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Monday, March 28, 2005
A couple of months ago, the already well-travelled Linda of Broadsheet wrote about all the festivals she planned on attending before the inevitable.
I was thrilled with her list. Yet her interest in my list left me a little perturbed. No festivals immediately flew to mind. Sure, I have plans for the Day of the Dead, but not in Mexico City.
My Day of the Dead plans start a month before: I will review my Spanish at a school in Oaxaca, all the while charming my way into a local family's heart. Once November rolls around, they'll invite me to celebrate with their family and I'll be the surrogate child.
And that's the problem with all my plans. I don't really have destinations in mind. Yes, I want to go to Egypt someday too. I'm certain the pyramids will be nice but I can't wait to bellydance in a sleazy Cairo nightclub on amateur night à la Geraldine Brooks in Nine Parts of Desire. I've even taken a year of bellydance lessons in preparation and I am determined to make a fool of myself in yet another country.
I never had any interest in visiting the Galápagos. I always figured the animals there need some privacy. But now that I know about the magic barrel, it's shot up on my list from 123,749th place to third place. Porn Movie High graduate Kyle MacDonald announced he is going to that magic barrel next week to deliver our letters and take out others that he in turn will hand deliver. One day I'll be doing that too; until then I'll live through MacDonald's travels.
(He extended his deadline to April 5 if you want to send him postcards to be placed in the barrel. More details here. I'm sending mine off tomorrow.)
I've also had plans to walk across Europe, just like Constantin Brâncuşi. And, now that plans for my honeymoon in Antarctica fell through, I am going back to my original wedding plans where bridal party et al ride camels to that seven-day-away oasis in the Tunisian Sahara and back again to the Mediterranean. I'll be heading back to Ethiopia one year before my Yellow Fever vaccination expires and I'll learn Amharic and shoulder dancing.
My magum opus will be Peripatetic Pancakes. Like Garvin Heath and the Tasmanians before him, I too shall wander into the wilderness with 50 pounds of pancake mix and treat out passing hikers.
PS This post ended early because I am being nagged. I can't think of what to write and pretend to listen to the nagging at the same time, as I am not a multitasker. I am going to concentrate on being nagged now. Thank you for reading and good night.
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