeth. It was even morning still by the time I finished.

My bags were already packed, as they have been for a couple weeks, but finally prepared the night before with a few last minute items. I had laid the days clothes out for myself, which I, of course, had already fit into my suitcase; I know I’ll have room for extra things if I need another shirt or two back home. Unfortunately I have to drag Eon’s bag back with me, so I won’t really be able to bring all the things I’d want for a summer. Like the stuff stored on my external hard drive, but I figure it will be safer at home, and I can always buy a new one with the money I’ll be making if I do stay all summer, otherwise I’d be back in a month. Either way, it will be a short while before I’m reunited with all of my precious data.

I tried to kill time all day, anxious about the trip, ever so ready to get it underway. Brick was picking me up from the jam, but I’d needed a ride there. Allan grudgingly gave me a lift, making a big deal about not being able to go; though he had arranged a trip for his summer before I had, along the coast to Cydonia, and never really made provisions for me to go with him, so whatever. It was one of the reasons I wanted to go on this trip in the first place.

The guys were sad to see me go, they liked the variety I added by singing along with Allan. They were finally willing to play all the songs I’d been trying to get them to try for months. It was a short lived experience though, Brick came before the jam was through and I loaded all the bags (one case, mine; an even larger one, Eon’s) in his trunk, where they would stay for a few days.

The small pack I prepared has all the provisions I’d need to survive a couple days without everything else, spare food and water. I have my toiletries, electronics and chargers. I have a spare change of clothes with flip flops, and an extra pair of socks on top of that. I have my towel. I have the 21 pre-rolled joints we’ll be rationing out along the way. I have the Flowers of Taurus. I’ll carry this thing back and forth from the vehicle to the hotel, just change and restock the pack when it gets smelly, and hopefully be able to wash everything before the festival starts, just in case it rains and I need something dry by the end of it.

We got to his house and finished packing up all the stuff he would need for a year on Earth. When we’d completed our short task, aided by Brick‘s lovi, we made a ceremonial journey to the top-of-the-world, in Fender. Well, every town seems to have a top-of-the-world, and I’m sure well see many greater things along our way that would just flatten this meager mountain.

It was the very spot I left the bunnies to their fate. From now on it would be the spot we smoked two joints to commemorate our trip. We walked far down a path, far enough that out in the distance, between the other ridges that get in the way, you could perfectly see the ever illuminated skyline of Novus Angelicas.

“Wow, I didn’t know you could actually get such a clear view of it from here. I never saw it like this from Linda’s house…or anywhere along here,” I remembered being frustrated any day I’d tried to take pictures on walks here.

“Well not many people see this cause its closed during the night. And it just, kinda looks like a horse trail. It’s actually part of golf course right below us.” Brick informed me.

“I’ve never seen it like this.”

“Well get a good look, cause it will be the last time you will for a long, long while, good sir.” He the handed the second one back to me, almost finished.

I took one last large drag, and an equally  large view of the glowing towers of white and gold in the background. How long will it be before I come back down?

*****

The first day started early. 8 am is never been an acceptable hour to wake up–unless it’s Eridian time–and 7:45 even less appropriate.

“Wakey, wakey, sir. Our journey begins,” Brick said excitedly, sticking his head into the room where I slept.

“Alright, alright,” I muttered, rolling over. I yawned and sat up as I tried to remember what chords I was playing in my dream, though it was futile. I gave up trying when I realized they probably wouldn’t sound as good in real life anyway; if those notes even existed. I stretched and began to move my blood around, finding I was better rested than I expected to be, I surely thought my anticipation would cut into my sleep. I felt fortunate for the weeks of preparation that went into this day. My bags were ready, the crawler was packed, the drugs were waiting. All that was left was for us to pile in and take off.

We weren’t taking the Fondgrid company vehicle, instead wed just be taking nicks crawler, which he would then drive back to school to have there, and then bring back home when he graduated next summer. We could take the same route we planned from Mars to Luna: drive a few hours to get to the UA Ferry, which departs just north of Valles Marineris–the middle of the gorking desert–and land on what Earthlings commonly refer to as the far side of the moon.

Then tomorrow, after a 12 hour haul that will be hard to sleep through while still sitting in the crawler, we’ll drive east, through the mountains and valleys and more gorking mountains, until it starts to flatten out, much like a wave function, into the smooth flat plains on the near side of the moon. Then we could take a more direct route to the southern hemisphere of Earth, since we wouldn’t be restricted to a ferry large enough to carry a broadside. We could use the Old Gammatheon ferry, which follows as close to ancient Rte. 66 as you can get these days. It would make our overall trip less lengthy and a lot more historic all at once.

“Hey, looks like we get to go through Dominia on this route,” I realized, inspecting the new route. “The complete other side of the territory from where I was born, but that’s cool none the less.”

“Bring it back to today’s map,” he requested, looking over at the PDA in my hand while we were stopped at a light. “I just want to see which freeway it says to take out of here.”

“Looks like…the 60 to Berdu, and the 15 on,” I responded, finding the information quickly, “we’re heading the right way.”

“Excellent, excellent. When do we want to start?” Brick asked, motioning to the closed ashtray resting between us.

“Let’s get out of this sprawl first, I’ll feel much safer about it if we just reach the desert first. And we’ve only got one for today, anyway.”

“You’ve got a point, how long do we have?”

“As your navigator, I advise you to drive at top speed…”

“Yeah, yeah, that shtick is gonna get old real quick,” he shot me a preemptive glare.

I giggled to myself as soon as he turned back to the road, merging onto the freeway. I could see it stretch out impossibly far before me, disappearing into the far mountains. I had no idea what lay on the other side, but couldn’t wait to find out.

I woke up a lot earlier than I usually do, got out of bed and showered. Then I clipped my nails, shaved what I can call a beard, and actually brushed my teeth. It was even morning still by the time I finished.

My bags were already packed, as they have been for a couple weeks, but finally prepared the night before with a few last minute items. I had laid the days clothes out for myself, which I, of course, had already fit into my suitcase; I know I’ll have room for extra things if I need another shirt or two back home. Unfortunately I have to drag Eon’s bag back with me, so I won’t really be able to bring all the things I’d want for a summer. Like the stuff stored on my external hard drive, but I figure it will be safer at home, and I can always buy a new one with the money I’ll be making if I do stay all summer, otherwise I’d be back in a month. Either way, it will be a short while before I’m reunited with all of my precious data.

I tried to kill time all day, anxious about the trip, ever so ready to get it underway. Brick was picking me up from the jam, but I’d needed a ride there. Allan grudgingly gave me a lift, making a big deal about not being able to go; though he had arranged a trip for his summer before I had, along the coast to Cydonia, and never really made provisions for me to go with him, so whatever. It was one of the reasons I wanted to go on this trip in the first place.

The guys were sad to see me go, they liked the variety I added by singing along with Allan. They were finally willing to play all the songs I’d been trying to get them to try for months. It was a short lived experience though, Brick came before the jam was through and I loaded all the bags (one case, mine; an even larger one, Eon’s) in his trunk, where they would stay for a few days.

The small pack I prepared has all the provisions I’d need to survive a couple days without everything else, spare food and water. I have my toiletries, electronics and chargers. I have a spare change of clothes with flip flops, and an extra pair of socks on top of that. I have my towel. I have the 21 pre-rolled joints we’ll be rationing out along the way. I have the Flowers of Taurus. I’ll carry this thing back and forth from the vehicle to the hotel, just change and restock the pack when it gets smelly, and hopefully be able to wash everything before the festival starts, just in case it rains and I need something dry by the end of it.

We got to his house and finished packing up all the stuff he would need for a year on Earth. When we’d completed our short task, aided by Brick‘s lovi, we made a ceremonial journey to the top-of-the-world, in Fender. Well, every town seems to have a top-of-the-world, and I’m sure well see many greater things along our way that would just flatten this meager mountain.

It was the very spot I left the bunnies to their fate. From now on it would be the spot we smoked two joints to commemorate our trip. We walked far down a path, far enough that out in the distance, between the other ridges that get in the way, you could perfectly see the ever illuminated skyline of Novus Angelicas.

“Wow, I didn’t know you could actually get such a clear view of it from here. I never saw it like this from Linda’s house…or anywhere along here,” I remembered being frustrated any day I’d tried to take pictures on walks here.

“Well not many people see this cause its closed during the night. And it just, kinda looks like a horse trail. It’s actually part of golf course right below us.” Brick informed me.

“I’ve never seen it like this.”

“Well get a good look, cause it will be the last time you will for a long, long while, good sir.” He the handed the second one back to me, almost finished.

I took one last large drag, and an equally  large view of the glowing towers of white and gold in the background. How long will it be before I come back down?

«←→»

The first day started early. 8 am is never been an acceptable hour to wake up–unless it’s Eridian time–and 7:45 even less appropriate.

“Wakey, wakey, sir. Our journey begins,” Brick said excitedly, sticking his head into the room where I slept.

“Alright, alright,” I muttered, rolling over. I yawned and sat up as I tried to remember what chords I was playing in my dream, though it was futile. I gave up trying when I realized they probably wouldn’t sound as good in real life anyway; if those notes even existed. I stretched and began to move my blood around, finding I was better rested than I expected to be, I surely thought my anticipation would cut into my sleep. I felt fortunate for the weeks of preparation that went into this day. My bags were ready, the crawler was packed, the drugs were waiting. All that was left was for us to pile in and take off.

We weren’t taking the Fondgrid company vehicle, instead wed just be taking nicks crawler, which he would then drive back to school to have there, and then bring back home when he graduated next summer. We could take the same route we planned from Mars to Luna: drive a few hours to get to the UA Ferry, which departs just north of Valles Marineris–the middle of the gorking desert–and land on what Earthlings commonly refer to as the far side of the moon.

Then tomorrow, after a 12 hour haul that will be hard to sleep through while still sitting in the crawler, we’ll drive east, through the mountains and valleys and more gorking mountains, until it starts to flatten out, much like a wave function, into the smooth flat plains on the near side of the moon. Then we could take a more direct route to the southern hemisphere of Earth, since we wouldn’t be restricted to a ferry large enough to carry a broadside. We could use the Old Gammatheon ferry, which follows as close to ancient Rte. 66 as you can get these days. It would make our overall trip less lengthy and a lot more historic all at once.

“Hey, looks like we get to go through Dominia on this route,” I realized, inspecting the new route. “The complete other side of the territory from where I was born, but that’s cool none the less.”

“Bring it back to today’s map,” he requested, looking over at the PDA in my hand while we were stopped at a light. “I just want to see which freeway it says to take out of here.”

“Looks like…the 60 to Berdu, and the 15 on,” I responded, finding the information quickly, “we’re heading the right way.”

“Excellent, excellent. When do we want to start?” Brick asked, motioning to the closed ashtray resting between us.

“Let’s get out of this sprawl first, I’ll feel much safer about it if we just reach the desert first. And we’ve only got one for today, anyway.”

“You’ve got a point, how long do we have?”

“As your navigator, I advise you to drive at top speed…”

“Yeah, yeah, that shtick is gonna get old real quick,” he shot me a preemptive glare.

I giggled to myself as soon as he turned back to the road, merging onto the freeway. I could see it stretch out impossibly far before me, disappearing into the far mountains. I had no idea what lay on the other side, but couldn’t wait to find out.

«A Time for Leaving»

Like watching the leaves recede to mark the coming of fall, or geese migrating to the southern hemisphere at the start of winter, you know summer’s right around the corner when you see all the kids from Earth lined up at the ports: loaded down by backpacks and emblazoned with college initialisms. This season is always littered with vacations and getaways, but this particular year is significant to me. This is the year I should have graduated, the year the rest of my high school class finishes college. This is the year I was supposed to start the next stage of my life.

Most subsidized student loans don’t have to be paid off until 6 months after you complete your education. It’s a buffer intended to give you enough time to find a job and ease into the career you’ve set your heading to: a good half year to get a foothold before the bills start flooding in. Most new bachelors and masters opt to spend their last free months taking in some life before being locked into their professions, as well as any remainder of the loan money. The trendiest thing to do after getting your degree is to backpack Jupiter.

Granted, most kids I used to go to school with are interested in pursuing even higher forms of education, now concerned with what grad school their getting into, but a good portion of my classmates are taking this opportunity to enjoy the last part of their life they have any real control over. Before the blinders are lowered and the chute is opened–before the trap door is released from under them and they slide blindly into society, feet first. I pity them.

I don’t know why though, they’re so much closer to having a life than I am. Technically, I’m still a rising freshman, having never completed a year of college in the several attempts I’ve made to start. But should I really feel left behind? What are they inching towards that I want so badly? A good credit score? A mortgage or accumulating equity? Health, dental, home owners and life insurance? Car payments?

No. I don’t want any of the shit that goes along with being a responsible adult. It just seems so unnatural to me, like some manmade trap of plastic and wire. I’d rather live a life of freedom, a life not determined by how much I make or what my possessions are worth to other people. I’d prefer if the rest of my life was lived on my terms. I think the beauty and riches of experiencing the world around you should be the motivation for you to get out of bed every morning, not a series of deadlines baring down on you or bill collectors breathing down your neck.

So I decided I’m going to go on an adventure this summer, too. Not a well deserved break from a bunch of voluntary obligations I‘ve gotten myself into, but a completely unnecessary trip of discovery. I want to see the world, not because it may be the last chance I ever get to before rats come marching in, but just because I haven’t felt like I’ve seen anything yet.

Good bye palm trees and red desert, hello adventure. Don’t worry Mars, I’ll be back to taste your wonders soon enough, but first I’ve got some business to take care of at home.

Like watching the leaves recede to mark the coming of fall, or geese migrating to the southern hemisphere at the start of winter, you know summer’s right around the corner when you see all the kids from Earth lined up at the ports: loaded down by backpacks and emblazoned with college initialisms. This season is always littered with vacations and getaways, but this particular year is significant to me. This is the year I should have graduated, the year the rest of my high school class finishes college. This is the year I was supposed to start the next stage of my life.

Most subsidized student loans don’t have to be paid off until 6 months after you complete your education. It’s a buffer intended to give you enough time to find a job and ease into the career you’ve set your heading to: a good half year to get a foothold before the bills start flooding in. Most new bachelors and masters opt to spend their last free months taking in some life before being locked into their professions, as well as any remainder of the loan money. The trendiest thing to do after getting your degree is to backpack Jupiter.

Granted, most kids I used to go to school with are interested in pursuing even higher forms of education, now concerned with what grad school their getting into, but a good portion of my classmates are taking this opportunity to enjoy the last part of their life they have any real control over. Before the blinders are lowered and the chute is opened–before the trap door is released from under them and they slide blindly into society, feet first. I pity them.

I don’t know why though, they’re so much closer to having a life than I am. Technically, I’m still a rising freshman, having never completed a year of college in the several attempts I’ve made to start. But should I really feel left behind? What are they inching towards that I want so badly? A good credit score? A mortgage or accumulating equity? Health, dental, home owners and life insurance? Car payments?

No. I don’t want any of the shit that goes along with being a responsible adult. It just seems so unnatural to me, like some manmade trap of plastic and wire. I’d rather live a life of freedom, a life not determined by how much I make or what my possessions are worth to other people. I’d prefer if the rest of my life was lived on my terms. I think the beauty and riches of experiencing the world around you should be the motivation for you to get out of bed every morning, not a series of deadlines baring down on you or bill collectors breathing down your neck.

So I decided I’m going to go on an adventure this summer, too. Not a well deserved break from a bunch of voluntary obligations I‘ve gotten myself into, but a completely unnecessary trip of discovery. I want to see the world, not because it may be the last chance I ever get to before rats come marching in, but just because I haven’t felt like I’ve seen anything yet.

Good bye palm trees and red desert, hello adventure. Don’t worry Mars, I’ll be back to taste your wonders soon enough, but first I’ve got some business to take care of at home.

«How to Plan a Summer Road Trip»

05-20-2309

     Brick’s back in town! 

     Fondgrid has been one of my best friends for a while. Of the first acquaintances I made after moving to this desolate rock, I think he’s the only person I still hang out with. Well, I say that relatively since I only see him when he makes visits during his breaks from college on Earth, though that’s still far more often than I run into anyone else from that town. I know I just saw him two months ago when he came for the spring holiday, but it’s always good to have another friend around. 

     He had grown up and graduated with Linda, the girl I was dating back then–you know, the one I came to Mars for. It was so nice to find someone as intelligent as all my friends were growing up, smart like Allan, and I can remember great times hanging out, just the three of us, anytime he was back home from school. Late nights and the lights of Fender below, just smoking, drinking, talking…I miss those days, come to think of it. After she and I broke up, he did his best not to take sides, but always knew where to come if he needed a good smoke and a nerd off with someone. 

     He’s only staying in town two more weeks, though. At first I was upset that he wouldn’t even be back for a whole month, but last night I changed my mood about it.

     “Say, sir, what are you doing come June?” Brick asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke in my direction.

     “Uh…I’m pretty sure I have nothing going this summer,” I contemplated it as I took a hit, the exception coming to mind as I passed it back to him. “Oh wait, I’ve got one thing towards the end of June. Eon is making a trip back to grab all the stuff she left.” 

     “All the stuff they broke into your crawler for and didn’t even take?” he sneered. 

     “That’s the stuff. She’s coming to get it all and I just have to be here to give it to her, why do you ask?” He handed the glass back to me in a second, indicating with his eyebrows that the ash needed to be cleared. 

     “Oh, no reason, just…ROAD TRIP!!” he exclaimed, catching me so off guard with the fragile smoking piece in my hand that I almost dropped the little thing. 

     “What? Really? Where?” I didn’t know which I wanted him to answer first.

     “I’m going to Earth, same way I drove last summer, but this time I’m staying in Carolina, working at the plant there til I go back to school in the fall. I think I can make more money there than working for them here.” 

     His family owned a corporation called Fondgrid Foods based in Olympus County. You might have seen them, I can’t remember if we had any back home, but in most of the sandwich cases in Martian liquor stores, you’ll spot an array of their products, neatly packaged with their famous red label. I’m kinda partial to Fondgrid jerky myself. Anyway, he usually spends his summers working for his father to make a little money for school, but last summer he had driven a company broadside to their branch in Carolina, just a few hours south of Menesopolis. 

     “Really, well I’ll be damned,” I was excitedly distracted from filling the glass up again. 

     “And before I start working…BONNAROO!!” I almost dropped it again. 

     Bonnaroo is a huge deal–Earth’s largest annual music and arts festival, or at least the biggest one I’ve ever been to. It rivals certain Martian events like the Carnival and Palmchella, but could even be considered the Earth’s equivalent to Mars’s Burning Man.

     The half-weeklong jamboree is frequented by that same hippie crowd, still preaching the same verses of peace and love our parents have been singing since the late 2260s. Back in my younger, more drug addled days, it was exactly my kind of scene. I may have gotten all my chemical experimentation out of the way early in life, but I think I could still agree with ideals of peace and unity. Granted, there’s a bit fewer paisleys and rainbows around, mostly flashing lights and glowsticks, but whose keeping score, anyway? 

     “That’s astro, dude. I’m really jealous,” I congratulated him with contempt, remembering the fun I had, during the parts I could remember. 

     “Like I asked, what are you doing this summer? Cause one of the girls I’m tenting with dropped out and is selling her ticket for half price, and, uh…I don’t feel like making that trip alone this year..” he said. I was too shocked to say anything. So he continued, “it will take a day to get to the ferry, 2 to get across Luna and another 2 across the western continent of Earth. The other girl that’s still coming is catching a direct flight in on the 9th, so we just have to make sure we’re at least as far as the Appalachia Spaceport by then.”

     “So we’d have to leave by 4th or sometime early on the 5th to make it in time,” I responded, the wheels in my head grinding away. 

     “So you’ll come?! Sweet!” Brick cheered, adding a sigh of relief. 

     “Yeah, money will only sorta be an issue. It’s pool season and my dad owes me a trip. Hell, what does he care, he’ll just be stoked he doesn’t have to cover my spacefare,” and that money could go towards gas, lodging, food and the ticket for the show, I realized. 

     “Man, this is going to be the ultimest road trip. Ever!” I could tell that his Martian cogs were spinning at full steam as well. “Should we go closer to the northern hemisphere of Luna like I did last time, or try deep the southern?”

     “Mmm…well the only thing I’d want to do in southern Luna is visit my aunt in New Martia, but I don’t really have the time, it would be out of the way. Besides, that means we’d probably have to go through more of the south of Earth,” I shuddered to think of all those battle flags that still hung on front porches, along with their giant swingseats. “Which I am less than willing to do.” 

     “I as well, good sir, I as well,” Fondgrid confirmed. 

     “Hey, this way I could just bring all of Eon’s stuff with me to Earth, and neither of us have to worry about having enough room, or it being too heavy,” I pondered another second, “we’ll have enough room in the broadside for a couple of extra cases, right?” 

     “Yes, we should. We may need to cut down on other extra weight though, but I don’t mind if you don’t,” he agreed to the idea. 

     “No I don‘t, I need to practice packing less anyway. Hold on, lemme just text her real quick, run through the plan again, please,” I set the half-full pipe aside for a moment and reached into one of my pockets for my texti. With one swift motion of my thumb, I slid the phone open and began to send a new message. 

     “Ok, in two weeks we leave from Fender, heading north west, past the Tharsis Montes and just North of the Mariners Valleys. From there we catch a quick ferry to Luna. There we stick to the northern hemisphere and the same when we finally get to Earth. We’ll cut through the bottom of your state and be in Carolina in no time. This way we avoid the rednecks and the hicks and drop 10 kg by not having to carry a weapon and ammunition. Then, Bonnaroo. Good?”

     “Well hold on a second, Brick. We don’t want to go too far north right? Terra is nice and all, but even in summer, it’s cold as the balls of an Acheron penguin up there. I mean, I think that’s why they put the border there in the first place. We should stay in the Territories.”

     “Yes, Klay, I know all about it. My school is right next to the Terran Border. I left my passport there for a reason,” he chuckled.

     “So that means we’re left with one option: to go through the religious ring,” I concluded, “so I still want to bring a shotgun.” We both laughed out loud, but I was suddenly serious.

     “Oh. Well, we don’t actually have weapons on the truck, I was just joking about not needing them, cause we never actually do at Fondgrid,” Brick admitted. 

     “Ahh, gork,” I said disappointed, but understanding. It’s not that I liked guns, I’ve hardly used anything larger than a B.B. myself. I just don’t trust religious fanatics. “We’ll have to be careful, still.”

     “Shut up, we’ll be fine. Besides, I plotted this route so we’d barely touch that horrible area” he laughed. “Now have you decided on a good school for it yet, or are you just baby sitting the little thing?” he said indicating to the inert glass in my hand, trying make a crack at me. 

     “Uh, right,” caught off guard by the joke, I looked down at the twisted piece, charged and ready to go, then smirked. “To the Summer!” I raised in toast. The lighter snapped aglow.

«Quinto de Mayo»

05-05-2309

     I have to go out tonight. I have to celebrate. I have to do something.

     I’ve wasted all the other holidays so far. New years day was a rather dry occasion if I recall, as was the Titanian new year for that matter. I wasn’t too worried about participating in Lent, so Fat Tuesday slipped right by without me noticing. I tasted no green beer on St. Patty’s day, or the following day which happened to be my 22nd birthday–you know, that’s the one you’re supposed to spend trashed at the slots of Copernicus for half a week. And though the 20th of April is more of a smoking holiday, I still didn’t even do much of that. It’s been a kind of boring year as of yet.

     You know, I’m not a huge partier or anything, but I always enjoy having a good excuse to get wasted. I don’t know why I like the novelty of holidays so much though, something about community I guess. Like a a church service, but one held once a month so you don’t start getting sick of the people you see every time. I like seasonal celebrations too, since there’s supposedly four of those, though you wouldn’t notice here. They say there’s an excuse to drink for every day of the year though.

     Today is the annual Martian reason to have a raucous BBQ. Almost exactly like Earth’s Fourth of July celebrations of independence from Ganymede, Mars salutes their ancestor’s throwing off the reins of Io on this day. Identical in all regards now that I think about it, I’m sure they even shoot off fireworks or light something tonight.

     Like most foreign holidays, it’s just been incorporated into the canon of Earthling excuses to booze. I can remember back home even, kids in school always came back from the weekend with stories about an event I was only vaguely aware of. It’s a little different here though, where it actually happened–everyone celebrates it, even the Marslings.

     Maybe it’s to honor our forefathers. Perhaps we need reasons outside of our approval to drink. Either way, there’s a special at the bar you’d be crazy not to take advantage of.

«The Martian Pandemic»

04-30-2309

     Swine Flu, Shwine flu.

     I’m sick of seeing it everywhere, hearing it even when my ears are closed. Wash your hands! Be careful, use some sanitizer! Stay indoors. Gork, it goes on and on! I don’t care! Everyone on this planet is shitting bricks and I can’t raise an ounce of alarm.

     They say it started in pigs, a mutated strain of influenza that passes easily to humans. It’s happened before, in 2288 there was an outbreak on Earth, only one woman died of it, after she came in contact with a hog at the state fair. More recently there was scare of Avian influenza, which had decimated millions of birds across the solar system, but due to a very significant species barrier that exists between birds and humans, it was not easily transfered to us. We apparently share a lot more in common with pigs than we’d like to think.

     H5N1 has been all but forgotten, but in March of this year an outbreak of H1N1 in the south of Mars resulted with hundreds of confirmed cases. 2 days ago it had 2,500 reported cases solar system wide, with 150 confirmed deaths.  That’s 0.06 fatality, just over 1 in 20. Yesterday the SHO raised the alert level to 5 of 6 degrees, heralding an imminent pandemic. In order for that to happen, though, enough human to human transference of the virus has to occur for it to mutate significantly case to case. I guess they just don’t want it getting that far.

     But whether it becomes a pandemic or not doesn’t change the fact that it’s still just a flu. I can remember feeling physically fatigued to a point I likened to being near death in times where I’ve had it, but I can’t think of how someone could actually die of a fever and a runny nose. Maybe I just don’t understand how it effects the body well enough, but in all my morbid curiosity, I just can’t begin to care. I know its exceptionaly close to home, closer than SARS ever was, but I’m not giving in to fear.

     Also, my day already consists of shutting myself up indoors, away from people and public places for as long as I can stand, my only contact with the outside this screen, the way I like it. Since it doesn’t even screw with my routine at all, why should I get my elastic in a bunch?

«MODEL:Z-140X»

04-19-2309

I run the bottoms of my palms and finger tips along the smooth surface of the plastic case, slightly worn where they rest upon it. It’s rigid and semi-glossy with a weird graphite sparkle from something metallic in the composite; the familiar blend acrylic and styrene that makes up so much of the world around us. 87 individually molded and labeled tactile keys rest at the call of my tips, able to do anything from word processing and data input, to software function and OS control. The keypad is the conduit which I have to the digital exchange existing within the polymer walls and upon the silicon plains. There’s also a touch pad that makes up the bottom of the input surface, part of a pointing device that manipulates a cursor on the screen, like a virtual hand, to assist in navigation of the Graphical User Interface.

A GUI sounds fancy but whether it still comes with a pointing device or not, you probably have them in every gadget you own. From your computer and PDA to your texti or touchi, or even the heads-up in your vehicle. In your home-sphere entertainment center’s control panel or just the menu of your DVR. The bathroom mirror has one, the kitchen controls are on the door of the fridge; your home’s surface computer has one giant interface covering the entire tabletop. The atmosphere, electricity, plumbing and waste control terminals all have some rudimentary arrangements on top of that. The automated teller machine at the bank uses one, as well as the order-taker at any walk in restaurant and the help centers in most retail stores. It’s just an explorer or browser display; the neatly tabbed, filed and aesthetically rounded window you’re currently reading this through. It’s an underappreciated aspect of any operating system, one which all other elements of accessibility and function are contingent.

Without a GUI you’d be staring at raw data, possibly green text on a black screen like some antique CRT screen; archaic viewers that finally allowed us to give meaning to the term monitor, back in the first days of computers. You’d see the bare frame and structure that make up the system, all the lines of code laying about like so many cables without floor panels covering them, clear overhead ducts passing page after page of script with no ceiling tiles to mask. All the hubs would be exposed and bright with text streaming from it of all sorts of near unintelligibly tangled forms. Nothing would be indexed, as if everything were on one giant source page. No order, just sweet chaos made out of the most obedient of shapes. Or you could be using a sense computer, which is just as equally maddening.

It should go with out saying, but I would be driven insane if I couldn’t even use a basic root menu. I also wouldn’t be able to use the tablet surface built into the screen of my workstation. It has a stylus hidden in a spring-loaded bay within the case, a second pointing device that behaves like a pen when brought to the screen, which swivels around and folds flat to look like any regular portable. Well, maybe a little larger because it has an old battery cylinder along the back edge, a rounded bulge that makes it hard to fit in most bags designed for the modern portable that’s so popular these days. Those empirically white ones with all that chrome, dipped in an extra layer of clear acrylic to give protection and that weird luminescence. You know which ones I’m talking about, one of those real fancy digits. Of course you do, you’re probably using one right now. Mine is gargantuan compared to those.

You could be wondering why I would choose to use such a bulky instrument. Laptops, the ancestors of portable workstations, had folding screens, which created enough problems in themselves, but the delicate keyboard it revealed beneath was the biggest hassle. Not only was it a precarious design for something utilized so frequently, with top-heavy keys on tiny pins that connected a network of flat ribboned circuits, but they were incredibly hard to clean and any bit of water could cause the well-installed and hard-to-replace pad to go haywire. You couldn’t just plug in a new keyboard like on one of the stationary terminals in your home or at work, meaning many laptop owners would just replace the entire machine if anything were to happen to the most delicate–and most constantly used–input device.

My tablet PC isn’t so archaic though, it‘s generation could be considered Post-Laptops: systems designed beyond the capabilities of a conventional portable computer for the sake of selling a gimmick and usually to a target group, like artists or contractors. It may not be a typical touch screen, but the keyboard is a newer type of web-like sensor that doesn’t seem as susceptible to water. At least it has screws in the top I see that  I can undo to replace the keypad myself if anything were to happen to it. I’m quite comforted by that. The tablet pen and screen were revolutionary when this system was imagined, but by the time it could be manufactured easily, or inexpensively enough for me to afford one, new standard multi-touch interfaces were implemented in the market by much larger and better advertised companies, and now existed virtually everywhere. The pen is actually a complete novelty now when you can use your finger tip as a stylus in today’s art and editing programs.

Alright. Magic pen, sure cool. Though it was more ingenious back before you had to perform all the work on he same surface you viewed it on anyway, it’s still kinda neat. So you must still think I’m crazy for using an old keyboard when the touch screen pad you have can’t break, won’t get food or what-not stuck in it, and isn’t going to gork out when it gets a little damp. I guess the only thing that can be said is I’m a romantic and a sucker for innovation and unique gadgetry. I also love antiquity and, yes, some archaic things. I feel like those old machines had real soul in them, they had to work so much harder because they were more carefully handcrafted for real precision and longevity, less factory assembled and streamlined than most of the garbage indiscriminately pumped out today. The stuff they want you to keep buying so it doesn’t have to be great all that great of a product in the first place, since its designed to break down in two years.

But tapping my fingers on a flat surface just doesn’t seem right to the senses at all. I love the feel of real keys beneath my finger tips. Each is alert and stoic like some flat, bold-lettered nipple, waiting to receive and giving way to every push of my will before springing back up, ready for another. Every time with a satisfying noise. I feel like each word–nay, each letter is imbued with all the force with which I pound it’s key, giving off louder sounds the more intensity I use. I’m in complete control of this interface and it allows my mind and the blank page in front of me become as one. My thoughts flow freely to it.

I feel like the greats must have when they put down their immortal words on it, the strokes of their keys clacking away the whole night long in the echo of their empty rooms.

I run the bottoms of my palms and finger tips along the smooth surface of the plastic case, slightly worn where they rest upon it. It’s rigid and semi-glossy with a weird graphite sparkle from something metallic in the composite; the familiar blend acrylic and styrene that makes up so much of the world around us. 87 individually molded and labeled tactile keys rest at the call of my tips, able to do anything from word processing and data input, to software function and OS control. The keypad is the conduit which I have to the digital exchange existing within the polymer walls and upon the silicon plains. There’s also a touch pad that makes up the bottom of the input surface, part of a pointing device that manipulates a cursor on the screen, like a virtual hand, to assist in navigation of the Graphical User Interface.

A GUI sounds fancy but whether it still comes with a pointing device or not, you probably have them in every gadget you own. From your computer and PDA to your texti or touchi, or even the heads-up in your vehicle. In your home-sphere entertainment center’s control panel or just the menu of your DVR. The bathroom mirror has one, the kitchen controls are on the door of the fridge; your home’s surface computer has one giant interface covering the entire tabletop. The atmosphere, electricity, plumbing and waste control terminals all have some rudimentary arrangements on top of that. The automated teller machine at the bank uses one, as well as the order-taker at any walk in restaurant and the help centers in most retail stores. It’s just an explorer or browser display; the neatly tabbed, filed and aesthetically rounded window you’re currently reading this through. It’s an underappreciated aspect of any operating system, one which all other elements of accessibility and function are contingent.

Without a GUI you’d be staring at raw data, possibly green text on a black screen like some antique CRT screen; archaic viewers that finally allowed us to give meaning to the term monitor, back in the first days of computers. You’d see the bare frame and structure that make up the system, all the lines of code laying about like so many cables without floor panels covering them, clear overhead ducts passing page after page of script with no ceiling tiles to mask. All the hubs would be exposed and bright with text streaming from it of all sorts of near unintelligibly tangled forms. Nothing would be indexed, as if everything were on one giant source page. No order, just sweet chaos made out of the most obedient of shapes. Or you could be using a sense computer, which is just as equally maddening.

It should go with out saying, but I would be driven insane if I couldn’t even use a basic root menu. I also wouldn’t be able to use the tablet surface built into the screen of my workstation. It has a stylus hidden in a spring-loaded bay within the case, a second pointing device that behaves like a pen when brought to the screen, which swivels around and folds flat to look like any regular portable. Well, maybe a little larger because it has an old battery cylinder along the back edge, a rounded bulge that makes it hard to fit in most bags designed for the modern portable that’s so popular these days. Those empirically white ones with all that chrome, dipped in an extra layer of clear acrylic to give protection and that weird luminescence. You know which ones I’m talking about, one of those real fancy digits. Of course you do, you’re probably using one right now. Mine is gargantuan compared to those.

You could be wondering why I would choose to use such a bulky instrument. Laptops, the ancestors of portable workstations, had folding screens, which created enough problems in themselves, but the delicate keyboard it revealed beneath was the biggest hassle. Not only was it a precarious design for something utilized so frequently, with top-heavy keys on tiny pins that connected a network of flat ribboned circuits, but they were incredibly hard to clean and any bit of water could cause the well-installed and hard-to-replace pad to go haywire. You couldn’t just plug in a new keyboard like on one of the stationary terminals in your home or at work, meaning many laptop owners would just replace the entire machine if anything were to happen to the most delicate–and most constantly used–input device.

My tablet PC isn’t so archaic though, it‘s generation could be considered Post-Laptops: systems designed beyond the capabilities of a conventional portable computer for the sake of selling a gimmick and usually to a target group, like artists or contractors. It may not be a typical touch screen, but the keyboard is a newer type of web-like sensor that doesn’t seem as susceptible to water. At least it has screws in the top I see that  I can undo to replace the keypad myself if anything were to happen to it. I’m quite comforted by that. The tablet pen and screen were revolutionary when this system was imagined, but by the time it could be manufactured easily, or inexpensively enough for me to afford one, new standard multi-touch interfaces were implemented in the market by much larger and better advertised companies, and now existed virtually everywhere. The pen is actually a complete novelty now when you can use your finger tip as a stylus in today’s art and editing programs.

Alright. Magic pen, sure cool. Though it was more ingenious back before you had to perform all the work on he same surface you viewed it on anyway, it’s still kinda neat. So you must still think I’m crazy for using an old keyboard when the touch screen pad you have can’t break, won’t get food or what-not stuck in it, and isn’t going to gork out when it gets a little damp. I guess the only thing that can be said is I’m a romantic and a sucker for innovation and unique gadgetry. I also love antiquity and, yes, some archaic things. I feel like those old machines had real soul in them, they had to work so much harder because they were more carefully handcrafted for real precision and longevity, less factory assembled and streamlined than most of the garbage indiscriminately pumped out today. The stuff they want you to keep buying so it doesn’t have to be great all that great of a product in the first place, since its designed to break down in two years.

But tapping my fingers on a flat surface just doesn’t seem right to the senses at all. I love the feel of real keys beneath my finger tips. Each is alert and stoic like some flat, bold-lettered nipple, waiting to receive and giving way to every push of my will before springing back up, ready for another. Every time with a satisfying noise. I feel like each word–nay, each letter is imbued with all the force with which I pound it’s key, giving off louder sounds the more intensity I use. I’m in complete control of this interface and it allows my mind and the blank page in front of me become as one. My thoughts flow freely to it.

I feel like the greats must have when they put down their immortal words on it, the strokes of their keys clacking away the whole night long in the echo of their empty rooms.

«Conversational Change»

04-11-2309

     “And so if from every conversation one learns something, and every time one learns something it changes them, it’s simple to see why people don’t want to communicate most of the time,” summarized Allan, edging towards a conclusion, though incomprehensibly distant.

     “Yeah, they’re just afraid of change,” I responded , excited to think the conversation that had been continuing for days was finally coming to an end. I hammered in what ironically was not the last nail in the coffin, adding “A well recognized pattern of wanting to stick to one’s own habits.” A spark suddenly shone in his eyes, a spark that I’d come to hate. It meant that he had found a word in the last sentence that would be just enough, if not exactly what he needed, to make a counter statement.

     “Ah but doesn’t he say we need to develop habituation in order to achieve and maintain happiness?” the Martian said, motioning to the book on the floor, a rather heavy throwback he carried around in his satchel. This text, for one of his philosophy classes, was renowned enough to be available on eBook–certainly not an obscure relic in any means–but he preferred being able to hold the real dead wood in his fingers as he read. He could just upload it to his texti. He had never complained that reading it off a screen hurt his eyes or anything, he’s always messaging with the phone constantly. I guess he liked feeling the weight of the pages in his hands or something, I imagine he thinks it gives the work a real body with mass and makes the words impact with more force. Or, he could just like books.

     “I guess, yeah,” I took a drag of my cig and sighed out a cloud of smoke. I was reminded momentarily of hating teachers I had in the past who decided it was fun to lead their students down one path of reasoning until they just got to the door, only to pull the mat out from underneath when they got there. You know, make you agree with something then tell you it’s wrong–though easy to believe–just to drive a point. I looked around and didn’t see the rest of the class sitting in the crawler to watch the example demonstrated, and turned back to Allan. “But I don’t remember when we were even talking about that,” I stated suddenly acting aspirated, as if that would actually stop him from going there.

     “Well, one of the things I’m learning in all my classes is that a philosophy is no good if it can’t be applied to anything at anytime,” a triumphant return to the floor must have been echoed with a cheering crowd in his mind.  I thought of a way to silence them quickly.

     “Didn’t you say that any and all theories break down at some point?” I tried to hide the smirk creeping across my lips as I, again, thought I had struck a vital blow with one of his own weapons. All of his theories break down when I’m around, anyway.

     “Yes, but existentialism teaches us that we should examine where they crumble and why, so as to better understand the nature of theories, ourselves and the world around us,” he said, artfully dodging my strike with what seemed too well rehearsed a defense.

     “Even if we have to be the ones with the hammer, just to see the results more closely,” I said with a quiet sigh of admission. If you can’t beat em, join em. Especially if it’s that tiny bit or resistance that was the only reason you were stuck on that topic. I’ll often find myself agreeing to things just so a conversation moves on more smoothly, which just becomes silly when you remember half of the things that I say I disagree with are actually things I do agree with. It just makes a boring argument if everyone starts on the same side.

     Since there was a momentary confusion brought on by agreement, I had bought myself one chance to slip in a seemingly careless observation that could send this whole thing spinning into a different direction. “I guess anything can be examined existentially about a topic to be reapplied existentially to any other topic,” I was a cheap cliché, but I wondered where this one would go as I unleashed it.

     “Well, yes,” I watched him agree, then pause to think about it, then return to agreeing. He then looked as if he couldn’t think of anything good to say in addition to my statement, and was about to take up a contrary position just to have something to say before his texti began to buzz. He found it in one of his pockets and,  seeing Nymh’s name and photo displayed, answered it immediately. “Hi baby, what’s up?” he spoke as directly as he could toward the tiny mic hidden somewhere on the phone though he knew not where exactly it was.

     As much as I try not to listen to anything he says, at least during phone calls I don’t have to participate or respond so it’s a little easier to. In the periphery of my senses I could tell he was heated up and speaking to her with just as much fervor, but I couldn’t hear it over the wind and smoke billowing out of my cigarette. I sighed and smiled up at a sunbeam before Allan’s shouting finally broke my concentration.

     “What?! What do you mean you can’t? How dare they? How are you in any way not deserving?” He was upset, red in the face upset. I can’t hear anything on her end but I’m pretty sure it’s about the trip to see Cydonia this summer. After a serious of unintelligible agreements and motivations, Allan wheeled into the end of his conversation. “Alright honey, you talk to him about watching her that week and then we’ll see how they feel about it then. I love you.” he ended the call and looked about ready to throw the texti at a nearby stucco wall.

     “Plenty of good news to share, I suppose,” my sarcasm may have been unnecessary but it’s certainly more sincere than the concern I show for most things. Besides, humor helps any situation…almost.

     “Stupid, backwards Tethean parents and their fucking rules,” he used as much venom as he could muster in the articulation of each word. “They won’t let her go because they say that vacations are deserved by people who didn’t fuck up their lives. Then they called Rei a disgrace to the family and mostly a disgrace to her,” he said spitefully, himself not agreeing with a  single word of it.

     “Ahh…” I could have expected this coming, Nymh’s parents are just like any other Saturnian parents: stubborn, steeped in their ancient traditions, and sure that they wield absolute power. It’s rude to generalize, but in every family men have all the honor and respect before women, and beyond that more with age. Being the youngest female in her family, she dwindles far down at the bottom of the pecking order. On top of that, about three years ago she became pregnant with a Martian boy named Arturius, which they think brings shame to her and to them all, and still don’t let her live down to this day, though Rei is the brightest and most loving little girl I have ever known.

     They refuse to see the merits in her and her 2½ year old daughter because tradition says they are deviants, so Nymh and Rei continue to exist as disgraces to them. Even her sisters gang up on her and berate her when her parents aren’t around to do so. They say she doesn’t contribute enough to the family and is useless to them. They don’t figure that it’s expensive and time consuming to raise a toddler as a working single-mother with no help at home to take care of the child–or if they do they just write it off as her problem since she got herself in that mess in the first place. A Saturnian family runs more like a team or a crew, it’s more about what each member can achieve towards the goals of the whole than what that whole can afford to spare it’s individual.

     All I can really do is shake my head in disapproval. There’s nothing in these thoughts that Allan and I haven’t already discussed at great lengths, and a nod from him confirms we are just thinking the same thing. I reach for the cigarettes and light another, hanging my arm out of the window of his crawler in the red afternoon.

     “I’ve gotta talk to my mom real quick and then make a few calls,” he said, not sounding too existentially excited or even pleased with his day anymore.  “I’ll be inside,” and the door closed behind him. I sat a moment longer and sighed, perplexed by the strange new road block.

     I don’t think it will be that hard to get around it though, Nymh’s a grown-up and I think she can take off for a week if she wants, so I’m not too worried about her not being able to make it to Cydonia. But that would suck if she couldn’t. Well, at least maybe Allan and I might actually have enough time to finish a conversation.

     No, wait. He didn’t even make it inside, he’s coming back. Worse, it really looks like he’s got something to say.

«The Screen»

04-08-2309

     Walking home last night, it was about 6 or 7 when I saw this girl on the other side of the street watching a video on her touchi. As we both pressed buttons on either side of the crosswalk, I caught her take a peek at me, then quickly return her attention to whatever she was watching on a screen that took up the entire side of her phone. As we passed each other in the middle, she focused as hard as she could on the digital image, intent on pretending I wasn’t there. I shook my head to myself as I reached the other side.

     It’s said we spend over 12 hours a day staring a screen. It seems like a lot until you consider your phone, PDA, GPS, HUD, etc; think about your computer screen. Hell, I watched the news while I was taking a shower this morning. Even though when we have screens everywhere from our vehicles to our vanities, 12 hours a day staring at CRTs, LCDs or optic diode arrays is still a lot.

     It’s also said that a little under half that time is spent staring at the teli screen alone. The TV world is a dangerous place to expose yourself to for extended periods of time. All the people that exist there are so beautiful and rich, and more successful than we’ll ever be. They lead fantastic lives and go on compelling and extravagant adventures. Stories that don’t have to be good, must just have exciting enough sequences to make the cut for TV audiences. These plots are still are automatically on a par more astounding than any real life event could be.

     I think this leads to a supreme disconnect in our society. I’ve noticed everywhere I go, if someone is walking they’ll have their ears and/or eyes occupied with some form of gadgetry. Typically they’re listening to music emitted into their ears directly by tiny earbuds. No biggie, people have been listening to headphones with portable players for years. But these days, its always on their phone– and always texting. Seems you pull your texti or touchi out reflexively as soon as you’re about to walk by someone.

     Best to have a good excuse for not making eye contact with someone, rather you get caught in an awkward staring match as you pass, because you’d rather not say anything to a stranger, right? Does anyone remember when people used to greet everyone they met all day? Does anyone care about a person they don’t know if they don’t look like they’re someone who can give you something?  How can you be sure they actually have what you need?

     We know we can get it from the screen. Whatever we want or need, we know we just have to ask a screen to give it to us.

     In order to develop properly, Allan says, one must establish stable, long term relationships with other people they trust and know, real face to face interaction with other humans. I think we’ve all but substituted these, creating relationships with people we don’t know–celebrities and media personalities. Just characters, fake people. We’ve mistaken our aliases and handles for our real names, our screennames becoming more synonymous with who we think we are. I almost wonder what reality is to some people, if they feel like they’re just playing a part. Do you realize there are no characters you can become cast as, you can always change your role.

     And whenever I think about loneliness or feeling disconnected, I quickly realize there are at least half a thousand people living in Villa Venusia, and another two thousand in this square mile. Everyone’s in their own little world though, the screen their only eyes to see it with. And when nothing seen is real, they forget that the people and things they see out in the world aren‘t just fake too.

     Meanwhile, just around the corner is a person whom I may have something I common with, someone I can have a conversation with and be friends with. Who knows, maybe even a girl I could be falling in love with.

     I’m looking in all the wrong places and my eyes hurt too much. I have to stop staring at the screen.