"I'm leaving on a jet plane..."

Well, I'm here. I'm hella tired. Perhaps I should say "bloody tired" or "knackered" or "flogged," just so I can get some practice with the vernacular. I left on the 29th. After writing that last brief journal entry, I made these crazy mad dashes around the state in order to say goodbye to people. Nate made me cry, the bastard. Mr. Sawtelle gave me a 1964 issue of Road and Track, which was quite interesting. I left that at home, given its rather delicate cover. I made tons of calls to people around the country and the state. I know that there are people I forgot. I know there are things I left at home that I'm going to need. I know. Mom, Dad, Amy, Uncle John, Liz, Jenn, and Kaitlin all came to the airport to see me off. Nate was off DJ'ing, inadvertently making me money, come to think of it. Jer was in Boston doing some things. Walter is somewhere off the planet. Liza was "con el hombre," probably. I mean, it was daylight and all. It was surprisingly difficult to say goodbye, and the security guys were rushing me, telling me I'd miss my plane and everything. I say surprisingly difficult, not because I value my family and friends in any small amount, but because I had been so cool thus far, so accepting, so steeled for a greater purpose. That's all logic, though. Logic gets thrown out the window when you look into someone's eyes and you love them and you know that you will not see them for an extended period of time. Emotion becomes the driving force, and pure emotion makes you regret this thing that thing that you had so calmly, logically planned for so long, had so happily, logically looked forward to for months. Emotion has the distinct power to overcome even that. So, as in all things, I guess I have to try and find a balance between the listless existence that an overwrought emotional sense would bring and the pure blind logic that leads to things like the Taliban and those people who say they're happy, but really have no idea what that is. Liz wrote me a beautiful 6-page note saying every perfect thing imaginable and a CD that is, you're right, Liz, the soundtrack to our lives. Jenn gave me a CD that has every song from our Lyric of the Week contest, and tons of Tylenol for my back and a charming little note inside a Victoria's Secret Mints case. The security guy in LA gave me a raised eyebrow when he saw that one. I was wearing the shirt that Kaitlin made for me (Front: McGuirk World Tour 2002, Back: Sydney, Australia, Nice, France, Dublin, Ireland. I think I'll write in all the other destinations I happen to hit :). I keep wondering if people are going to ask me if McGuirk is a good band, and if they're going to come to their town soon.

After security (where I almost left my passport, tickets AND laptop - yea, I was a bit distracted) I sat and waited for my flight to Chicago. I had heard about the existence of wireless net access in airports, but it certainly didn't existence in T.F. Greene. They really should work on that. I would love to have been able to check my email one last time. The flight to Chicago was easy. I thought I had really lucked out, as they had announced at the beginning of the flight that it was going to be crowded, and by the time they had closed the doors, I had the last two open seats on the plane next to me. Two cool little kids were soon relocated to occupy those seats, however: Sean, 12, and his brother Trent, 8. They were both exponentially cooler than I had been at either of their ages. We played poker then talked video games and travel. They gave me their screen names, but I think I'll just remember them fondly. I gave them my website address, so if you're reading this: hi guys. My flight from Chicago to LA was also a relative cakewalk. I sat with two people at least sort of in my age group: DJ, an up-and-coming director of commercials, industrial films, etc. based in LA, and Margaret, a student from Iowa City, Iowa. DJ and I had some excellent discussions regarding movies in general, Hollywood, who had more power, Bush or Gates, etc. Definitely an interesting talk. He was from Detroit and finished a Gore Vidal novel while we were on the plane (a little obsessive, DJ watched the in-flight movie, Legally Blonde, till the absolute last credit shone, and didn't put down the Gore Vidal novel till he had read the advertisements in the back and every word of the back cover). Margaret was 22 and a dead ringer for Anna Paquin (whom she had never heard of-DJ probably has met her). She was on her way to see her boyfriend in LA and was reading Tolstoy. I felt a little odd to be between one person reading Gore Vidal, another reading Tolstoy, and myself reading In a Sunburned Country, by Bill Bryson (which get incredibly high marks, by the way-definitely recommended reading). Margaret had bad posture and constantly looked at me as if she were sizing me up, psychoanalyzing me. The two are obviously not connected, but she glanced up occasionally after being hunched over and just squintingly appraised me. Who knows? LA was crazy. First of all, I now really understand what urban sprawl means. Holy God that's a big city. It just goes on and on, the streetlights throwing their all-pervading orange glow over miles and miles of bland nighttime urbanity. I can't imagine what a morning commute must be like for someone in a remote LA suburb. I guess I'm just spoiled to live in Rhode Island, where you're an hour from the beach, 20 minutes from farmland, 5 minutes from downtown, and about 4 minutes from your local high school. Things are different in other parts of the world. Secondly, regarding LA craziness, you have to physically exit the airport in order to get to the International Terminal. The cavernous and confusing International Terminal itself was guarded by tons of marines, which, though definitely not a bad thing, is easily unnerving. As soon as I got inside, I heard the general boarding call for my flight to Sydney. I flipped. I ran. I got my bags searched by customs. I flipped again. I ran to the gate in time to get on the last bus (yes, that's right, we took a bus) out to the plane. The Sydney flight was ridiculously long, but certainly manageable. I'm not worried about the return trip at all. Everyone I had talked to prior to leaving said that the flight was 17 hours, and my flight ended up being 13, which was a nice surprise. I sat next to two people from New Mexico who were nice, but of whom I know little about because they slept or read quietly for most of the trip. Getting off in Sydney was pretty crazy. I just smiled the whole way. It was beautiful, it was hot (quite a difference from Providence and Chicago, certainly), and the Australians are a genuinely friendly and welcoming bunch. I talked for a half-hour with a lady who lives in Manly Beach while I was waiting for the hotel shuttle. Her sons all live in Toronto, and she says "I love the cold. When I was at their houses, I would turn off the heat and open the windows." This woman was in Toronto in the winter and was doing this. How hot does it get down here? How crazy are these people? Doesn't matter. I like them anyway. I feel entirely at home here. Were it not for the fact that I'm now, from my calculations, 10052 or so miles from home and the people I love, everything would be perfect. I'm going to go nap now, attempt to recover a bit from the flight, then get something to eat and go downtown, try and find something to do for New Years. I'll tell you what happens.

muchlove.peace.b.

PS - Check the pictures.