It's night time, and the street lamps have just lit the main streets with an orange glow that I have come to associate with the emptiness of a city at night. A car whizzes past, tiny sparks flying up from a cigarette cast carelessly out the window. The palm trees stir in the wind like restless soldiers; perhaps they are impatient with their charges. Or perhaps they, like me, are tired of hearing the same old lies. "The sun will come out tomorrow." Much good that does if all our blinds are shut tight.
I was in Everglade city yesterday to take an airboat tour. The second the massive fan sputtered into life, I knew something was wrong. It was... loud. We sped off through the mangrove forests, dark water smooth as asphalt beneath us. The edge of the treeroots were carefully pruned into a wooden curb on either side. Our airboat porsche spun around corners and slalomed against the occasional openings in the canals. It was fun. It made me sick. Had I come for fun? Suddenly the motor cut. "These are the such-and-such flowers," the tour guide told us in a thick accent. "They bloom twice a year and now is one of those times." The motor started up again and we were off. Tour guide, did I say? Our driver. Our entertainer. After it was over we had the opportunity to hold a baby alligator. But isn't a tame animal just a honeycomb with no honey. I passed.
And now I've been to the Everglades. Of course, the delicate course of nature and beauty was replaced by grilled propaganda and fried thrill-seeking, but at least I and the others on that boat can stick our push-pins down there in South Florida. I've been to the Everglades. Maybe next spring I'll race my Ferrari through Egypt and hit the pyramids. Head North and see Paris. Who thinks love is worth more than a fleeting glance anyway?
Saddest of all, I'm spending a lovely Florida evening condemning airboat tours of the Everglades. I had fun, and so did everybody else, but I'm embarassed; I'm embarassed that the institution did what was necessary to appeal to their customers, and this was the outcome. No wonder environmental preservation goes over like a lead balloon. It's only important when the grass dies in your backyard, I suppose. Only when the air is a carcinogen and tap water has to be boiled.
What makes me feel guiltiest is the ever-present voice in my mind, pleading with society at large: "Just hold on until I die; then fall apart. Just hold on until I die."
Dan