I can’t be the only one who’s thought of this. The whole economic bailout plan they’re debating in Washington right now? The one that’s going to require taxpayers to save the banking industry as we know it? Why don’t they just shelve it for the time being, and get money from a different source? Specifically, I’m thinking the CEOs, CFOs, COOs (and whatever other alphabet-soup titles they have), the presidents, the vice presidents, board members, and all the higher-ups of these failing companies. Take away their salaries for the past year or two, sell their multiple houses, auction off their cars, liquidate their stocks and bonds, cash in their IRAs and 401(k)s, have a garage sale with all their expensive clothes and jewelry, ebay their yachts, and turn their polo ponies into hot lunches for the school kids. Now, I’m guessing even that won’t be enough, so I’m also suggesting that each of them also be required to remove and sell at least three organs. Kidney, lung, pancreas, their choice. Carve ‘em out and offer ‘em up to the highest bidder. I’m betting there’s some oil sheik someplace who could use a new gall bladder.

Come on, if this happened in Japan, there’d be executives over there killing themselves right now.

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Ever hear of altitude sickness? Yeah, me neither. It’s your body’s reaction to going from an area of regular sea-level altitude to a higher altitude where the air is thinner. Your lungs have to work harder to pull the same amount of oxygen into your lungs, your heart has to beat faster to make up for the lower amount of oxygen in your blood, and you dehydrate quickly due to drier air. You feel headachy, tired, nauseous, listless, and, if you’re like the SBM and I, have no clue why.

Everything seemed fine when we got to Colorado Springs. The weather was beautiful, the mountains were gorgeous, the surrounding area seemed lovely. Of course, we’d been cooped up in a car for the last ten hours straight and were in no mood to enjoy any of that crap. But even in the following days, we still weren’t enjoying things that much because we were constantly exhausted. Three flights of stairs would leave us winded at the top. We both had headaches and were grumpy because of it. One day, I actually came over so light-headed it was sit down or fall down.

About a week later, some people at work told me what the deal was, which I kinda think they could have told me sooner, and we’ve made some adjustments to allow our bodies time to adapt. We’re getting back to what passes for normal with us, but still have a way to go before we’re running any marathons. (Not that we run marathons; I can think of lots of better ways to spend five hours.) So if you find yourself moving or visiting a high-altitude area, be warned and take it easy. Or at least pass out someplace where I can watch.

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There’s a stack of cardboard boxes where the dining room table should be. There’s a mound of DVDs next to my desk that I have no idea where they should go. My clothes are scattered around in several different locations, making it impossible to find anything quickly. Several piles of books flanks the doorway to the bedroom.

There’s a Christmas tree in the kitchen.

I’d say this is all indicative of unpacking after a move, but, truthfully, before I met my fiancee, this was pretty much how I lived anyway. Feels cozy.

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There’s that famous saying, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” to which I think the only rational response can be: “Good.” The SBM and I drove across Kansas today in a trip that took, best estimate, forty-three hours and destroyed something precious in my soul. You can drive for hours and swear you’re in the same place because it all looks the same. Kansas is a vast emptiness, full of nothingness as far as the eye can see, and, to quote novelist Terry Pratchett (who admittedly wasn’t talking about Kansas but totally could have been), “All you can say about the place is it isn’t anywhere else.” Near as I can tell, the only thing Kansas has going for it is that it keeps Nebraska and Oklahoma from scraping.

Now, understand, I’m not some big-city snot who looks down his nose at anything smaller than a metropolis and can’t come to grips with something as bland as a meadow. I’m a small-town boy who came from a one-horse burg where the horse took off without leaving a forwarding address. I know about empty horizons, big-ass fields, and large gaps between towns, but Kansas does all these things like it has something to prove. There is literally nothing for miles, and then, when there is something, it leaves you wishing it had actually been nothing because the something is so pathetic. Although I can’t explain exactly how, I’m sure if we eliminated it as a state, divided it into fourths and gave a chunk to each of the neighboring states, the contents of each quarter would instantly improve.

Maybe it’s unfair to trash an entire state based on a single car ride along a single interstate. Maybe Kansas has lots of interesting features, friendly citizens, and a rich culture. Maybe it’s more than just large swaths of grass dotted with the occasional cow, ramshackle towns, and filthy truck stops.

Maybe, but I ain’t going back to check.

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It’s either an hour earlier or later than I think it is. I have no idea the name of the town I’m in and only a partial idea of the name of the hotel. I’m surrounded by suitcases and I’m not sure which one contains my socks. I spent last night in a bed that was far too soft and the morning in a shower that was far too small. We spent roughly eight hours in the car yesterday, stopping only for gas and a quick, unsatisfying dinner. Soon we’ll corral all our luggage (and don’t ever ignore that the root of that word is “lug”), wrestle it back into the car, and drive for another eight hours, hopefully arriving at our final destination.

If getting there is half the fun, I never want to see the other half.

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The SBM and I have just spent the last three weeks throwing everything we own into boxes in preparation for driving across sixty-three states (I get lost a lot) so I can start a new job in a city I’ve never been, at a company I’ve never heard of, working for a boss I’ve never met. So what with everything going on, and the sneaking suspicion that I packed my laptop in with my underwear for some unknown reason, posts are going to be in even shorter supply than normal the next couple weeks. So for the six people who read this blog (and the five hundred spammers who keep leaving gibberish comments), my apologies and I’ll return as soon as I can to fill your lives with mindless drivel.

Ain’t moving fun?

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So, I watched some of CBS’s coverage of the Republican Convention speeches last night, curious to hear from Palin, and was treated to a fantastic shot of her daughter sprucing up the baby’s hair.

I nearly pissed myself. Honest.

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Don LaFontaine died today at the age of 68. If you’re wondering who in the hell Don LaFontaine is, just imagine yourself in a darkened movie theater, watching a trailer where Bruce Willis will soon be blowing up lots of stuff, and the gravel-voiced announcer intones “In a world…”

That was him.

I know, it’s probably a little odd to post about the passing of a guy I’ve never met, couldn’t pick out of a lineup, and had to check the Internet to be sure of his name. He wasn’t a celebrity. He was familiar but not famous. So why the post? Because I’ve seen a lot of movies, probably even more trailers, and I always enjoyed—in a sort of background way—LaFontaine’s work. There were times I saw trailers for movies that I just knew were going to be utter crap, but hearing him sell it, I kind of thought, “Well, maybe…” And while there are plenty of other great announcers out there, it’s sad to think that I’ll never again see a trailer with his deep rumble behind it.

Rest in peace, Don.

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