High enough up that this

November 21, 2002

High enough up that this city appears as a map of the city I will soon come down into. I am huge now. Soon I will shrink to scale and fit in its tiny cars traveling down its tiny streets. Its twinkling. Not quite real yet. I’ll soon walk out from this universal airline interior decor and its trusted ergonomics. Then its through the expected and globally unified airport environment. This is a type of neurological “slate cleaner” -- generic environments with functional objects that stick to a soothing formula.
Walking outside I will first smell cigarette smoke. I know this. Then comes the diesel and monoxides trapped under the parkades and overhangs and curling, sometimes invisibly, down to greet you. The smokers have been exiled to glass rooms or the entrance and exit doors to the airport. They rush outside after their flights and drink in that cigarette like its a glass of cold lemonade after three days in the dessert. I now involuntarily hold my breath before the sliding doors part just as I instinctively plug my ears after flushing the toilet on the plane -- preventing that incredible suction from blowing my eardrums out.
Once you’re through the nicotine veil your senses immediately swim outward for any unique sensations. They want to feel the new temperature, smell out the proximity of an ocean or strange vegetation, push up against the wind, crawl inside the new humidity and push against barometric pressure. For hours they have been suspended and still.
Perhaps this is a metaphor for what is happening to this continent? God I can be melodramatic sometimes. Generic architecture, repeating aesthetics, the franchise trail to the same taste sensations. The smell of a Starbucks or MacDonalds can take over a whole city block. How do blind people smell a silent assailant anywhere near a MacDonalds? The look of these institutions no longer has an effect on us. They make too much money to be doubted. They are like banks. They are overused words. Clichés that make sound but have worn out their value. We are all stuck on that long flight. One big airport. Big slick airports now have all that the outside world offers. Suburbs strive to offer their community everything the airport offers . . . except a way out. Legoland. Everyday theme parks. Concrete molded into realistic river rocks and plastic plants that are oh so lifelike. Piped in birdcalls. Disneyland is our land. From Bonavista to the Vancouver Island.
Our senses need more work. They crave real culture shock. Each new place shouldn’t be trying to perfect the same cup of coffee or the same over lit facade. Can’t the new drive for unity be in human spirit rather than cultural production? Regional pride should not be based on how well one neighbourhood lives up to a global standard. Who wants to win the uniformity competition? I have the most uniform teeth, tits, and belly button ring! I win! I am evenly tanned, completely shaven, and deloused!
No different as seen from the air than deep down inside. Cities will be maps of themselves.