The romance of driving in America: the true descendent of a tall ship at sea
I've been remarkably unproductive today, in the work sense, but have managed to read a great many interesting articles and stories, even snippets of which were so immensely satisfying that I don't begrudge the work undone and the tasks still remaining.
A little of the warm spring air is sneaking in through the window which never quite latches all the way shut, and I'm full of that peculiar feeling of living in a larger, better world that comes from an afternoon of inhabiting line after line of well-crafted prose. So let me share:
Alain de Botton's The Art of Travel
Even when we are not in deserts, the behavior of others and our own flaws are prone to leave us feeling small. Humiliation is a perpetual risk in the world of men. It is not unusual for our will to be defied and our wishes frustrated. Sublime landscapes do not therefore introduce us to our inadequacy; rather, to touch on the crux of their appeal, they allow us to conceive of a familiar inadequacy in a new and more helpful way. Sublime places repeat in grand terms a lesson that ordinary life typically introduces viciously: that the universe is mightier than we are, that we are frail and temporary and have no alternative but to accept limitations on our will; that we must bow to necessities greater than ourselves.
This is the lesson written into the stones of the desert and the ice fields of the poles. So grandly is it written there that we may come away from such places not crushed but inspired by what lies beyond us, privileged to be subject to such majestic necessities. The sense of awe may even shade into a desire to worship.
I've been paging through the blog of one writer, Dale Keiger, following a link I'd saved for myself in a document from 2004. The only context for the link was an italicised "amen" typed next to the blue URL; however, Keiger's archives appear to be defunct (and the blog as gone on hiatus), so I have no way of rediscovering, now, whatever it was I so agreed with back then.
What I did find, however, was a trove of quotations (like the above Botton), Mr. Keiger's own ruminations on writing, writers, traveling, and the occasional pieces of the other parts of life, plus other articles on the same.
One of those other articles is the excellent "Frank Sinatra Has a Cold," written by Gay Talese back in 1966. It's less any sort of music review or biographical sketch than it is an unsentimental immersion in a time, a place, and a man.
Keiger also posted some excellent snippets on traveling, particularly road traveling, which made me nostalgic for my car and the twisty old mountain highways around home.
I realize now that with the price and consequences of gas, long car trips are starting to be seen as one of those sinful self-indulgences, akin to buying enormous SUVs in the suburbs. And while I see the validity of such a viewpoint (at least until we all start driving hybrids or hydrogen-cell cars or something), I hate to think of America losing one of those key characteristics so unique to us among other countries. I remember a story from Dom Monaghan in some interview article, talking about being in a car out in the desert in California and realizing it really was like the movies here; the highway really did go all the way out to the horizon and beyond. I think about American Gods and young gods dying.
And because everything comes back to Supernatural, I think about lyra_wing's Dean and Sam and what they - and we - would lose without that feel of the steady downward pressure of your foot and the car surging beneath you, the miles passing through the wind whipping in the window, and the feeling that no matter how well-traveled this stretch of road is, somewhere up ahead is the Unknown.
A little of the warm spring air is sneaking in through the window which never quite latches all the way shut, and I'm full of that peculiar feeling of living in a larger, better world that comes from an afternoon of inhabiting line after line of well-crafted prose. So let me share:
Alain de Botton's The Art of Travel
Even when we are not in deserts, the behavior of others and our own flaws are prone to leave us feeling small. Humiliation is a perpetual risk in the world of men. It is not unusual for our will to be defied and our wishes frustrated. Sublime landscapes do not therefore introduce us to our inadequacy; rather, to touch on the crux of their appeal, they allow us to conceive of a familiar inadequacy in a new and more helpful way. Sublime places repeat in grand terms a lesson that ordinary life typically introduces viciously: that the universe is mightier than we are, that we are frail and temporary and have no alternative but to accept limitations on our will; that we must bow to necessities greater than ourselves.
This is the lesson written into the stones of the desert and the ice fields of the poles. So grandly is it written there that we may come away from such places not crushed but inspired by what lies beyond us, privileged to be subject to such majestic necessities. The sense of awe may even shade into a desire to worship.
I've been paging through the blog of one writer, Dale Keiger, following a link I'd saved for myself in a document from 2004. The only context for the link was an italicised "amen" typed next to the blue URL; however, Keiger's archives appear to be defunct (and the blog as gone on hiatus), so I have no way of rediscovering, now, whatever it was I so agreed with back then.
What I did find, however, was a trove of quotations (like the above Botton), Mr. Keiger's own ruminations on writing, writers, traveling, and the occasional pieces of the other parts of life, plus other articles on the same.
One of those other articles is the excellent "Frank Sinatra Has a Cold," written by Gay Talese back in 1966. It's less any sort of music review or biographical sketch than it is an unsentimental immersion in a time, a place, and a man.
Keiger also posted some excellent snippets on traveling, particularly road traveling, which made me nostalgic for my car and the twisty old mountain highways around home.
I realize now that with the price and consequences of gas, long car trips are starting to be seen as one of those sinful self-indulgences, akin to buying enormous SUVs in the suburbs. And while I see the validity of such a viewpoint (at least until we all start driving hybrids or hydrogen-cell cars or something), I hate to think of America losing one of those key characteristics so unique to us among other countries. I remember a story from Dom Monaghan in some interview article, talking about being in a car out in the desert in California and realizing it really was like the movies here; the highway really did go all the way out to the horizon and beyond. I think about American Gods and young gods dying.
And because everything comes back to Supernatural, I think about lyra_wing's Dean and Sam and what they - and we - would lose without that feel of the steady downward pressure of your foot and the car surging beneath you, the miles passing through the wind whipping in the window, and the feeling that no matter how well-traveled this stretch of road is, somewhere up ahead is the Unknown.