I've never been so happy to see a Chili's.

Shawnee, Oklahoma is tops.  Green and lush.  Fewer biting things.  More to eat than the meagre pickings of a truck-stop Subway Sandwiches.  As a non-voting member of Cherokee Nation, I'd like to say that I for one think we should all be pleased that the Trail of Tears didn't end in Tucumcari, New Mexico.  Much better selection of chain restaurants in the Sooner State.

Tomorrow is the big day!  If I weren't so stiff from folded up in a Honda Civic for three days or so sleepy from my chocolate-lava-ice-cream extravaganza, I'd be breathless with excitement.

Ego is tired of eating in diners.

This road trip would go a lot faster if the dog could learn how to use a funnel.

New Mexico is okay.

Also - and I realize this is an Angeleno thing to say - what is the deal with all the biting bug-mosquito-chigger-biting-biting things?  The problem is all this wild, open space.  In Los Angeles, where every last blade of grass has been properly tucked under a layer of solid concrete there are no bugs.  Correlation or causation?

Ego wants a grilled cheese sandwich!

piano moving, lowering really

So the blueberry farmer and I are confirmed.  This friday, he, his nephew if he's out of rehab in time, my Dad, and two large grad students that I've managed to bribe with a case of beer, will be shoving my piano off the back of the trailer.  Supposedly a ramp will be included with the trailer but I've been promised such things before (note to Zack at Pack & Ride Shipping: I will be blaming my crushed spine on you and your baseless reassurances about the ramp).  Death by piano, here we come.

In other news my grubby little civic is filled to the brim with $3.99 gas and four new quarts of oil.  Also, copies of Mach and Kulke's 1870s correspondence, chocolate chip cookies (thanks again Sarah and Robert and Eleanor!), and a pit bull.  My Dad should be arriving momentarily and then we're off to Flagstaff, AZ.  Whee.  Its nice to finally be on my way after all these months of half-assed planning.

It hasn't totally hit me yet that I'm leaving the westside of the universe forever.  I got a little weepy leaving LA last week but I'm guessing its going to slam me harder in the next few days.  sad.  sad.

and so it begins...

Hello chickens,

Today I'm hanging out at Ellen's resort/apartment while she's away at work.  So far I've spent three hours in front of her enormous television and eaten all of her cereal.  Later I may go for a swim.  

In an effort to not feel like a completely useless lump I decided to look into piano movers for the unloading part of my move.  Apparently there is only one step to get into my new house but the bed of the moving truck is about chest high so there's no way to get a piano off without either a ramp (which according to the moving company is not available because it was impounded in Vegas - yes, sketchy, what kind of trouble can a ramp get into?) or a lift.  So I thought I'd look into local piano/furniture movers to get the piano and maybe a few other large items off the truck.  The LA version of this cost about $150 for maybe twenty minutes of work but, well, I can't lift 600 lbs like the old days.  My Mom suggested calling the MSU music department for recommendations which is as good a place to start as any I suppose.

So I called the music department with my rambling request.  The secretary was very nice and helpful and asked about Los Angeles and my move and said I should stop by the department next month.  And her accent was so deliciously charming.  She gave me the name and number of someone that does tuning and repair and would know of movers if he couldn't do it himself.  Called.  Listened to the following message (imagine a deep southern drawl):

"Hi.  You've reached Reese Blueberry Farms.  It's blueberry season!  Fresh and sweet, order your blueberries today.  Please leave a message and we'll return your call as soon as possible.  Have a blueberry day."

huh.

Do you think he works on pianos on the side?  I suppose if he's running a farm he has some sort of truck with a lift?  I tried to leave a message but the machine reported that its memory was full and hung up on me.  I guess I'll try back later.  I find this hilarious.

like herding cats

With a few exceptions I have now decided that early twenty-something frisbee-playing college boys are completely irresponsible and absolutely infuriating. I'm thinking of imposing some sort of moratorium. Certainly one should not commit to a 1600-mile ride-share with them. I nearly left one behind in Seattle this last weekend. It didn't occur to him to call any of us (he didn't have his own phone so we couldn't get ahold of him) until 4 hours after our planned departure time. Nor did it occur to either of them to sleep the night before the big drive. Stupid. Boys.

Other than the drive though Potlatch was awesome. The weather was perfect. My team was perfect. I have a mini-crush on Bones all over again.

And now I'm back in Los Angeles for one last taste of Socal. T minus fifteen days...

Who gets so drunk that they throw their chair across the lawn at a wedding?
tacky AND cliche.