Ph.D in Vague

As much as most people bitch about airport layovers, I kind of enjoy them. Airport terminals are where life has neither come nor gone--it's a transitional portal, and a place to stop and reflect on the past goings and the soon comings. And so that's where this last post finds me. Three hours away from my 1:05pm departure in a silly-ass net cafe in Detroit Metro. "But Zach," you say, "I thought you left yesterday!?" blah blah blah. Well, yes, I did. And I had a sweet trip. Or maybe I overslept and missed my flight. I don't really remember. What I do remember, is that I'm tired and crabby, and you're ugly. Get bent. Anyway, trivial details aren't important. What is important, is that I'm going to inhale a stupid huge Ruddfuckers (sp?) hamburger before I finally get on the 16 hour flight to a land of half-assed sandwiches and no Burger King.

Ok fine, to make a long story short, I'm the uncle fucker who shows up at the Traverse City airport ten minutes before an international flight is scheduled to depart. It takes the security checkpoint ten minutes to do just a strip search, much less any of the other procedures before boarding--so naturally, I was handily rejected. Most surly airline counter workers this side of the Atlantic don't think these lazy shenanigans are very funny. Contrary to those spoilsport sonsofbitches, once I actually woke up after going back home to sleep, I thought it was actually pretty fucking funny. So, it's not actually a long story, it's just embarassing and I'm not going to tell any more of it. The biggest goddamn flight of my entire life and I missed it. Brilliant.

So, by the time you've rubbed the sleep out of your tired eyes and read another one of my aimless posts on your way to the morning bm, I'll still be trying to rub the bloodshot out of my sleepy eyes from Flight 69 to the end of the world. I had the most amazing weekend in Findlay, and then a perfect, record-breaking five hour drive home--my final driving in America, ending with an emphatic, snowy powerslide in my grandma's Ford Taurus into our driveway.

You ever walk away from a conversation or a goodbye and think "damn, I wish I had really said that. I spent the entire weekend, and most of last month saying goodbye to my favorite people on the planet, then had five hours in a car alone on Sunday to think of all the stupid shit I forgot to say. In no particular order, here it is:

"Good luck with the wings. And things. Save me a seat at the bar."

*ring ring* "Hello? Oh, it's Mt. Fuji. Yeah, it's calling you and me. Get your ass in shape, and I'll see you there."

"Congratulations on your engagement--should have been me though."

"Guess it's back to just me and my balls again. Much love."

"First day of the rest of my life and I miss you already. Seriously."

"Ditch the horses. It worked for everybody else."

"Make us proud again and kick some J-nerds in at the speech contest."

"I know they don't have guitar hero in Japan, but if they did, I'd still stomp your stupid ass in."

"Screw head-to-toe, if you come, you be on the flo. Fo sho. Kno it's a tatami flo tho."

"Wherever I go, how far I don't know, I will always be your light."

"Sorry about the big pile of junk I left in the garage. As long as it's there, I have a place to come back to right?"

"I don't know where or with whom you lay your head tonight, and I said I wouldn't give a fuck, but I do, and I hope you knew that."

It's getting close. Start the final countdown. If the last month has taught me anything, it has taught me not that I have so much to lose, but I have so much to come back to. If I saw you this last month, thank you. And so I will. Hopefully with sand in my shoes. James would say everybody else just wang chung tonight. So...yeah. Wang chung.

Finally, special thanks to the biggest small family I've ever known: mom and dad, and to Kathryn, Alex, David, James, Ben, Olivia, and even Andrew. For everything. I'm pretty sure they're the only reason I get up in the morning.

See you pooters on the other side.