Okay, here’s the thing: my last few vacations have been almost entirely disaster-free. Great for me, but not much in the “fascinating reading” department. I think the problem is that my early adventures happened to me when I wasn’t prepared for travelling great distances. That, and I was young and too stupid to remember things like my airline tickets, or how to handle awkward sports cars on wet roads. I once fancied myself quite the travel writer, on account of the incredible stories I was able to tell after each major expedition. It turns out, though, that a story is only as good as the events contained within it, so short of lying about things, I’m not going to hold anyone’s interest with a report on just how pleasant it is to relax for a week in the California sun.
Hence, this little experiment. Since my writing is only really good when I suffer (all comedy, it is said, comes from conflict and suffering), and I actually have the hang of the whole “point-A-to-point-B” thing these days, the only way I’m going to generate some readable material is to actively seek out the suffering. Or, to put it another way, like some people’s parents always said, I’m going to give myself something to cry about.
Throughout the summer of 2003, I’m going to be actively seeking out things I would normally never do — things that will very likely make me absolutely miserable. You can call me an idiot (you wouldn’t be the first), but I like to think of it as “suffering for my art.” You people only seem happy when I’m not, so this is really all your faults. So watch this space in the months ahead to examine the fallout of your selfishness. And have a great summer!!