NOTES IN TRANSIT

Muddled ruminations after a whirlwind DIY weekend.

AIRPORT

Public restrooms depress me. The bright fluorescent bulbs that only manage to cast a dim light. A solar eclipse. The lines, the cabinets, the repetition, the scratches on the wall, the way toilet paper gets brutally ripped across the end of the roll. You would think we’re all animals.

Though, who am I to complain? Relativity’s a bitch.

IN FLIGHT

The cards fluttered across the screen, beckoning the flurries of synchronized swims, arms and legs intersecting the water in perpetual fluid motion. Or better, forget glimmering white caps and suits. Geese. Not the movement, but the streaks of lake that trail their path. The deep furrows that slowly build up into a mountain of small pebbles, matter moving from one place to another like warm clay.

The fireworks soon confettied across the green felt screen as the words “CHAMPION” sparkled  from left to right and back again. Likewise, the player’s shoulders shimmied side to side, fist pumps of the hefty figure resolute in self confidence. Oh, the  sweet victory of Solitaire.

_

The windows in the back of the airplane have shrunk in size. They used to invite a daydream, a passing word to strangers, an inside scoop from the uniformed chit chatterers. Formerly, they measured wrist to elbow long, and palm wide. Now, the only solace to be found amidst the bulk of exit doors measures no larger than a clenched fist. Looking out, the categories of bite sized scenery bleed onto each other. There’s no telling the mountain ranges and prairies and houses and oceans apart, especially with the permanent haze across the first and second screens. Omniscient powers are blurred by dust and plastic. Passengers must instead rely on side windows to spin the yarns of life below. And those in the middle, well, they depend on an image projected from a screen: a bright blue-green map and a little white icon whose placement predicts the future and explains the past. They say the journey is what counts, but the only physical truth lives on the ground at take-off and landing.

DAYDREAM

Post 3G architecture and home design: The building style is best known for concentrated, ornate structures (molding, paint, wallpaper and the like) whose detail abruptly stops at 8 feet high. The high density is intended to maximize visual impact given the decreased range of vision, which is measured at an average angle of 45 degrees downward when seated, 32 when standing. Walls and corners in Post 3G buildings are often soft-padded as inhabitants are prone to walk into them. The convention calls for white, black, or slate silver finishes. Also notable in the interior are “SCS,” or smart charging stations, which bark at inhabitants if they sense a low battery charge. The latest versions have multiple sounds options, including the voice of Siri.

Calling upon the floating and interchangeable structures of app icons, many have also begun to add wheels to rooms that sit on top of the building foundation, for ease of movement and regrouping. Some fringe architects are working on live delete buttons so rooms can be completely removed if the occasion calls for more space; however, there have been signs of psychological damage among inhabitants whose rooms have disappeared, likely triggered by the permanent removal of data. An unidentified source from Frank Gehry’s firm leaked designs of cloud structures that temporarily store unwanted space and belongings.

MEMORY, ALMOST

I missed a game of trampoline dodgeball. Instead, we spent the day talking about empty space, how to turn nothing into something; lost space, how to turn what was into what is; outerspace, how to turn here into there, and maybe vice versa. Ideas were flying around, sure, but I still wanted to jump up and down.

PREDICTION

Not all yellow cabs are created equal.

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