En route.

06/12

I´m not super keen on this whole journaling thing, but I figured there´s no better way to document what I´m about to experience. Europe. For 35 days. This is going to be dope as hell. So I´m sitting in ABIA waiting for my plane to arrive and carry me across the pond to Londontown. Right now I´ve got that song ¨London Calling¨ by The Clash stuck in my head. Man I really should have loaded that onto my ipod. Instead I´m nodding my head to Kendrick Lamar´s ¨The Recipe¨. Not my first choice but the beats are setting me into a good mood.

Thanks to Nick Martin I was able to pack my clothes for the next month into his Osprey backapck. Last night was pretty stressful trying to decide and ultimately cram enough clothing into the back for the trip. Hopefully the hostels I´m staying at hae washer and dryers to use or else I´m going to be smelling like a rain soaked wookie after a weekend at wakarusa. I should be straight though.

Journaling is great. The last time I have written in depth was my first semester of college. It´s quite pathetic really, that in the ensuing three and a half years I wrote less than in one semester. Definitely worth paying the out of state tuition for. Okay, sorry for the narcissistic tone thus far. I honestly want to be as optimistic as possible on this trip. I´m pretty hungry, maybe that´ll cheer me up.

I have landed in a strange and dilapidated city. The birthplace of a vibrant genre of music forever immortalizing itself as one of the preeminent music towns. A city once considered a titan of industry but only to fall victim to bust, drug epidemic, and government bailout. Of course, I am talking about Detroit. My flight from Austin arrived late into the city and I had to book it to the gate where my plane to London was parked. After grabbing a quick bite to eat and checking the score of Game 1, I made it to my gate on time.

After settling down into my aisle seat next to the lovely couple from Devon, England who are returning from their trip to Disneyworld. They complained about weather in Florida being in the thirties (celsius). They should come to Texas and spend a week working outside with my father and then talk to me about warm temperatures.

So everyone is packed onto the plane like a bunch of sardines and we´re taxiing to the runway when the pilot comes on the mic and says too many red lights are flashing on his control panel. WTF does that mean? One flashing light is one too many when it comes to airplane control panels. As this news is broken to my fellow passengers and I, the old man in the seat across the aisle from me does the unthinkable and breaks wind. Great. Really freaking great. Of course his British wife is like, "Oh Harry, or Tom, or Chester". Whatever his name may be, that ain´t gonna fly on this flight Sir Fred the Flatulent.

I don´t personally care to stay awake for the result of our current predicament. Time to start a complimentary movie and conk myself out. This flight was brought to you courtesy of temazapem. Knocking people out and doing a damn good job of it too. Next stop, London Heathrow.

Better hold off on that sedative, we´re heading back to the gate. Maybe we´ll deplane and I can catch the second half of Game 1. But if I know airlines as well as I think I do, we will sit for another 30-45.

Good news! Our pilot pulled through in the clutch and fixed the problem with some gum and a stick of celery. Alright, now it´s time to dose off into la la land. But not before I receive my complimentary dinner.