Are you ready for some disappointment?!?!

That’s right, ladies and gents, this post contains absolutely zero pictures.  There are two reasons for that:  One being that the wi-fi across the continent and on various trains, planes, and automobiles is nowhere near the quality needed to upload somewhere near 150 pictures to a hosting website.  The other reason?  I have never been anywhere near as exhausted, beleaguered, captivated, repulsed, inspired, or active in my entire life as I have been in the ten days since last we communed here in this dark and funky corner of the internet we call “the blog,” and thus have had absolutely zero urge, desire, or capability to put words to page in any meaningful amalgamation.

I’m sure the three of you who didn’t stop reading after the whole “no pictures” bit are then wondering what exactly the point of this posting is.  It’s purpose is twofold.  It exists both as a confirmation that I have not been “Taken” and no one need send Liam Neeson to recover me, and as a more general update on the status of your….favorite(?)….traveler.

Thusly, this blog shall forever be subtitled:

ZEN AND THE ART OF “OH MY GOD THE BUS ISN’T COMING”

My usual, overly inquisitive, hypothetical reader may well be asking:  “Why?”  To which I say, “This blog has been active for months.  How have you not caught onto the fact I will probably explain things without you having to ask for the explanation, explicitly?”  Jeez.  Next time I imagine a hypothetical reader, I’ll see what I can do about getting one who contributes meaningfully to these tirades.

More to the point:  This subtitle is derived from the fact that traveling through Europe (at least the way I’ve done it) is essentially an extended game of chicken with a improperly staffed and inconsistent series of public transportation systems.  Yes, Rome, I’m looking at you and your ENTIRELY fabricated number 64 bus.  I know you don’t care but we did, in fact, make it to the train station without your help.  Thanks for nothing.  I digress.  Back to the subtitle:  it’s important to remember as you frantically sprint and shove children to make your connection that everything will be alright.  In the ever popular words of Douglas Adams:  “Don’t Panic.”  The universe is not malicious, and most things are funny if you let them be.  This is easy to say now, of course, in the wi-fi and air conditioning furnished bus on the way back to Dresden from Prague.  It was not as easy to feel this way as I aimlessly wandered around the Prague airport this morning for at least forty minutes looking for a nonexistent bus stop.

What I am trying to say is:  don’t miss the beauty around you because the bus isn’t coming––and, trust me, it’s NOT coming.  You’ll get ‘there,’ eventually, just don’t miss the ‘here’ in your mad dash elsewhere.  Consider the lilies of the field, shove your hands in your pockets, and just “be.”

No, this entire blog post isn’t going to be a series of trite, pseudo-enlightened bullshit.  Pardon the French.  The language, not the people.  The people are without excuse.  I’m kidding.  Kind of.  That’s neither here nor there.

Since we last we met, I’ve seen Rome, Florence, Venice, Vienna, and the Prague Airport Holiday Inn.  This has been an absolute whirlwind of travel, and I am duly exhausted.  In my next few days of my holiday, I’ll work on condensing, compiling, and codifying thoughts and images into a congealed virtual mass of smarmy, sardonic, scintillating stuff that this blog is rife with.  After that?  I’m off on tour with the play I’ve been over here doing for what steadily seems to be approaching eternity.

Also, it’s that time of year!  Allow me to wish incredibly happy (and early) birthdays to my wonderful sister Katie and also to my fantastic nephew Luke  He was pretty technologically capable when I left, he’s probably blogging on his own by now.  I’m sorry that I’m missing out on all the festivities.  Someone save me a cupcake.

Now, I leave you with this:

In Central Europe, they grow Canola en masse in the broad, flat plains.  Miles of it.  Endless seas of impossibly, singularly, spectacularly yellow blooms.  Try though I might from various train windows or balconies or wherever else, no picture I’ve taken has done it any justice and I’ve stopped trying.  It’s not a sight, it’s an experience.  If you ask people here about it, they tend to shrug and acknowledge it with all the merit you’d give any patch of grass anywhere else.  There’s something in that.  Don’t let yourself lose the amazing depth and breadth of the majesty and marvel of the things around you just because they’re commonplace.  Don’t let it be the yellow field next door, let it stay a boundless sea of sunshine.

Damn, I slipped back into that pseudo-enlightened b.s., huh?   Sorry.  I’ll be quippier, later.

Until we meet again.