A mere 48 hours ago, I was holding hands with The Girlfriend and feeling very uncurmudgeonly as we watched Tinkerbell glide down from the Matterhorn amidst a shower of gold and blue fireworks.

Now I’m preparing to put my Krazy Kat out for the night so I can get to bed and be fresh for the morning’s return to the New Proofreader’s Cave deep in the bowels of… aw, to hell with it. You get the idea. My vacation is over and tomorrow it’s back to Real Life™. Sigh.

I’ve experienced this letdown many times, but it always seems to take me by surprise anyhow. I simply can’t believe how quickly something that you spend a year planning and gearing up for seems to ultimately pass. Almost as if it didn’t happen at all.

I find it utterly depressing that the moments of your life when you feel the most truly alive, the most truly yourself, the most engaged and interested and happy are so rare and short-lived. Don’t anyone try to lay that line on me about how this fleeting quality makes those moments all the more special, because I’m not sure I believe it. The truth is that I think it sucks major rocks that so much of our lives are composed of the mundane and soul-numbing. It seems like it shouldn’t have to be this way.

Sigh again. Sorry to be a drag… so, how was everybody’s week while I was away?

So, if you’ve been following along with the home version of our game, you’re no doubt aware that (a) my job has been a real drag lately, and (b) the only thing that’s been keeping me going has been the promise of an upcoming vacation. As of today, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel… I just hope it’s not the California Zephyr.

Sorry, old joke. Probably wasn’t very funny even when it was new.

Seriously, though, I’ll be leaving a week from yesterday for the first real vacation I’ve had in several years… “real” meaning something longer than just an extended weekend somewhere within easy driving distance of Salt Lake. This won’t be one of my dream journeys — instead of a trek through Europe, I’ll be spending a week in southern California with The Girlfriend and her entire family, visiting Disneyland and SeaWorld, among other touristy locales — but I’m nevertheless looking forward to it. I desperately need the break, and I’m curious to see the Johnny Depp-bots that’ve been added to Pirates of the Caribbean (my favorite ride at Disneyland, FYI). Also, as much as I love my home landscape, especially in the fall when the leaves are bright and the snow is beginning to dust the mountains to the east of town, it’ll be nice to have a change of scenery. Oh, and as a bonus, my good friend Cranky Robert, who lives in LA, and I are planning to get together and paint the town, too.

People are often puzzled by my attitude leading up to vacations. Unlike, say, The Girlfriend — who has had a countdown to this vacation running in the corner of her cellphone display for weeks now — I’m just not one to express a lot of obvious, bouncy enthusiasm, even for the bigger travel experiences I’ve had (England and Germany). To be honest, I tend not to think much about an impending holiday once the arrangements have been made, and my default habit is to pack my bags at 11 PM the night before I leave. This time, though… well, like I’ve repeatedly said, I need the break, and I am willing to admit that I’m feeling… moderately restless…

Blogger Shane Nickerson, travelling on business, offers up this sharp observation:

Chicks are hotter at the airport. I don’t know why this is, but it’s a fact. Take an average woman with clean hair and a pleasing figure and put her in an airport with a travel bag and some low-riding sweats, and she becomes a magnet to her fellow male travelers. It’s like beer goggles, but in the airport. Airport goggles, I guess.

Oh, yeah. I’ve been there, Shane, I’ve been there. And I’d like to go back…

Hey, kids, just a little FYI: The Girlfriend and I are leaving first thing in the morning for a road trip to Sin City. No, not that Sin City (although I’m sure we could find a spiritual sister to skinny little Nancy Callahan easily enough) — I’m talking about wonderful Las Vegas here, home of the World Series of Poker and really cheap shrimp cocktail. My good friend Jeremy and his wife, who live down there, are expecting their first child in November, so we thought it’d be good to get together before everything changes. I’m told it’s hotter than hell in Vegas right now, but this is the week that worked best for everyone.

Besides, it’s hotter than hell here in the SLC, too, so it’s not like we won’t be used to it.

I was hoping I’d find the time tonight to write a good long entry about the events of last weekend, but it’ll have to wait, as it’s late and I need to get some rest for tomorrow’s drive. I intend to remain blissfully unplugged while I’m gone, so no fresh content until next week. Feel free to leave comments if you like, but they’ll wait in limbo until I have the chance to review them.
Have a good one, loyal readers, and like the running gag in John Landis films, see you next Wednesday!

I no longer recall — and my journals from the time do not record — exactly how or why I decided to go to England in the summer of 1993. That’s a rather significant decision. You’d think I would’ve written something about it, right? But, no, I was too preoccupied with girl troubles and trying to figure out what to do with my life. Just one more miscalculation of priorities for which I’d like to smack my younger self in the head.

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Our guide warned us that we’d likely encounter bison on the road to Old Faithful, but there’s a big difference between hearing something like that, understanding it intellectually, and actually coming around a bend to find your path blocked by an animal the size of a Volkswagen.

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I’ve been meaning to post this item for several days, but I keep getting distracted by other topics. Today, however, is quiet at work and snowy outside, and nothing much has caught my eye during my ‘net wanderings, so let’s take care of some older business, shall we?

One of my Three Loyal Readers, the irrepressible Chenopup, has sent word of an interesting new tourist attraction now taking shape on the western rim of the Grand Canyon: a cantilevered glass Skywalk extending out over the edge of the canyon itself. Part of a visitor’s center located on the Hualapai Nation Indian reservation, the Skywalk is a U-shaped observation deck that will enable tourists to take a scenic stroll some 4000 feet above the canyon’s floor. An artist’s conception can be seen here.

You know, it’s funny. I hate going up on the roof of my old single-story bungalow to hang Christmas lights — I always have this horrible, Vertigo-esque picture in my mind of falling backwards off the eaves, arms windmilling crazily as I drop flat on my back onto the concrete driveway below — but I love all those tall, tourist-attraction observation decks. One of my fondest memories is standing on the roof of the gone-but-not-forgotten World Trade Center, with the wind in my face and the entire world at my feet. For the record, I’ve also been atop the Empire State Building, the pedastal of the Statue of Liberty (the wait to reach the crown was 90 minutes the day I was there, an untenable proposition in New York’s horrible summertime heat and humidity), and various European churches and cathedrals. I’d like to someday go up in the Gateway Arch, the Space Needle, the Eiffel Tower, of course, and the Petronas Towers. Hell, I’d even be up for hiking the Sydney Harbour bridge. But I suspect I’ll probably make it to the Grand Canyon Skywalk much sooner.

Incidentally, the Hualapai are also building an authentic Indian village near the Skywalk and its visitor center, which will host cultural performances and the like, and visitors can also have a “true Western experience” with Wild West performances, open-fire cookouts, and horseback riding at the Hualapai Ranch. It all sounds incredibly touristy, and absolutely fabulous, and it’s all supposed to be open for business in January. Road trip!