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Writing on the Stall
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Little School Boys by Ronny Hello I'm Ronny Douglas, the invisible member of the Stall. Long ago I was just like Capt.; diligent, creative and unforgiving in my vigor to transform humanity. But times have changed and it's been over a year since I've even written an article. I must now pop my knuckles and try. For now politics are out of the question, they give me gas and make my head numb with futile idealism. I have decided to write on traveling, something which has formed a large chunk of my existence and vision. As I have become more and more aquanted with traveling, it’s rewards have faded my cares for anything of greater consequence. I am entirely content with travel as an education, I'll try to explain why but not attempt to make you understand. Emerson had harsh words for those who traveled constantly. He said that traveling is a vehicle to escape one’s self by replacing your environment to make you forget how miserable and detestible you are. Emerson is entirely correct, a good friend of mine told me once before I left on a trip, "You can send a stone to China and it’s still just a rock." That really stuck in my head. If you decide to do any extensive traveling, do not expect to be changed into an Oracle of wisdom and understanding. When you finally return, you will find you’re the same ignorant bastard. It HELPS you grow, but change is always inward through God. I’ve become a fan of relying on your own wits or "being on your ass". Our every day lives we have millions of roadsigns, seatbelts, parachutes, and cushions to guide and protect us. On the road you only have yourself and perhaps a companion. Being on your ass takes balls. Traveling sometimes is like being led around in a blindfold, you must have a lot of humor to have any fun. Allow me to recite a story to illustrate that point. We had arrived at the Guatemalan border one night after a long bus ride from Belize City. There was a twenty dollar fee to leave Belize (who know’s if there really was, but they had the guns). The problem was my friend had forgoten to get more cash and we were almost totally broke. Amazingly with a collaboration of Pesos, Belize and U.S. dollars we paid and got through. We were now in a thin strip of no man’s land between Guatemala and Belize. We walked into a small shack titled "immigration". A dark mustached man sat behind the counter. The fee: 10 dollars. Our net worth: 6 dollars. He looked at us up and down sizing our coffins. My head spun thinking of the hell we could be put through stuck between two countries, without a bank or a hope. Suddenly, he just slammed a stamp down on our passports and handed them back. The town was a few miles into Guatemala, and we began walking, wondering where to sleep safely and freely. Cabs kept pulling up beside us trying to win a fare. We told them we had absolutely no money, but they didn’t believe us. Finally I said, "okay we ride for free". The driver looked at us for a second and said, "jump in." After learning our situation, he told us we could stay in a gas station parking lot. Then he dropped us off. Guatemalan gas stations are very different from the U.S. Yeah they have fuel but they also have gaurds walking around with shotguns. So here we are; lugging our backpacks, unable to speak spanish, approaching some men talking at a table. Turns out, one of the guys |
had lived in Chicago and knew English, but even better he worked on the bus going to Guatemala City (our destination) and promised to get us on the bus without any cash upfront.
As we sat there, very pleased conversing back and forth, I heard one of the armed guards about fifty feet away yell something at me. I was immediately afraid and acted like I didn’t notice. He persisted and when I looked up he was beckoning for me to come as he stood holding open a door. I had no choice except to walk into his obvious death trap of latin style torture and mutilation. Trembling, I approached the guard, he turned the light on in a room and gestured that it was for us. It had a bed and shower, absolutely elegent compared to the pavement. How amazing to learn that even crazy looking guys guarding gas stations with shotguns had hearts. (ohh that's the end of my story, get the point?). When you go on a long trip with a backpack, your priorities become aligned without any thought or effort. All materialism dwindles when you have to carry it on your back. Instantly you have no desire to buy anything beside food and lodging. You begin to understand what Thoreau was talking about, on a smaller scale. After a while you become accustomed to the idea of everything you need weighing under 30 pounds. The first time that I realized this I became very angry. I couldn't believe how much worthless shit I had packed away at home, waiting like depressed friends in the attic. I wanted to see it burn, my eyes filled with the flames of those puzzles and gameboards!!! The final aspect of traveling which intrigues me the most is it's power to inspire. The more strange, magnificent, disgusting, shocking, incredible and horrifying a place is, the more inspiration it provides. I need inspiration like a politican craves little boys. When I am inspired, my writing becomes it's best. When I am not, it is flat monotone mumbling. Not only does traveling provide inspiration for writing, it provides inspiration for life. Suddenly I want to bite into the day with all my strength. Change to me is glorifying and edifying and I will not exchange it for a stale loaf of stability. What more needs to be said? Join the Navy. 
Fat Girl’s Manifesto by Cleo I have heard it said that inside every fat person there is a skinny person desperately screaming to be let out. I believe that, with the exception of overweight cannibals, this is probably untrue. Instead, I believe that inside every relatively thin person is fatter person screaming, “For God’s sake, enough with the dry toast and iceberg lettuce.” I’m very, very tired of iceberg lettuce, and so I’m writing this manifesto…or rather my internal fat girl is writing this manifesto. Oh the multiple personality craziness. |
