Wednesday, April 20, 2005

All The Nations Airports

I love airports. The people-watching is superb. So many people from so many places; Life’s little absurdities firing a million-a-second like synapses in one big brain that may or may not have any clue to the purpose of it all. Airports always remind me of Tati films. Sometimes you don’t need a Jacques Tati film to enjoy a Jacques Tati film. Just go to a busy place, sit in one spot, and watch. After you settle into a form of hypnosis, all of the beeps and clanks and muffled speeches will take on a rhythm, and they will sync up with every little silly thing that every single person does. It’s amazing how Tati uses the long shot to show life up close. What a treat it is to be privy to the inane interactions between strangers. “Want to help me keep the pole up,” says one man to a lady as he leans against a column while waiting in line at Burger King. The lady giggles. How nervous humans get when interacting with other humans. Like I have room to talk. Sitting near me on my flight was Joe Soares, the coach featured in Murderball, a documentary about paraplegic rugby players. I felt compelled to say something but I didn’t. Of course, what would I have said? “Hey, you must be from Murderball.” How bizarre it is to tower over someone and yet be terrified of them.

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