Sunday, August 8, 2010


I am going to give the "tour journal" another try.

I am one hundred percent certain that my grandfather has patriotism and heroics embedded in his genetic makeup. There is no way he attempted to weasel his way out of serving in the armed forces or had any conscious objections to the conflict. He gave up full control of his life and let destiny run it's course.

I, on the other hand, have a Nickelodeon game show mentality forever stitched into my logic and reasoning. I object to and avoid conflict regularly. But I somehow justify my overdeveloped passive wimpiness by accepting most physical challenges thrown my way. Eating large portions of cake in a single bite, shotgunning a beer, jumping over things - all are feats I accomplish on the regs. As unfathomable as my latest "Agrocrag" (another Nickelodeon reference) may have seemed to my war veteran grandfather, I still spoke about it without the slightest hint of realization that it may have actually been a horrible idea.

After an abbreviated Friday in the accounting office of "Moneyball," I hopped on a redeye flight from SFO to Columbia. From the airport, I rented a van, loaded up some equipment, and then made a 12 hour drive to Chicago.

Long drives are boring. Especially when you can't DJ the soundtrack of endless interstate. Fortunately there was satellite radio in the van. I juggled "PrmCntry", "90s on 9", the garage station, the "cool indie music" station, and filled any gaps with long winded erotic stories on the Playboy station. I was also hit on by an over-apologetic timid waiter at a Pizza Hut somewhere in Kentucky.

Most importantly: I did not crash. Sometime after 4 AM I arrived in Chicago with a dead cell phone and an uncertainty of which apartment we were staying in. So sometime after 4:30 AM, I decided to go to sleep in the van.

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