Travelling (with two Ls)

29 Jun

The worst part about it is airports. Strike that. The worst part about it is people in airports. In the States, the creme de la creme of Bottom Dwellers (and their children) hangs about in terminals. No, I’m not judgmental at all. But listen. For me, to be stuck for two hours before an international flight with the bar not open until 10:00 a.m., sitting beside, across, and among stressed out Americans (perhaps getting out of the country for the first time) donning giant cups of piss-coffee and chomping on various snacks or muffins on steroids, is my biggest nightmare. It’s part of the deal, however, and so I take it. But not without cringing, or jamming headphones inside my ear canals. Various forms of medieval or Spanish Inquisition torture methods come to mind: Iron Maiden, The Rack, acid burning, lancers…but come now, Lx, check yourself; that’d mean aligning philosophies with Pope Sixtus IV and that would be heretical in its own right. At least according to my values–or lack thereof.

I’ve done nothing since I’ve arrived in the great city of Toronto, but drink martinis and read the New Yorker. ‘Cause I’m all intellectual like that, see? And also, one can easily go broke walking the streets of Cabbage Town and handing out weird two-dollar coins to myriad homeless with various ailments, begging for change (note to self: learn Canadian coin denominations before dumping them into spare change cups). ‘Cause I’m all philanthropic like that, see? So it’s probably safest that I stay put for a while. At least until this afternoon when a general, siesta-like malaise seems to take over the street people.

So far, the one thing at which I’ve really excelled has been filling up this ashtray with Marlboro reds. I also seem to have a propensity for procuring really shitty (albeit expensive) wine from the LCBO. It’s as if my sixth sense concerning quality of libation has gone out the window. Complain, complain.

It’s unbelievably cool and crisp here in the morning; nothing like the asthma-inducing soup from which I come. But I’m making up for the Code Reds with inhaling Polonium and God knows what other chemicals they roll now into these 7-minute death sticks. Thank you R.J. Reynolds for contributing to my speedy demise. Ah now, everyone has a weak side. Some of us have several.

Had another strange dream overnight: I was drowning in a vat of whisky, W.C. Fields style. And that brings to mind this: “Death, where is thy sting?”


5 Responses to “Travelling (with two Ls)”

  1. cocaine jesus 29/06/2007 at 2:30 PM #

    dear lx.

    is the art on this site yours? if it is then please contact me…


  2. slyboots2 29/06/2007 at 2:48 PM #

    Next time Go Grehound and leave the driving to us. Them’s bottom dwellers! Hell, son.

    Glad you got there all right, and are soaking in relaxation vibes.

    Later dude!

  3. Lx 29/06/2007 at 4:43 PM #

    cj, no; it’s pollock, kandinsky, and steadman. they’re credited at the bottom of the page.

  4. Rachel 30/06/2007 at 12:15 AM #

    I love this post. Love the acidity of it. Imaging the big touristy clad giant snack food chomping idiots.

    Cabbagetown can be nice, but I’ve spent some quality time in ‘lower cabbagetown’. It can be pretty sad.

  5. adjunct whore 01/07/2007 at 2:53 AM #

    marlboro reds are the real gift to smokers.

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