Not really. I'd rather not write about transmission fluid and you'd rather not hear about. At least, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want to hear what I have to say about it. Last September I took the train from Portland up to Seattle on Amtrak's Cascades Line... very nice. It was not very full, no more than half. They showed a movie, had little updates on train arrival times and had a snack car. I stared out the window, sometimes blankly, sometimes thinking. I watched that part of the world go by. I pulled out my laptop and did some computer work on Publisher to feel and be productive. I had moments of inspiration where I would break out a pad and write down ideas for song lyrics inspired by the sights and my trip. One line was a remnant from an idea I had on the plane ride into Las Vegas as a part of that same trip.
(cut to plane)
The angle of the sun was just so. There are brilliantly colored lakes on the approach to the Las Vegas airport. They are so striking against the forbidding terrain and manicured, lush, irrigated patches of green civilization. Brilliantly colored lakes... what color? I'm guessing blue, but it could have been green or aqua or a shade from far across the color wheel. Anyway, in the jet, flying above a cloud, you could see the cloud's shadow cast on the surface of the water. It was pretty neat. You could pick out a cloud, make out the shape and find its copy on the ground. Some clouds were bold, almost heavy, others were wispy and meek. One set of thin clouds caught my attention because I couldn't find their twins on the lake surface. "Clouds so light their shadows never reach the ground."
I'm off track...(literally?)... back to the train. The rail journey was three hours well spent, all for 29 bucks if I recall correctly. I highly recommend it because I thoroughly enjoyed it.
You can use your cell phone on the train. This has the upside of unlimited communication and the downside of unlimited communication. A semi-hipster guy was sitting across the aisle from me. About twenty minutes into the trip he got a call from his daughter. (There are many details I learned through his phone conversations not by intentionally eavesdropping, but as result of not being able to avoid listening. So any further facts and/or assumptions are a result of information I never wanted to learn, but could not avoid. All of which I pass on to you now. Back to it.) Her car had broken down up in Seattle. From what she told him he diagnosed it as a transmission problem. Specifically, she was probably low on transmission fluid. That is likely the result/symptom of a greater problem, but a transfusion of some transmission fluid would at least alleviate the problem momentarily. He got in touch with his ex-wife, the daughter's mother, and told her what the problem was. He then called his daughter back and tried to come up with a plan as he was still a couple hours away. She was not going to be able to get transmission fluid or know where to put it if she got. He called a couple others and related the story. Some unwitting folks called him for other reasons entirely, only to be told the entire story, which I got to hear yet again, yet again, and yet again. He told the women sitting across from him the situation. I avoided all eye-contact not wanting to be included in any of it. Why relate all this? Well... every time the semi-hipster Dad discussed the problem and the solution, he would say the words "tranny fluid." "I think she just needs some tranny fluid." "If we add a little tranny fluid we'll be able to get her home ok." "Tranny fluid... yeah, tranny fluid. I'm pretty sure it's tranny fluid." "What's that... right, tranny fluid." "I'll get some tranny fluid, I think that'll do it." Tranny fluid this and tranny fluid that. Tranny fluid ad nauseum, ad infinitum.
I couldn't take it. I tried to remove myself from it all with my ipod. No amount of volume could make it go away. No song was powerful enough. No spoken word forceful enough. No podcast was sufficiently podcastic. It was undeniable. It defined the moment. It was tranny fluid.
I scrambled to break loose from its clutches... its tranny clutches. But what could I do? I was otherwise comfortable in my seat. I wasn't going to move... I had a nice window seat with no one beside me. Hipster McTrannyFluid should move. Dear god, save me... just give me the tools to make it right. Then, while I was in the depths of my despair, when it seemed there was no way out... (cue chorus of angels) the clouds didn't part, no beams of light shown through and I heard no booming voice. But I did find deliverance. Salvation was sitting in my lap, spiral-bound. My only chance for escape was through words. Words on the page. Written words on the writing page. So I wrote...
Tranny fluid, tranny fluid, tranny fluid, tranny fluid, tranny fluid, tranny fluid, tranny fluid, tranny fluid, tranny fluid, tranny fluid, tranny fluid, tranny fluid, tranny fluid...
It became almost hypnotic. Typing it repetitively has a similar trance-inducing power. That is how you change transmission fluid. Transmission fluid turned into tranny fluid. Tranny fluid turned into an hypnotic escape vehicle. Tranny fluid powered my descent into madness and fueled my escape.
tranny fluid, tranny fluid, tranny fluid, tranny fluid,...
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