You Face a Life of Increasing Disappointment

Travelodge, originally uploaded by Gamut's Edge.

I can’t claim rights to the clever title of this post. It is a quote I lifted from Doug Menuez's article about transforming your photography career. I also can’t take credit for finding that article on my own. I got the link from Mark Tucker’s blog. However, I did take the above photo of the Travelodge located on South San Francisco Airport Boulevard. Don’t worry, this is not going to turn into another hotel review post.

When I took the Travelodge picture I knew I had a seed for a blog post. The photo is where I am in life right now. I stay at that Travelodge when I commute into SFO to start trips. On hotwire you can get a room there for $38, and they have airport shuttle service. The downside of staying at the Travelodge is that several San Francisco pimps are running a thriving business out of there. They stay out of your way, but the door slamming all night is a bit annoying.

So I got this photo and I had a day to think about what to write about it. With three cups of coffee in me I took a jog around our hotel in Inglewood, CA. As a white guy from the Midwest I was feeling like a tough guy jogging through Inglewood. This is the same Inglewood that Snoop Dog and Dr Dre rapped about back when I was in high school. Full of caffeine, and endorphins I tried to think up a good blog post. The two ideas that I couldn’t shake out of my head were the Myth of the Phoenix and the last chapter of “The Odyssey” when Ulysses returns home. The Phoenix rose from the ashes. Wasn’t that like me? I sold everything I owned on Craig’s list last month, can’t afford lunch, and don’t have a pair of jeans without a hole. That’s like ashes, right? And like Ulysses I just returned home after 15 years of battling demons and storms(sort of like working at PSA Airlines). And, didn’t I just read two days ago that society is based more upon common myths than religion or media. That’s some smart stuff. It would really impress my 8 regular blog readers. And of course they will never realize that I lifted the stuff about Ulysses from a short story I read in the New Yorker a few months back.

My head was buzzing with the ideas that founded our western culture and I was on the home stretch of my jog -- starting a little sprint to the finish. Coming the other direction on the sidewalk was another runner. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt pulled over his head, jeans, and an old pair of basketball shoes. As he ran he was punching the air like boxer in training. Maybe he was a boxer -- a west coast Rocky Balboa. Or maybe he was just another Inglewood crackhead getting deep into his fix. As we passed each other he smiled at me and said, ”Get your money. Yeah boy, get your money!”. I think the crackhead has it all figured out.