Are We There Yet?Look! A Cow!by Ian Shoales When I was a boy, car trips were the source of a boredom so amazing it resembled a spiritual epiphany — a kind of satori, in which all desires and sense of self vanished in a sudden flash of enlightenment, revealing the true nature of reality. Except, okay, I didn't get the sudden flash. And maybe "leg falling asleep" and "numb buttocks" don't fit into the whole satori deal. I did learn the true nature of reality — that I was on a 46-hour journey to visit a scary maiden aunt in Nebraska, a chain-smoker of menthol cigarettes and owner of both a Hammond organ and a deluxe double-wide. I would have preferred to live in denial, frankly. Preseatbelt USACertainly I used primitive tools to deal with the tedium. I read comic books and stories by Richard Matheson, Ray Bradbury, and Robert Bloch. I had coloring books, books of mazes, find-the-monkey-in-the-woman's-hair puzzles, word finders, acrostics, and crossword puzzles. Then there were sing-alongs. To this day, I still know the words to "John Henry," "If I Had a Hammer," "Puff the Magic Dragon," "Tom Dooley," "She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain," and perhaps too many others, purely because of long-distance drives. There were other, solo, options. You could stick your head out the window, and let the wind pooch your cheeks, or ride your arm and hand against the current of air. You could rest your forehead on the closed window and count telephone poles until your eyes crossed, or imagine that the rows of crops striding by were the legs of an enormous spider. Alternatively, you could play "I Spy With My Little Eye" or Botticelli with your sister until your brain turned to mush. You could listen to evangelists on the radio, because there was absolutely nothing else on. Nearing the end of the journey, after exhausting all other forms of entertainment, I'd be reduced to counting how long it took a drop of sweat to reach the end of my nose. Perspiration would glue my thighs to the vinyl seat. It would take both parents and the clever use of a tire jack to peel me from the car. Attention Span OptionalBut today? According to The New York Times ("Turned On, Tuned Out," Feb. 16, 2003), "Car manufacturers started offering back-seat video screens in 1999, and according to the Consumer Electronics Association, more than 400,000 'mobile video units' were installed last year. They are particularly popular in minivans and SUVs." Picture if you will: Two parents sit in the front of a massive vehicle, chatting on cell phones and listening to CDs, while the kids lounge in the spacious back seat watching movies and playing video games behind tinted windows in a climate-controlled environment on a ride so smooth you'd never even know you were moving. And of course, every place looks just like every other place now — a Starbucks, a Gap, a Wal-Mart. Mix and match, and you have yourself a community. You might as well just stay home in your living room. Where Are We Going?Yes, through hard work and good old American know-how, we have vanquished boredom at last. But at what price? Today's children will never know the joys of cheek pooching, never hear the drone of a radio preacher as they doze fitfully in the back seat, and never know the words to "I've Been Working on the Railroad." Something precious has been lost, lost forever. If you can figure out what it is, let me know, all right? I'll be with my therapist. Page me. Ian Shoales lives in San Francisco. To this day, even the glimpse of vinyl makes the back of his thighs break out in a cold sweat.
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