So it boils down to this... (December 12, 1999)

It's amazing how much an incessant travel schedule can do to stifle a person's creativity. My writing has fallen victim to the continuous accumulation of US Airways miles, preferred Avis renter points, and repeat diner dollars at T.G.I.Friday's. It's certainly no help that Louisville's environs are a monument to the American Franchise. I am convinced that if I were blindfolded, tossed in the back of a Ford Excursion and dropped off at an intersection chosen at random, I would be completely unable to determine my location: every corner seems to contain three chain restaurants (at least one fast and one sit-down), some form of megastore, and either a CVS or RiteAid. Landmarks are unknown in this flatland.

I'm convinced that there is life, and interesting life at that, in the city itself. It's just that I'm never actually there to enjoy it. The worst part about being a 1990s cliché is that social seclusion is intimate with with being an airplane commuter. I've yet to spend a weekend in L'ville, and perhaps then I'll be able to have a better idea of what's out there.

There are good, classy restaurants, cheap dives, all that goodness. I just don't have time to see it. Or maybe I haven't made time to see it. I guess it's worse that way.

This weekend was good though. I saw a friend from High School who I hadn't seen in maybe six years. We went to see El Vez (the Chicano Elvis impersonator) at the Black Cat. Good mix of politics and slapstick humor. Saw the Gay Men's Chorus Christmas concert today. I'll reserve judgment for another rant. Slapstick was there, the politics, I suppose... I'll refrain from saying unnice things until I can find the right words to describe it.

So, I'm off to pack my suitcase... gotta catch that 8:20.