serenity.simplicity.passion.beauty.life

Finding l.u.x.u.r.y in the little things (and smirking at all the r.e.s.t)

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

"The fact is, that to do anything in the world worth doing, we must not stand back shivering and thinking of the cold and danger, but jump in and scramble through as well as we can."


So tonight I had my first travel writing class. As I pulled into Lower Merion High School, following a rather long and drawn out ride through every town on the Main Line in order to arrive, I see a semi-attractive male exiting the front doors. Not sure if this was the right building, I decided to inquire. He happily comes over to my car, and when I ask if I'm in the right place...he said... "You mean that school for old people?" Hmm. "Yeah," I replied somewhat regretfully. "I guess that's it." As I thanked him and pulled away he yelled, "Have funnn!" as if I were going into a dark, spooky haunted house, never to return. School for old people? Did i get..gulp...old?


As I navigated my way through the dimly lit halls, I noticed that the school didn't seem all that spectacular for a high school on the Main Line. I entered room 110 and suddenly became startingly aware of what my little guy friend meant. There were old people. And I don't mean young old people. I mean olddd people. Retired old people. Old people who were the geeks and the bookworms back in high school. Old people who, over the years, forgot to buy new clothes that actually fit them (or get new eyeglass frames, for that matter). I knew immediately that this was going to be good.

I got the stare down as I entered. With my black high heel cowboy boots and the black and white skull scarf I was donning, I'm not surprised. The professor herself looked a bit ragged. She began some ice breakers, one of them joking about how Lower Merion HS actually hosted a night class: "How to get by on $70,000 a year." And she was serious. Where the hell am I, I thought. Sweetie, where I come from, $70,000 and you're rich!


The class went quite well, I must say. Between the introductions and the explanation of the course, I somehow got to saying that I had spent extensive time in Costa Rica. Her reply: "Oh, I don't go to those places." Those places?
How are you a travel writer?! You can't be biased. You're suppose to love traveling to far and exotic places! I was disilusioned.


On my way out, I walked down the lonely hallway with an assignment for the following week. A five hundred word personal travel narrative. I'm going to show her...


A balding man followed closely behind me through the corridor. And he hummed. Hummed the entire way. I knew before I left that I needed to write about the humming man. I started thinking about it. Who hums these days? And who does so in front of others? He audibly hummed the entire way out to my car, as he followed closely behind. He knew I could hear him. And he didn't care. He just hummed away. I'm not sure what to make of that. Usually I would find it refreshingly pleasant--someone beating to his own drum, which I always admire. However for some reason I was a bit perturbed. How can he be so inconsiderate to disturb my peace and quiet? I almost felt as if it were a personal invasion. How do you guys feel about the humming? Do I have any hummers out there? I need a solid resolution as to my feelings on the subject. :)



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