So… Seems like I only get to update this blog while sitting in airplanes… que cera cera. I just passed a cloud that looked remarkably like a tin of ginger-flavored Altoids. Tried ‘em? Run (don’t walk) to your local supermarket…
Apologies for the time between posts. It’s been an insane few weeks. However, I have discovered much about life, love and the American way on this particular stretch of tour madness.
John McCain's lack of techno-savvy scares me. I don’t like when they call him “Maverick.” It reminds me of the way they called Tom Cruise “Maverick” in that movie… Top Gun. Talk to me, Goose. Talk to me. Explain this mysterious thing…. The inter-web… world-wide-net… techno-doohickey.
I firmly believe all presidential candidates should be able code basic html.
<body>
OBAMA!
</body>
In other news…
I have been struck lately by the homogenization of America… everything looks the same in every town, or so it seems. It gets to the point where you can show up in an area where you’ve never been before, and you’ll just KNOW where the closest Starbucks is located. Need to find the local generic-brand shopping mall? No map needed, just feel your way there. It’s right after the WalMart. On your left, past the burgerkingwendysmcdonaldstacobellathon.
The bright side of this situation, however, is the fact that out the way places tend to seem even *more* remote. Ten years ago, I wouldn’t have even considered some of these semi-removed-from-urbanesque places to be suburban… at this point, however, any locale with a hotel that doesn’t offer an intricate rewards club qualifies as such.
To this end, I got lost yesterday. We took a mini 3-day road break with extended family to a cozy lake house in Jersey. Morning came, and I drove my sister-in-law to the supermarket to get breakfast food for the hungry attendees. The supermarket was under a mile away.
45 minutes later…
Where are we? We passed this road before. Look. A cow.
She was tired of being lost, and insisted we ask for directions. I however, was *enjoying* being lost. There wasn’t a drop of homogeny-soul-suckingness in sight. Just grass and a never-ending, two-lane back-woods road… We were chatting… kibbitzing like people with nowhere to go (read: somewhere to go, but no idea where this particular “where” might actually be found).
Look a road sign!
That’s not a road sign, that’s an advertisement for tractor repair. Let’s keep going. It’s got to be around here somewhere.
I’m going to miss the men’s 1000m Steeplechase semi’s if we don’t get back soon.
We’re DVR’ing the whole thing…
Yeah, but it’s not the same… I need to experience it live. (read: live, as is on a multi-hour tape delay from a giant bird’s nest in Beijing…).
I succumb. We pull into a gas station for directions. I stay in the car. I am a man. This is my genetic prerogative.
Finally, the supermarket materializes. We’ve got to hurry. Since we’ve been gone for nearly an hour (an hour!), they may almost be catching up to the elusive Steeple. We must shop as quickly as possible. Like the 80s game show… Supermarket Sweep. (Cue Family Guy-style, entirely unrelated yet nostalgic flashback sequence).
And so it is. My break from homogenization (a strange word to type, fyi, not once but twice…) is over. The layout of a typical Stop & Shop/Big Y/Wegmen’s/Whole Foods/Trader Joe’s/Ralph’s (I could go on…) is like a map imprinted on my cerebellum. Milk is here. Bread is here. Ginger flavored Altoids are… are… What? Really? What kind of junky supermarket is this? But you even have the crème de menthe ones that I thought would be good a few months back, so I bought the package, ate one, and threw the rest out in disgust… and no Ginger?
Fine. How about ice? Do you sell ice? Yes? And no Ginger flavored-Altoids? Damn you, Stop & Shop.
Watch out Steeple. They’re coming for you.
Clouds... and Ginger Altoids
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