Adventures In Motion Detection

Some things you outgrow as you get older – like acne, idolizing athletes, and giggling when someone mentions the planet Uranus. (Okay, I still snicker when Uranus comes up, but faintly and only for a moment.)

One thing that I had hoped to grow out of but have now accepted as a lifelong affliction is motion sickness. I’m told that as a small child I once begged my parents to leave me by the side of the road after one of my frequent back seat barf fests left me drained and pessimistic about the future. 

I suppose I’ll never know how close mom and dad came to honoring my proposal, but I have had a disturbing dream through the years of being raised by wolves after getting lost in the woods near the interstate.

In my adolescent days roaming the amusement-filled boardwalks of the Jersey shore, I endured an endless succession of stomach-churning incidents. This merriment-marring pattern was fueled by my inability to remember that, for me, climbing aboard anything livelier than a sedated dairy cow was a wrong turn down Queasy Street.

While other kids my age sought high-velocity thrills on the rollercoaster or tilt-a-whirl, I occupied myself with more levelheaded pursuits such as trying to amass the 30,000 tickets necessary to win a plastic harmonica by playing arcade games.

Inevitably I would get complacent and allow myself to get coaxed onto one of the tamer rides like the merry-go-round or Ferris wheel . Even in those situations it wouldn’t be long before I’d be making desperate eye contact with the ride operator who -- to add to my misery -- would usually be in the process of shoveling a greasy sausage and onion sandwich down his mustache-framed pie-hole.

Just as I’ve gotten to be a good judge of which amusement park rides have chunk-blowing potential, I also proceed with savvy caution in circumstances where rapid or rhythmic motion holds sway. These situations include, but are not limited to:

• Any commercial or private air travel where the aircraft is required to actually leave the ground at some point.
• Cruises, pleasure boating, charter fishing excursions or any other offshore activity where water tends to relentlessly move up and down until you taste the feta cheese and spinach omelet you had four days ago.
• Movies, especially of the super-sized IMAX variety, where sophisticated cameras strapped to skiers, skydivers and other adrenalin-addicted movers and shakers become your eyes, ears and stomach pump.
• Dances, such as polkas, where prolonged and vigorous spinning make you break free of the Earth’s gravitational pull and carom violently off of walls and other stationary objects before coming to rest in a lightheaded la-la land where accordion players with suspenders and beer breath rule.
• Revolving rooftop restaurants where you leave your table to go to the rest room and when you come back out the spot where you table was is now occupied by a family of five from Yokohama who mistake you for the waiter and ask what kind of beef you use in the sukiyaki.

Suffice it to say that motion sickness has its hardships. But the world keeps on turning, and as long as it doesn’t turn any faster then its present pace, I’ve learned to enjoy a relatively puke-free journey through life. I just thought it was time to shed light on this awkward affliction that millions suffer from in silence.

Thank you for letting me spill my guts. And sorry about your carpet.