Breaking Away

Still can't believe I never recreated this pose with my 3 best friends.

I wonder if I will get to a point in my life where I will be one of those guys who hasn't taken a vacation in 5 years. It's extremely easy at this age to book a last minute flight, travel with the clothes on your back and crash on your buddy's couch in Manhattan. But then you get a wife, kids, everyone's schedule has to sync up perfectly, and what once was a $100 Spirit flight cross country is now you spending the next 2 years paying off the credit card debt incurred with 4 roundtrip flights, a hotel, meals, shows, etc. Then again when you are 40 the hope is that you won't also be incurring thousand dollar bar tabs on a bro trip, so I suppose there is a bit of a trade off there.

I suppose the grass is always greener. I often daydream about life as a consultant. Not because they necessarily make more money than me, but because they live their life on the go. I feel like when you never spend more than a week in a certain place you never become complacent. Sure expense reports are probably a bitch, but they constantly have the option of exploring a strange place on a Tuesday night as opposed to coming home from work, cooking pasta and watching full metal jousting.

Conversely, they probably tire of the grind, and would give anything to pop a bottle of wine on a Wednesday night sprawl out on their couch and watch bad tv. It must put a strain on relationships never being around, but the idea of living life a mile high with a corporate card and using your unlimited miles to do as you please on your free weekends just seems kind of nice.

I live in Los Angeles, on the fucking beach no less and after 2 months of no off the wall weekend excursions I feel myself in a rut. Maybe it's because I'm in sales and I spend all day talking to people who just want me to go away. Maybe it's because the people here are largely a disappointment. However, I think I just can't stand routine. Some days I wonder what would happen if one of my shitty scripts sold and I became a real life writer. What would I do all day? Wake up, write for a hew hours? Ok it's noon now and no one will come home from work for 7 hours. Go to the beach? And what, tool around with all the bums by myself? I've done it, I spent 2 months in Chicago last year unemployed. The first 2 weeks were fucking great, but after that, it's just kinda depressing.

All signs point to me not having a greater purpose, specific goals or direction I'm looking for. So you stare at the calendar and look for things to get excited about. Oh, in 3 days it's Friday. That will be great. Coachella is this weekend, people may come in town a little early and I get see some friendly faces. Maybe I'll go! What? A ticket to Coachella is $400 with an additional $300 for lodging? And that doesn't even cover booze etc? Fuck that.

Then like some sort of sign from God, the new painfully annoying Facebook reader pops up an article that one of your friends has recently read (I hate this thing because I don't want you people to know what I read. I read articles about cats and Kim Kardashian's latest plastic surgery. Sometimes however I will click on a particularly thought provoking article so I can fool everyone into thinking I am deeply introspective) However, this particular article was about the 10 best college parties in the country. It was on Huff Po so I expected it be fairly tame, it listed a handful of college parties on there. Nothing from Indiana. I didn't find this too shocking. Everyone always thinks they had the greatest college experience, and when you fight about it you just sound like a raging tool. The shocking thing about the article was the RESOUNDING "fuck you" to the author in the comments. Not only were Indiana folks upset about the non inclusion of Little 5, it seemed everyone in the country was up in arms about it. Little 500 and some shit called Floatopia in Santa Barbara (I'll see you next year.)

A simple browsing of my Indiana e-mail that I haven't checked in 6 months shows me that there is already a certain crew planning on making the trip from an old frat email chain. I check the calendar and see it's only a few weeks away. Then I do what I'm great at when I'm at a rut, hit Kayak hard. When you aren't feeling on top of the world, nothing cheers you up like the prospect of a vacation.

I was hesitant to commit because, well, I'm 25 now. I've been to 8 Little 5's already, it might be time to give up on the dream. But then I thought, well Indiana IS home. I can see a bunch of friends, see my parents for brunch on Sunday...I didn't get to see my family for Easter...I haven't been to a Homecoming in 3 years. Then I shut my eyes and thought of the following: ripping a cherry flavored vodka shot and doing a back flip off of a double decker into Lake Monroe...

Oh, it's fucking on. $500 to Indianapolis...can't swing it. Check Southwest $320. Getting there. How about flying into Chicago, there has to be someone driving from Chicago. $295. I can swing $295, but then there will be no Kilroy's lording...Priceline name your own price! Fuck ya Shattner...$220. Oh my God I can taste the Nick's strom. Let me try one more thing, Spirit.com. Yes it's beyond miserable. Yes, I will be flying on a school bus with wings crammed in a middle seat next to someone flying for prison transfer and someone that converted their food stamps to airfare, but it will likely land me in Chicago safely...and if not my family will fly free for like (a hero's death.)

$150 later I am booked and I am fucking geeking out. All my anxiety about the trip lifted, nervous energy converted to complete and total happiness. And it really has nothing to do with the fact that I will probably end up in my old frat's courtyard with my shirt off beer showering a bunch of people that don't know who I am. It isn't the fact that I think I am going to take an Alpha Phi Sophomore up to the chapter room and shack with her on my air mattress. It isn't the fact that I won't wait in line at a college bar because I used to tip well. It used to be about that, but Indiana is just who I am.

Every year the window closes more and more. I can rationalize it all I want, but I'm really forcing it this year. I'm still covered as a "student" I think under my parents' insurance and IU hasn't revoked my webmail yet. And there are still like 4 guys at IU that I know, but it's about getting out of the real world for 48 hours and being a kid again. Sure, I live my life like an immature untitled little twat, but I still bust my ass at my job and I'm largely isolated from my friends and family. Some choose their reunions in Hawaii or Mexico, let's get the gang back together and relive some good times. Well I choose Bloomington, IN. And I'm not fucking sorry.

Some day I may make it back to the midwest. LA is nowhere to raise a family. It's a place to have an awesome time while you are youngish. Kenilworth is a place to raise a family. Fishers is a place to raise a family. I'll take my wife and kids down to Bloomington and show them my old stomping grounds, I'll probably grab a few drinks at all of my old favorite bars, and we'll get a nice quiet room at the Hilton Garden Inn. It will be an extremely pleasant weekend. But that's not what this trip is about. This trip is about a redeye flight, carrying me, a frat tee and a headband embroidered "See Ya." This trip is about going on one last college bender. (Note: I will still continue benders but I believe that post 25 the location is universally switched to Vegas) Sometimes you just need a break from social norms and societal expectations, and this is the perfect excuse for it. In case you forgot, this weekend won an Oscar, and I'm thinking if you followed me around this time and taped it...that might too.