If this video does not make you smile, maybe even giggle a little bit, I'm worried about you. Genuinely. Deep in your soul, something may be broken.
Showing posts with label the road. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the road. Show all posts
Friday, September 2, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Goodbye. Wish me luck. I'm sooooo going to need it.
I kept wanting to write a post this week, about all kinds of things (for example: Have you noticed that people who drive with their arm out the window of the car, sort of gripping their entire car like it's their shaft, are always dickface drivers? I have.) but I'm leaving tomorrow morning for a huge conference. And not the fun kind, where you're an attendee and you can sneak off for booze. No, the kind that I'm helping run, where I work a kajillion hours and drive with coworkers in a rented car for 13 hours and where I'm not allowed to drink any alcohol the entire time I'm gone. The week leading up to the conference has basically been hell. And it was also finals week for Roomie.
So here is one photo from a post I don't have time to write, because I have to wake up in four hours:
Yeah. We had a car break down. So we got towed by a tractor.
So here is one photo from a post I don't have time to write, because I have to wake up in four hours:
Yeah. We had a car break down. So we got towed by a tractor.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Dear South Carolinians,
I think I hate you. Well, not all of you. I just think I hate it when you drive. Because when you drive, you are so dumb. For real.
You know what most Oregonians hear when someone in the next lane turns on a turn signal?
"Hey man, can you let me over?"
And most Oregonians then say, "Sure buddy. Come on."
Then they take their foot off the gas.
Then the person with the turn signal on gets over. Sometimes they give a little wave.
Seriously. Most of the time, this is the way it works. You hear that South Carolina? I'm not making this up. We have something called a "courtesy wave" out west. Check it out.
Here's what it seems South Carolinians (or is this all east coasters?) hear when they see a turn signal:
"Hey. I'm about to get over. You don't want that. HIT THE GAS! NOW! FAST! BEFORE I CAN GET OVER!"
No, seriously, assholes. You were fine going 55. Why the eff do you need to go 75 in the right lane now that I have my turn signal on? Should I stop using turn signals? Why are you doing this to me? Why are you all such jerks?
Also, stop honking all the time. Y'all honk more than I do, and I'm a jerk by Oregon standards. For instance, you, lady in front of Ruby Tuesday last week: We are all going to get salad bar. I was waiting for a pedestrian to cross. I had my signal on. Do you know what that meant in that situation? It meant, "Hey, man. I'm about to park. Gimme a second, OK buddy?" It did not mean "Hey! I'm in your way! I intend to remain in your way unless you HONK AT ME ANGRILY!"
And by the way, I think it's funny when people out here act incredulous when I tell them that I moved HERE from the west coast? Like the west coast is some unattainable land of milk and honey. And I get it. Yes, the west coast is rad and very far away from here. But do you know part of the reason the west coast is rad? ... Yes, the mountains, sure. OK, yes, the rugged pacific Northwest. And I guess the relative lack of humidity is amazing. Oh, and all the liberals.
But you know what I'm starting to think really makes all the difference in the quality of life?
Well, truth be told, it's our vegetables. Collard greens are gross. And what you people do to lima beans should be illegal. I mean, I don't know how you eat that stuff. Seriously, I'm guessing people out here just don't eat a lot of real vegetables. I mean, are y'all kind of stopped up all the time? Is that why you're such grumps on the road?
But other than that: The courtesy wave is what makes my home so very, very special. Try it. If someone in traffic does something nice to you, give 'em a little wave. Of course, first, you'll have to get someone to LET YOU THE FUCK OVER.
So, good luck with that, I guess.
Love,
Me
You know what most Oregonians hear when someone in the next lane turns on a turn signal?
"Hey man, can you let me over?"
And most Oregonians then say, "Sure buddy. Come on."
Then they take their foot off the gas.
Then the person with the turn signal on gets over. Sometimes they give a little wave.
Seriously. Most of the time, this is the way it works. You hear that South Carolina? I'm not making this up. We have something called a "courtesy wave" out west. Check it out.
Here's what it seems South Carolinians (or is this all east coasters?) hear when they see a turn signal:
"Hey. I'm about to get over. You don't want that. HIT THE GAS! NOW! FAST! BEFORE I CAN GET OVER!"
No, seriously, assholes. You were fine going 55. Why the eff do you need to go 75 in the right lane now that I have my turn signal on? Should I stop using turn signals? Why are you doing this to me? Why are you all such jerks?
Also, stop honking all the time. Y'all honk more than I do, and I'm a jerk by Oregon standards. For instance, you, lady in front of Ruby Tuesday last week: We are all going to get salad bar. I was waiting for a pedestrian to cross. I had my signal on. Do you know what that meant in that situation? It meant, "Hey, man. I'm about to park. Gimme a second, OK buddy?" It did not mean "Hey! I'm in your way! I intend to remain in your way unless you HONK AT ME ANGRILY!"
And by the way, I think it's funny when people out here act incredulous when I tell them that I moved HERE from the west coast? Like the west coast is some unattainable land of milk and honey. And I get it. Yes, the west coast is rad and very far away from here. But do you know part of the reason the west coast is rad? ... Yes, the mountains, sure. OK, yes, the rugged pacific Northwest. And I guess the relative lack of humidity is amazing. Oh, and all the liberals.
But you know what I'm starting to think really makes all the difference in the quality of life?
Well, truth be told, it's our vegetables. Collard greens are gross. And what you people do to lima beans should be illegal. I mean, I don't know how you eat that stuff. Seriously, I'm guessing people out here just don't eat a lot of real vegetables. I mean, are y'all kind of stopped up all the time? Is that why you're such grumps on the road?
But other than that: The courtesy wave is what makes my home so very, very special. Try it. If someone in traffic does something nice to you, give 'em a little wave. Of course, first, you'll have to get someone to LET YOU THE FUCK OVER.
So, good luck with that, I guess.
Love,
Me
Monday, November 29, 2010
The Road part 2
So I drafted this post ages ago, and while I'm now way past all that, I've realized I'm incapable of moving forward until I publish it. It has no bearing on where I am now. Not physically, not emotionally.
Le sigh.
...
So here are some photos.
Eastern Oregon: Sorta bleakly pretty.
See? Still pretty.
Idaho maybe?
And Salt Lake? Pretty. My friend has a mountain growing up out of her back yard (basically).
But Nebraska and Wyoming? So boring.
Though Wyoming made for some OK boring desolation photos.
And the country basically stayed boring until I got to North Carolina, where there were some trees that were sort of pretty.
Although they were probably prettier about two weeks ago.
Yeah. So. I meant to take photos of the people I visited on my way out, but totally forgot.
Thing is, I have my moments, but I still don't really feel "here" yet. Maybe it's because I'm basically homeless?
Yeah. It's probably that. Apparently homelessness doesn't agree with me.
Let's leave it there.
Stay tuned. I'll try to get (at least mildly) funny again at some point in the future.
If you want a good moving story (That is, it's a good story about moving. Not a "good, moving story," which would be a story that's emotional. I point out the distinction in case you have a hard time with punctuation.), a funny one, you should go read this one. While I was moving away from Bend with two dogs, Allie from Hyperbole and a Half was moving there. Hilarity ensued.
Le sigh.
...
So here are some photos.
Eastern Oregon: Sorta bleakly pretty.
See? Still pretty.
Idaho maybe?
And Salt Lake? Pretty. My friend has a mountain growing up out of her back yard (basically).
But Nebraska and Wyoming? So boring.
Though Wyoming made for some OK boring desolation photos.
And the country basically stayed boring until I got to North Carolina, where there were some trees that were sort of pretty.
Although they were probably prettier about two weeks ago.
Yeah. So. I meant to take photos of the people I visited on my way out, but totally forgot.
Thing is, I have my moments, but I still don't really feel "here" yet. Maybe it's because I'm basically homeless?
Yeah. It's probably that. Apparently homelessness doesn't agree with me.
Let's leave it there.
Stay tuned. I'll try to get (at least mildly) funny again at some point in the future.
If you want a good moving story (That is, it's a good story about moving. Not a "good, moving story," which would be a story that's emotional. I point out the distinction in case you have a hard time with punctuation.), a funny one, you should go read this one. While I was moving away from Bend with two dogs, Allie from Hyperbole and a Half was moving there. Hilarity ensued.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
I drove and I drove and I drove and then I was in South Carolina.
The Trip, Part 1
Bend, Oregon, to Salt Lake City, Utah, to North Platte, Nebraska, to Fairview Heights, Illinois, to Beckley, West Virginia, to Florence, South Carolina.
Scene: The front yard of an old white house with a green door in Bend, Oregon. It's dark, and a silver Honda Civic parked askance in the driveway is equipped with racks and a black Yakima rocket box. It's stuffed to the window sills. Stuffed with bedding -- both human and dog -- with books, with clothes, with shoes, with snacks, a coolers, a laptop, and more. A man with a beard and a puffy jacket stands peering into the window of the car. Next to him stands a blond in a puffy jacket with a beanie pulled down to hear ears.
"What's that box for?"
"I'm taking two of our plants. The rest will stay here, but I can't let these two go."
"So two plants will ride in the back seat with the two dogs?"
"Yeah."
"Two of each?"
"Huh. I guess so."
"Cool, so you're like the ark."
Scene: A truck stop in Wyoming. A silver Civic is parked out front, and two figety dogs hang their heads out the window, panting as passers by. A blond inside the truck stop walks past the diner, past the videos for sale, and pulls seven large bottles of Snapple Diet Peach Iced Tea out of the cooler, stacking them up in her arms. As she walks by the barber shop, she stares inside. After she buys her tea, she pulls out her phone.
Text Message
To: Dad
So, when you were a trucker, did you ever get your hair cut at a truck stop? Because I swear I just saw a lady from town getting her hair did here. Getting the little blue puffball on her head trimmed. Is it really cheap or something?
Scene: Silver Honda Civic passes a sign on the interstate. Through her big, black sunglasses, the blond reads aloud the sign to the dogs passed out across their beds in the back seat.
"Continental Divide, elevation ... what did that say?"
The dogs don't move or open their eyes.
"Over seven thousand feet? Is that what it said? We're that high?"
Silence.
"What the fuck is the Continental Divide, anyway?"
Scene: Silver Civic drives on an interstate in the dark, past the illuminated St. Louis Arch. She has a phone pressed to her ear and she seems amped, like maybe she's had too much caffeine.
"OK, so take 64? OK. That sounds good. Well, I'm just going to get to the other side of the city and then find a place to stay. I should hang up now, actually, I don't want to miss my exit. OK, love you, bye."
She tosses her phone onto the pile on the passenger seat, which includes pillows, empty water bottles and empty Diet Snapple Peach Iced Tea bottles, a purse, an over-sized, magazine-style map with the cover falling off, an empty plastic tub of macadamia nuts, several apple cores, a spill-proof mug and a tangle of wires running from her dash to the various small electronic devices piled in and among the junk.
She drives east, past the heart of the city, and sees a sign that reads "Lodging Next Exit."
When the exit comes, she turns on her blinker and takes the ramp. The lodging sign at the top of the ramp points left, she turns left. Crossing the bridge that passes over the interstate, she looks to the right, and sees a brightly-lit sign for "Larry Flynt's Hustler Club." She looks left. On the other side of the road, she sees "Miss Kitty's Showbar" written in hot pink neon.
The brake lights of the silver Civic don't illuminate as it flips a hasty U-turn.
Bend, Oregon, to Salt Lake City, Utah, to North Platte, Nebraska, to Fairview Heights, Illinois, to Beckley, West Virginia, to Florence, South Carolina.
Scene: The front yard of an old white house with a green door in Bend, Oregon. It's dark, and a silver Honda Civic parked askance in the driveway is equipped with racks and a black Yakima rocket box. It's stuffed to the window sills. Stuffed with bedding -- both human and dog -- with books, with clothes, with shoes, with snacks, a coolers, a laptop, and more. A man with a beard and a puffy jacket stands peering into the window of the car. Next to him stands a blond in a puffy jacket with a beanie pulled down to hear ears.
"What's that box for?"
"I'm taking two of our plants. The rest will stay here, but I can't let these two go."
"So two plants will ride in the back seat with the two dogs?"
"Yeah."
"Two of each?"
"Huh. I guess so."
"Cool, so you're like the ark."
Scene: A truck stop in Wyoming. A silver Civic is parked out front, and two figety dogs hang their heads out the window, panting as passers by. A blond inside the truck stop walks past the diner, past the videos for sale, and pulls seven large bottles of Snapple Diet Peach Iced Tea out of the cooler, stacking them up in her arms. As she walks by the barber shop, she stares inside. After she buys her tea, she pulls out her phone.
Text Message
To: Dad
So, when you were a trucker, did you ever get your hair cut at a truck stop? Because I swear I just saw a lady from town getting her hair did here. Getting the little blue puffball on her head trimmed. Is it really cheap or something?
Scene: Silver Honda Civic passes a sign on the interstate. Through her big, black sunglasses, the blond reads aloud the sign to the dogs passed out across their beds in the back seat.
"Continental Divide, elevation ... what did that say?"
The dogs don't move or open their eyes.
"Over seven thousand feet? Is that what it said? We're that high?"
Silence.
"What the fuck is the Continental Divide, anyway?"
Scene: Silver Civic drives on an interstate in the dark, past the illuminated St. Louis Arch. She has a phone pressed to her ear and she seems amped, like maybe she's had too much caffeine.
"OK, so take 64? OK. That sounds good. Well, I'm just going to get to the other side of the city and then find a place to stay. I should hang up now, actually, I don't want to miss my exit. OK, love you, bye."
She tosses her phone onto the pile on the passenger seat, which includes pillows, empty water bottles and empty Diet Snapple Peach Iced Tea bottles, a purse, an over-sized, magazine-style map with the cover falling off, an empty plastic tub of macadamia nuts, several apple cores, a spill-proof mug and a tangle of wires running from her dash to the various small electronic devices piled in and among the junk.
She drives east, past the heart of the city, and sees a sign that reads "Lodging Next Exit."
When the exit comes, she turns on her blinker and takes the ramp. The lodging sign at the top of the ramp points left, she turns left. Crossing the bridge that passes over the interstate, she looks to the right, and sees a brightly-lit sign for "Larry Flynt's Hustler Club." She looks left. On the other side of the road, she sees "Miss Kitty's Showbar" written in hot pink neon.
The brake lights of the silver Civic don't illuminate as it flips a hasty U-turn.
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