my hotel room. the desk said that i would have a ‘river view’ and i suppose i do. of course, between the river and the hyatt are some obstacles. a tree-lined bank (acceptable), a precarious and trendy apartment complex (odd), a two-lane highway (freshly minted), a complimentary hotel volleyball court (errm), and a parking lot. the windows are huge, about 5 foot tall, but they have these ‘don’t jump’ clamps on them to keep you from sliding them open more than about 4 or 5 inches. for some reason, the narrow gap just screams ‘school book depository’ – it may be the coffee talking. the coffee is from a Mr. Coffee Concepts coffee maker popping and spewing in the bathroom. they give you this ‘coffee kit’ containing a sealed porous pouch of coffee, two sugars, two creamers, two pinks and two stirrers. the coffee is not bad, but the ‘single serving’ ideal is just odd.
it is dark now. the river is no longer evident, though i know its there. every once and again, light catches on a ripple and the river shows some skin. the river view is marred a bit by these large cannister looking things on the opposite bank. not sure what they are. they look like fuel silos, but i don’t think that even knoxville would put petroleum storage less than 20 yards from the tennessee river. there is some rural highway within view, the streetlights lining it give it that look of christmas trees.
the business trip. there is just something instantly comical about it, but only funny in that ‘born loser’ kind of way. do you remember that comic strip, denizen of the sunday funnies, the bald businessman with his overbearing wife and dutch-boy-haired son, wilberforce? it might even still be in print. it was always an attempt to be funny, but never quite made it. you just ended up feeling sorry for the dated sense of pathos and humor from which the cartoonist worked. i believe he was a travelling salesman. or insurance man. or an accountant. one of those stereotypically mocked careers that writers assume to be worthy of parody.
now, fate is with me. i am no salesman. i am a techie. i am sure my career is just as open a target for ridicule, but i am ignoring that for the duration of this writing, thank you very much. damn you, dilbert. anyway. i am in knoxville for the purpose of learning more software. though what i am learning, or perhaps remembering, is that i have a great fondness for the quircks of the southern states that formed me. growing up on the tennessee-georgia border gives you a sense of dual statehood. you sleep in georgia, you shop in tennessee, you get your driver’s license in georgia, you work in tennessee. and your family trips in the car take you through one or both of these states. almost always up and/or down interstate 75.
it has been awhile since those family outings. trips to myrtle beach, orlando, eufaula (its in alabama, and though you have never heard of it, when i was last there it was very pretty). and today, this morning, i found myself remembering bits of i-75 as i trucked north up the artery. it goes all the way to chicago, i believe. or perhaps to niagara falls. i cannot remember which, and right now i can’t be bothered to check. i-75 rarely changes. i mean, in the cities, atlanta and chattanooga and knoxville, it is always adapting to the adjusting metropolitan girth, seemingly always under construction. but the cities in between, those landmarks are incredibly dependable. the airplane graveyard near calhoun has always been there, i cannot remember it not being there, and it will always be there.
thom yorke is singing about ‘such a pretty house’ and ‘no surprises.’ i think i will find some other distraction, or maybe just turn around and face the mute television. olympics. gymnastics. i will need another cup of coffee for this…
