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Author’s Note: There have been minor ant infestations throughout my apartment in the past few days, including at my computer table. Thus, if this column feels particularly creepy-crawly, or smells ever so slightly of Raid, please forgive me. On a related note, if you are someone who is highly suggestible, I recommend you commence scratching right…about…now.

It’s less than 48 hours away from the fall equinox as I start typing this, and I am happy to say that it has been a fairly fulfilling summer “vacation” here at Chapter Two headquarters. Personal goals were realized, trips were taken, and I earned myself the opportunity to rewrite my history. Let’s take the first point first.

After a lifetime of excuses, I finally applied for and received a passport. Our federal government has deemed me to be travel-worthy. I guess this means those skeletons in my closet must be fairly well buried in clothes, sneakers, and accessories. Why the long wait? No particular reason, other than my own lame attempts at minor self-sabotage and deferral of pleasure. I never felt motivated to travel in my teens or spend a semester abroad while at Lewis and Clark College and as I approach my 35th birthday next year, I accept that I will always be more The Accidental Tourist than Bon Voyage, Charlie Brown or Before Sunrise. (The Monday after I applied, rates went up by $55 so my timing, as delayed as it inevitably was, still proved to be fortuitous)

Even now that I have the document safely ensconced in my sock drawer, I still don’t have any particular destination in mind. I have always harbored a hankering for New Zealand. This predates Lord of the Rings mania by at least a decade-and-a-half and stems from a report I did on the country in the fourth grade, in the days when looking up facts in an Encyclopedia Britannica was all the rage. I have visited Canada once (for Expo ‘86) and now that I would need my passport to get back into the United States from Canuckland, a second trip seems almost a necessity.

On the domestic travel front, my girlfriend and I took our son back to her hometown of Clovis, CA to have him baptized at her childhood Lutheran church. The pastor who performed the ceremony reminded me (in looks and vocal intonation) of an American cross between Eddie Izzard and latter-day Tim Curry. This, at least, helped to set me at ease. Finn, for his part remained calm and fairly quiet, save for one exquisitely timed belch during a brief pause in the proceedings. That’s my boy.

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