From the Archives

As I said in the profile, I do some commentary work for our local NPR station and a show called Ozarks At Large. I've been away working on the presentation on social networking websites and the challenges therein for college athletics for our national convention. In the meantime, here's a script from one of those recent commentaries to tide over the blog until some new material bubbles up. Enjoy.

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER ROAD TRIP

LOOKING ACROSS A TERMINAL LIKE CINCINNATTI’S SATELLITE REMINDS MY HOW MUCH OF COMMODITY TRAVEL HAS BECOME. THE WIDE OPEN SPACE AND THE ROW UPON ROW OF OPPOSED SEATS COULD EASILY BE THE BENCHS OF A TURN OF THE CENTURY TRAIN STATION, UNDER A GREAT OPEN ARCH LIKE GRAND CENTRAL OR CHATTANOOGA; OR A BUS TERMINAL OF THE 1950S BACK WHEN THAT WAS THE PEOPLE’S MODE.

THERE THEY SIT, SO MOBILE YET MOST ARE DESPIRATELY SEEKING TO REMAIN CONNECTED TO ANOTHER PLACE. EITHER BY CELL PHONE CHATTER OR WITH NOISE CANCELLING HEADSETS, THEY CLOSE THEIR EYES AND ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE. PHYSICALLY, THEY ARE JOINED IN THIS COMMUNITY OF THE MOBILE. SPIRITUALLY, THEY ARE SAFELY IN THEIR LIVING ROOMS AS IF THEY NEVER LEFT HOME.

WE ARE THE MOST MOBILE GENERATION IN THE HISTORY OF MANKIND, YET WE NO LONGER EMBRACE TRAVEL. NOBODY DARES GO NATIVE. GOD FORBID KNOWING YOUR FELLOW TRAVELER UNTIL THERE IS TROUBLE. A FLIGHT DELAY, A PENDING CANCELLATION – THAT WILL BRING PEOPLE TOGETHER INTO A TEMPORARY COMMUNITY UNITED IN A SINGLE GOAL OF AVOIDING BECOMING THE NEXT NEAL PAGE.

WHY WAIT FOR CATASTROPHE TO TRAVEL? YET, THE LEMMINGS SIT, AWAITING THEIR CALL TO THE CLIFF – THEY READ THE SAME TECHNICOLOR NEWSPAPER, THEY USE THE SAME BAGS, THEY EMPLOY THE SAME TECHNO-TOYS, WEAR CLOTHES THEY FOOL THEMSELVES INTO THINKING ARE INDIVIDUAL BUT ARE NOTHING LESS THAN THE UNIFORM OF THE MOTION NATION. WHO READS THE LOCAL PAPER, EATS THE NEIGHBORHOOD FOOD?

THE AIRLINES HAVE FULFILLED A DESTINY TO BRING TRAVEL TO ALL, BUT IN THE PROCESS THEY HAVE ONLY DELIVERED MOBILITY. TRAVEL IS A STEWARDESS WHO AD LIBS THE SAFETY BREIFING. TRAVEL WAS A DECK OF AIRLINE TRADING CARDS. TRAVEL WAS THE MULTICOLORED BADGES OF TRI-LETTERED BAG TAGS. TRAVEL IS A PAIR OF TIN PILOT’S WINGS PINNED TO THE CHEST OF A WIDE-EYED CHILD. WHAT WE’RE LEFT WITH TODAY IS CONTAINER CARGO – JUST TUBE-SHAPED AND AIRBORNE RATHER THAN STEEL-BOXED AND SAILING – ADMINISTERED BY FLIGHT ATTENDANTS THAT PUSH BUTTONS FOR THE RECORDINGS AND CANNOT BE BOTHERED ONCE CABIN SERVICE – NOW THERE’S A EUPHEMISM’S EUPHEMISM – HAS BEEN COMPLETED.

FILING ONTO THE NEXT FLYING BUS, I SETTLE INTO MY LITTLE SPACE AND LOOK INTO THE SEAT-BACK POCKET. TO MY SURPRISE, INSTEAD OF THE BANAL AIRLINE PROPAGANDA OR THE CATALOGUE OF CATALOGUES, A GIFT OF TWO REAL MAGAZINES LEFT BEHIND BY A PREVIOUS VOYAGER. ACCIDENT, MAYBE; I’D RATHER THINK A RANDOM ACT OF TRAVELING, A SIGN THAT ALL MAY NOT BE LOST.