Holiday

It's the Europeans term for "vacation." Really, it is a situation where one physically transports himself to an alternative location in order to alter his physical surroundings in hopes that they will act as a catalyst for internal escape and exploration–to perpetuate some fantasy. It's like booze, or video games, but way more expensive. I prefer a combo, minus the video games.

It is pleasant here. The sound of waves crashing against rocks does carry me away. It restores a healthy perspective, I think. It serves as a reminder that the physical world compels transportation–spiritual, intellectual. AKA-we are all trapped here, wherever that is. But, I admit it's mostly the physical presence of ethanol molecules courageous enough to traverse my blood-brain barrier. God bless em'. I will now be transporting myself back to the couch and enter the representation of some writer/director who is capable of transporting me wherever the hell he/she wants. Unless it sucks, as Avatar did recently. (Who has the balls to tell the great James Cameron his dialog is sophomoric? Me. That's who. Why? Cause he doesn't sign my paycheck. Even the plot is meh. Go see Dances with Wolves instead. Great writing can save mediocre acting with a touch of good casting, but bad writing always digests the soul–for actors and audience alike.) But, I digress.