Romance like a band-aide...

The Monday Morning Show for August 18, 2014...

Busy at home at work at home together apart together…

I’m sitting at my desk on a muggy, summer afternoon, thinking about my marriage and what a strange place we’re in.

And I thought, What the hell! Let’s write about it!

We have so many friends and people in our families who live “traditional” lives… you know, the marriage, the house, the kids, the crap… I know Vicky likes it because she gets to enjoy it on a “visitor” basis but it’s downright annoying to me. I don’t know why but I’m not that keen on the traditional setup.

Vicky and I don’t have kids and I have grown comfortable like that. Not only is it okay, it’s just fine by me. I don’t think Vicky will ever be completely comfortable and that makes me sad but that’s not how things have worked out and I, personally, am happier going with the flow, accepting what is rather than wishing for what isn’t.

In a way…

You see, as much as many of those we know have gone the traditional route, Vicky and I have surprisingly… not.

We don’t have kids. We’re not really big joiners. We aren’t especially attracted to material objects.

The two of us found what we love long ago and recently – in the past year, at least – things have really begun to take off with what we love. In case I’m being too vague, I’m talking about our jobs.

Yep.

Vicky and I are workaholics.

We both love what we do. Vicky loves running her company’s paralegal team and teaching college courses, etc. etc. etc. I love writing books and recording audiobooks and creating new videos and hosting my podcasts, etc. etc. etc.

I don’t think either of us have ever been so fulfilled in what we do.

… and yet, I’m sitting here at my desk on a muggy, summer afternoon… and I’m considering all of these things… and what does not escape me is the fact that Vicky is about 10-15 miles across town right now, doing her thing.

This strikes me as so weird because there’s no one I love being with more than Vicky. I love taking adventures with her. I love laying in on a weekend morning with her and watching a race. I love going to Target with her to buy Q-tips. I don’t know why this is. I’m just smitten.

And, all the same, we’re spending our days apart. We spend many of our days apart. Because we love what we do.

And we love each other.

I suppose it’s not “traditional.” It may not even be healthy.

But I’m proud of her and she’s proud of me and though I hate when she’s away I love when she comes back. It may sound strange to say we love our lives spent working most of the time without kids and without each other that much… but we do.

And I probably wouldn’t trade it for the world.

The best 1st date of my life…

On this day, ten years ago, I had the best first date of my life.

I can tell you it was the best first date of my life because, ever since that day, I have wanted nothing more than to be with that woman.

The date lasted seven hours. Seven hours! We met at 4pm and did not go home until 11pm.

The date ended with the best “first date kiss” I had ever experienced. I don’t know if the kiss was made superior by her or me but I can still remember it. (Yes, I’m a romantic that way.) I can still remember how beautiful she was. And she just keeps getting more beautiful.

I know that’s a lot to ask of you, the reader, to believe that she just keeps getting more beautiful. But it’s true. Oh, sure. She’s not perfect. She has her moments when she’s human. But there’s so much more to her than that. She’s really funny and very kind. She’s smarter than I am sometimes – actually, she’s smarter than I am far too often. It’s really kind of annoying, actually…

It was the best first date of my life because I want it to be the last first date of my life.

The date I’m not really describing is my first date with Vicky. You can find a complete description in my book, A Grand Canyon. It wasn’t really Love at first sight but it was certainly Like plus a lot of Lust at first sight. When the love came, the like and lust stuck around as well.

Vicky is downstairs right now, coughing her lungs out.

You see, we were supposed to go out on our first date again tonight, reliving it in as much detail as manageable. But then, our dog Suki got sick. And then, Vicky got sick. And I guess our first date it not to be… again… We’ll just have to leave it in the history book.

But I suppose our disappointment is a sign as well. We both wanted to do this because we both have a connection with that night ten years ago.

As for myself, I’m just happy I’ve had these ten years. Vicky quite literally rocked my world.

Happy Anniversary, my love. Let’s do another ten.

Two for the sofa…

This was a week I saw coming a mile away.

You ever have one of those weeks? The kind that you’ve been predicting for some time, saying things like, “One of these days, we’re going to have to…” and then you do?

That was this week.

For months now, I’ve been saying to Vicky, “We’re going to have to start keeping Suki downstairs at night. She just can’t take the stairs the way she used to.” Suki is our Shiba Inu. She’s about 14. (This is the point where Vicky will correct me. I’m terrible with these things.) Where she used to be able to trot up and down our stairs several times each day, recently, she’s been slipping and sliding. Her back legs have been going out on her. She stumbles.

It’s just not pretty.

So, this was the week. Suki moved downstairs.

And though I hadn’t been mentioning this next bit to Vicky, I knew what would go right alongside that – right alongside Suki, I mean. Me. That’s what would go alongside of her. Me.

I had to move downstairs, too.

Because Suki did not like moving downstairs at all. Not one bit. She would begin crying and the only thing that put her at ease was another person with her. And Vicky needed the bed. Vicky works a real job.

So, downstairs I moved. Suki took her dog bed. I took the sofa.

And, let me tell you, my back is not built of solid steel, the way it once was. Nope. Now, when I sleep on the sofa, my back kind of conforms to its horrible curves. I wake up feeling like a dingbat font.

But this is what you do. You know? If we had kids, I’d be up with them. If we had an elderly parent living with us, I’d be… you know what, I don’t want to think about that. Anyway, Suki is like an elderly parent. And she needs me.

She’s stinky and she sheds. She’s standoffish and never listens. But she needs me.

This is what you do.

A Tale of Two iPods…

A few years back, I cancelled my gym membership because I realized I could do everything I did at the gym much closer to home. Actually, at home! I could jog and I could cycle and I could exercise and all without the stink and sweat of horrible people all around me. I could do all of this without having to watch Fox News, which 24 Hour Fitness seemed to love putting in front of me. And I could do it all to the beat of my own drum… er, iPod.

I didn’t have to listen to the same crappy music they played at the gym over and over and over and over again.

And that’s what I did. I started jogging and cycling and exercising, all to the tunes I had on my iPod Nano, which clipped right onto my shirt. I was saving money and getting a better workout as well!

… all until the day when I lost my iPod.

That’s the problem with the Nano, you see. It’s small enough to clip to my shirt – well, the Gen 6 version I had – but also small enough to MISPLACE! And that’s exactly what I did about a week ago.

And lengthy, intense search commenced… and I found nothing.

Damn!

Worse still, Apple has discontinued the good Nano (Gen 6) and replaced it with some oversized, overweighted, big, fat, stupid looking… Gen 7. The dummies… Seriously. Have you seen these things? They’re hardly small enough to be considered “nano” at all!

What to do?

Well, as it turned out, Vicky had picked up a Gen 6 Nano at about the same time as me – lo, those many years ago. She’d never loaded hers up with music. It was fresh. It was (dare I say) virginal!

And it was mine! (Once Vicky generously offered to let me “borrow” it.)

And I learned something interesting about iPods. It was something I hadn’t really suspected.

You see, I had loaded up my previously Nano a little at a time. Whenever I purchased some new music, I would throw some of it on the iPod.

Now, faced with a fresh iPod, I had to load it all up from scratch.

This took me two days! In the end, I had – nay, have – 1.7 days of music, over 700 songs!

… some may consider this overkill.

But I like having plenty of music to choose from, as I set the Nano to shuffle every single time… That sounds positively boring. But I promise you, it’s not.

In fact, I’m electrified, dying for a chance to take it out for a jog or a bike ride!

… tomorrow. First thing tomorrow.

Vicky bought donuts.

(Not the ending you were expecting, was it?)

Pitch just about Perfect…

Admission time: I love Pitch Perfect. Yes. The movie about a cappella singing.

No, it is not a Glee clone or a High School Musical rip-off.

No. It’s not. Seriously.

You see, that’s what I thought it was when Vicky first recorded it. She wanted to see it and I said, “You go right ahead but don’t think I’m going to watch that nonsense.”

Vicky is very tolerant about my dislike for some of her stuff. I think that comes from her dislike of much of my stuff: music, movies, books, sometimes my skin – you name it! So, she was perfectly fine with my need to avoid the flick. I stayed upstairs and played video games while, downstairs, she enjoyed the film.

At one point, I had to come downstairs to refill my drink or something and caught about two or three minutes of the… and you know what? It wasn’t half bad. I mean, I didn’t think it was great but it wasn’t half bad.

So, I agreed to watch it with Vicky on the provision that I could bad mouth it all I wanted.

The only problem was… I couldn’t. My face was stuck in a permanent grin.

You see, I thought this was going to be another one of those “we’re such cool, young movie stars that we can make whatever shitty musical crapfest we want and you will love it” kinds of shows, such as the aforementioned Glee and High School Musical.

Sure, Pitch Perfect is derivative of what came before but only in so far as it recognizes the mixture of performance/sports movie tropes. Then, it shreds them. Rather than being a movie about cool kids who do things perfectly, it’s a movie about nerds who screw up. But it is so infused with joy – and the hipster in me can’t believe I’m saying this – that you can’t help but be on their side.

On top of that, the movie is flat-out funny. It looks for every joke and it finds them. Sometimes, it even goes too far… but I can look past what is probably an overly ardent dedication to a puke joke.

Anyway, there you go. Vicky and I watched Pitch Perfect about five or six times now. I’ve even bought the fucking soundtrack.

It’s not like me to enjoy something so populist, so downright appealing to the masses… but I can’t help it.

Pitch Perfect, you’re just about pitch perfect.

A Matching Pair…

Sometimes, I get a reminder of just how well Vicky and I fit together – and sometimes that reminder isn’t necessarily necessary.

Take our Christmas, for instance. (One is tempted to say “Please” at this point, though I wouldn’t trade it for anything.)

Two days before Christmas, Vicky took a tumble in a Starbucks and sprained her ankle pretty badly. We spent pretty much the entire day in an (misnomer alert!) Urgent Care Center, where they determined that she didn’t break any bones. You could have fooled us with all the swelling, but we were glad she was still in one piece.

They gave her some crutches and little else and sent us on our way. And I spent Christmas Eve taking care of Vicky.

… well, I spent most of Christmas Eve taking care of Vicky. I spent the rest of Christmas Eve becoming deathly ill.

The worst part about this is I know it was my fault. I’m a pretty fair cook – have never killed anyone – but I know I got sick from either:

• My fried egg sandwich
• My coffee
• Or the dinner I made…

One way or the other, I was sick on the night before Christmas, choking back rivers of Christmas Spirit in the form of vomit.

The next day, Christmas morning, we had to drive out to see Vicky’s family. It’s about a 90 minute drive and Vicky’s ankle wouldn’t let her drive. More importantly, I wouldn’t let her drive. I was supposed to be taking care of her, don’t forget. So, I offered to drive, not realizing what the constant motion of the car would do to my nausea… it would turn it into HULK NAUSEA! (Don’t make me vomit. You wouldn’t like it when I vomit.)

With Vicky’s family on Christmas morning, my wife limped around and I laid perfectly still.

Oh yes, we were quite the pair. But, you know what they say: “In sickness and in health”…

Preparation is 2/3 hair...

Vicky: You've got a tuft of hair growing on the back of your neck.
Ken: I know. That's for cold weather, in case I get trapped in a snow bank.

It's mostly in the eyes...

So, after injuring my foot about a month ago, I've taken what you might call a breather from any running or jogging... or walking... until I'm just about climbing the walls. And I'm flat out tired of "resting my foot" and waiting for the dang appendage to heal.

And then, this morning, I got the idea in my head that I could take just a short walk, just a little one.

"Has your foot hurt in the last week?" Vicky asked me.

"Yes," I replied.

"In the last five days?"

"Yes."

I should have seen where Vicky's line of questioning was going. She's sneaky like this. "In the last two days," asked little miss know it all...

"Yes," I said. "But only yesterday morning."

I tell you all this because, while I do not believe in psychics, I have somehow gained the knack of being able to tell my wife is thinking I'm an idiot without her needing to say a word...

On a road in Eastern Washington…

One way I consider myself lucky is that, oftentimes, I have a very vivid memory. This doesn’t apply to everything and it sometimes pops up on its own but, when it does, it’s like a movie playing in my head. Scenes unroll and I almost feel like I was there (which, of course, I was).

That’s what happened this morning. I was sitting at my desk, editing a new audiobook, when I began to see a memory from just a few months ago.

Vicky and I were in a car, on a road in eastern Washington State. I was driving and we were navigating our way up and down along these green and winding hillsides. Traffic wasn’t too bad; the only cars we saw were some classics on their way to a car show somewhere.

We drove along – I think Cher was playing on Vicky’s iPod – and talked a little, here and there. When you’re on the road with someone for more than a week or so, you’d think you would run out of things to say but that’s not how it was with Vicky and me. We just talked and talked; I think it was because we knew that, all too soon, we’d be back home and knee deep in the minutiae of our lives once again.

So, I was sitting here, letting that scene unroll in my mind, and I just felt so lucky.

I know it’s not much – trapped in a car for more than two weeks, driving every day – but sharing that with Vicky, even that, just made it so much better. It made it the kind of memory I can reflect on, months later, and just feel good about, knowing my love was next to me, knowing that she’s mine. It’s powerful stuff.

Sure, we fought quite a few times on the road. That’s what happens. That’s so common, it’s not really worth remembering. Because the rest of the time was so good and so right that even the memory of the two of us on a road in eastern Washington can still appear in my mind and just… make me happy.

Sometimes, it goes beyond humoring me…

“Can we drive out to Warner Springs this weekend? Some of the new book is taking place there and I want to get some pictures.”

If you heard someone say this to you, chances are you’d give them an odd look, reach for a phone, and begin calling men in white coats. I mean, I said those words and even I can’t help but fear that the speaker was off his meds.

Vicky? She just said, “Okay. Let’s go in the morning before it gets too hot.”

Vicky has reached a point, I believe, where being married to a writer almost feels normal. I mean, let’s say she remarried. And this person was a lawyer or a mailman or a mechanic – something NORMAL! I don’t know if she could handle it. There wouldn’t be nearly enough randomness for her system!

I’m reminded of a trip she and I took many years ago, possibly 2006, to Arizona. We drove along Route 66 to Kingman, Oatman, and so on, taking pictures as we went, because I was writing a book that took place along that stretch of road. Vicky humored me but, clearly, this was outside of her spectrum of normality. She didn’t quite get it and didn’t really want to get it. But, we did it. I wrote the book. There you go.

This time? She didn’t bat an eyelash.

One day, she’ll mention it to someone – or some other excursion – and they’ll give her the same looks that she once gave me.

Vicky, you’re welcome.

Meet the new tooth…

A couple of weeks ago, I broke a tooth.

Actually, it probably happened long before that. But I noticed it on one Sunday morning, when Vicky and I were eating breakfast. I bit into some eggs… and I heard a crunch.

I thought it was an egg shell.

I swear, the eggs were not hard or anything. They were actually quite good, nice and fluffy.

Said crunch was not from an eggshell. When I pulled out the offending bit, I realized it must have been a tooth. And when I felt about in my mouth with my tongue, I found one of my bottom molars split like, well, anything in a Roland Emmerich film.

Vicky was certain that I’d cracked the tooth all the way down to the nub. “You’re going to need a crown. Probably a root canal. You’re going to need a root canal and a crown. It’ll probably be pretty severe. You may lose a tooth.”

I was almost expecting to hear her tell me that my jaw would have to go.

When I finally made it to the dentist a few days later, however… after days of paranoid worrying, my dentist said I’d be fine. She said she could fill it and repair it.

And sure enough, she did!

I mean, the procedure took several hours and it was all quite painful. (I’m still not sure how the hot poker on my feet helped.) In the end, my tooth was fine, perfectly repaired.

The Novocain wore off in time and I was back to chewing – if with a molar that felt much larger than before. I tried to ignore it.

… that is, I tried to ignore it until said tooth took a bite out of my cheek!

I heard a loud crunch, and screamed in agony as my mouth filled with blood. Soon, though, the bleeding stopped and the pain subsided.

A flap of skin hung loose in my mouth.

“You’ll have to bite it off,” Vicky said. “Just chew off the rest. Don’t be a wimp.”

… this is my life, folks. Kafka by way of "Now spit"...

Where’s Vicky?...

As some of you may know, I share my life with a particularly work-addicted woman. The only reason I don’t have a problem with this, I think, is because I am as addicted to my work as Vicky is to hers.

All the same, it does put some obvious stresses on our marriage. And when we do find time together, oftentimes it is spent running errands just to keep our lives moving forward.

I wish I could say I am mindful of this, but all too often I squander the little time we have. Listen, Vicky and I recently went on a nine-state tour around the western United States by car. We drove nearly every single day of the more than two week trip and I realize I should have had the foresight to avoid that. After all that driving – some days we drove 10-12 hours! – we found ourselves more anxious and exhausted than if we had been working that whole time. I realize now that we wasted a perfectly good vacation driving here, there, and everywhere.

And, of course, all that stress led to quite a bit of fighting.

It was a mess.

We got back and returned to our schedules, Vicky going off to her career and me staying here to pursue mine.

… and I miss her.

But I realize that’s just how our lives work right now. Maybe, one day, things will work more in our favors and I’ll remember to plan a bit more appropriately.

Until then, however, I am making do.

I’ve taken all of the photographs I used to put on my desk at work – one that Vicky gave to me shortly after the first time she told me that she loved me, another of our first trip to the Grand Canyon, one of us at our wedding, and another at Sand Rock Farm in Capitola – and I have set their frames where I can see them whenever I work. In addition, I’ve propped up a couple loose photographs Vicky gave me of when she was younger.

Photos are just the start. One of the best things about working here at home is that I feel constantly surrounded by Vicky, by the life that Vicky and I have built. I am held safely within US and there is something very soothing about that.

Mind you, if Vicky ever reads this she is bound to tell me that I don’t make any sense or call me a dork or something. She’s not too fond of sentimentality on the part of others, but I like to think she will understand.

Highlights from a Mad Dash: California...

When I saw the Welcome to California sign, I actually cheered. Why? Because of good phone reception and a time zone I could get behind (seriously, what’s with the sun in the north – is it afraid of the horizon?) and, well… work.

Yes, you read that right. I wanted to get back to work.

So, sue me.

But I should have realized something was wrong when we stepped into our room in the Crescent City Quality Inn and found that the light switch by the door turned on the bathroom light – on the OTHER SIDE OF THE ROOM! (Their electrician must have been high…)

Then, of course, we hit crazy traffic in Frisco, trying to get to that magical garlic of Gilroy before the shops closed.

And then, there was…

Cool Hand Luke’s

The desk clerk at the Adelaide Inn in Paso Robles recommended Cool Hand Luke’s to us. I know it wasn’t meant as a great, bit middle finger to our last night on the road but it might as well have been. (Which is to say nothing against the Adelaide Inn; that was very nice.)

Cool Hand Luke’s is where dining goes to die. It is the kind of restaurant that makes you long for McDonald’s. To say it’s shitty is to bring insult to the largest swamp of pig shit with a mountain of human excrement possible.

It’s bad.

The servers, who we saw so little of I wondered if it was my breath, had very few other tables to tend to but when they did I overheard them complain about being so busy. Before we could order drinks, about fifteen minutes after we got there, we were brought a basket of rolls and… a pot of beans?

Yes, a pot of beans – with a single spoon. What’s the point of that? I mean, I was there with Vicky. We could share but… really? Did they expect this from a family of four? Or two guys who weren’t really looking to swap spit?

So, we order our food and a half hour later are presented with something mildly resembling playdough. I had the Bacon Macaroni and Cheese, which was overcooked noodles in a bland cheese sauce. A few pieces of shredded cheddar were laid on top to make it look real and then the whole mess was sprinkles with bacon bits. Classy!

I thought I saw whip marks on my steak from where the rider rode it to death but then I realized they were marks from when the veterinarian patched it up. I’m not saying it was dog… it was probably cat.

When we finally reached Los Angeles, I gave a big, deep breath, happy to be back home.

I think I’ve outgrown the road trip. As much as I love spending time with Vicky, two people like us just should not be cooped up in a car for two weeks. Our next vacation should be somewhere we can relax, be served drinks, and possibly have more drinks.

For now, I’m just happy to be back home.

Highlights from a Mad Dash: Oregon...

This entire trip began as a business excursion for Vicky. I just tagged along for the ride… for the very, very long ride.

So, we ended up in Portland, in a lovely room at the Hilton Downtown. I didn’t really care for downtown because it was mostly businesses and homeless – no bueno.

But I got out for a jog on my first morning there and had a nice enough time. When I came back, Vicky was busy – she’d be working while we were there – so I went off to find what was – nay, is – perhaps the finest speedy sandwich establishment ever created…

Potbelly

Holy shit, folks. Have you been here? Go! If there’s one nearby, go! And then, order me something. Like their Italian sandwich. Then, mail it to me. I don’t care if it doesn’t make it! I’ll lick the envelope! My god, I have wet dreams about their sandwiches!

… and that was pretty much Oregon.

Oh, wait. Um… I walked up to Northwest Portland to see a publisher and just fell in love with the Northwest district. It had what I missed about Downtown - that hominess, niceness, pleasantness that made me want to just move there. I mean, it’s awesome.

But after Portland, for all of its pleasures – did I mention we were at the Hilton? It’s pretty nice – I just wanted to go home. I missed my puppies, my computer, my TV – everything!

Vicky and I took a long – perhaps too long – drive down the Oregon coast on the 101. Hey, Oregon folks, can you put some speed limit signs up for crying out loud? When we saw that Welcome to California sign, I practically cheered!

More on that next…

Highlights from a Mad Dash: Washington...

Vicky and I took the long way into Washington… which, granted, was a terrible mistake and the less said about that the better.

We stayed with Vic’s friend, Jenn, in Redmond and, after all that driving, pretty much just stayed put.

Mind you, I got a little jogging in. Jenn lives enviously close to the Sammamish River and someone put a lovely, little trail alongsideof it for jogging (and a million other things, apparently). It’s like the Santa Ana River Trail but… greener… nicer… better… the bastards…

Fortunately, we were able to fit in a little family time, too. My brother, Richard, and his wife, Teri, welcomed us in their home and their cute, little tornado, Hayden, burned enough energy to light a small town… for a decade. That was fun.

Then, of course, we had a day to ourselves and I made the terrible mistake of suggesting the Snoqualmie Falls. Mind you, there’s nothing inherently wrong with the Snoqualmie Falls (except the fact that they had closed down the trail to the bottom – way to go, guys!) but to get there we had to drive through Fall City.

… where I was once married…

I don’t know if Vicky was being kind or evil when she suggested we have breakfast there. I mean, I was doing everything I could to ignore the significance of the place and Vicky was like, “Hey, this is nice! Let’s have breakfast!”

… ugh.

Fortunately, we went to…

Fall City Roadhouse

Best breakfast of the entire trip. No kidding. Vicky’s crab benedict was amazing and I had a Strawberry Stuffed French Toast that, well, it’s all I can remember. I’m still stupefied by how good it was.

Washington was pretty nice. Last time I was there, all I could see was my ex. This time, it just had to be my dad. He was everywhere and I missed him terribly.

And that’s it.

Of course, before we left Vicky and I had to get into a fight that… let’s just say I should be out of the hospital soon.

And then, we went to Oregon.

Highlights from a Mad Dash: Idaho...

Idaho.

For the state with the lowest self-esteem, it ain’t that bad.

I hadn’t been back to Idaho in a few years and as we drove through eastern Idaho to our destination, I couldn’t help but think, “Wow. This is utter shit.”

I mean, there I was surrounded by right-wing, anti-wind-energy signs (seriously, kids?) and fireworks warehouses opened all year long. I felt like I was driving into a Republican’s wet dream!

But then, we reached Cascade, Idaho, which was rivers and mountains and deer and fresh air and blue skies and open meadows. Turns out, that’s also a Republican’s wet dream; they can’t wait to tear it down.

The irony here is that right about that time, I was JONESING for some pavement. Seriously, I was getting really home sick. I wanted a Starbucks and a freeway… sigh…

Cascade was our first prolonged stop. We spent a couple of days with Vicky’s family inside their lovely, little home. It was quite nice.

Our first morning there, I hit the road for an eight-mile jog. Little did I realize that at about 5,000 feet up and eight-mile jog is just about the worst thing you could do. And it was probably the cause of my migraine the next day that kept me in bed and in the dark. Fortunately, it didn’t stop me from enjoying the rest of that day.

We lunched in a little place called…

Gramma’s Family Restaurant

Gramma’s. Great name, huh? And that’s just what it’s like. It’s a little family place that serves a pretty good burger. What more can you ask for?

We trotted around town a bit until the 1950s-ness of it all wore thin. I mean, really, kids selling lemonade from roadside stands and teens hanging out at the soda shop. I felt like giving them heroin; it was just TOO CLEAN!

Then, someone got the idea we should go see The Lone Ranger, which was about the worst decision imaginable. The Lone Ranger is a movie with so much wrong with it, the crappy acting ain’t that bad. It shits on the source material, on logic, on taste, and on its viewers. It’s not a movie. It’s a sentence. It’s punishment. It was to movies what Cool Hand Luke’s was to food… I’ll get to that later.

The Lone Ranger may also have caused my migraine… odds are, it did.

We soon left Idaho, on our way to Washington…

Highlights from a Mad Dash: Wyoming...

Wyoming came at the end of a very long drive through four states.

Vicky and I pulled up to the La Quinta Inn with nothing but contempt for a world that would make us drive all that way – and whose idea was that, anyway? (I’m taking the fifth!)

I saw some “bikers” trucking in their motorcycles, probably to Sturgis – the bastards. Listen, I drove a bike for seven years and did not once truck it anywhere. Motorcycles are for riding and if you’re too old and your back won’t take it, fucking retire and get a golf cart!

… I’m sorry. Where was I?

Oh, right. Wyoming.

Vicky and I were exhausted by hungry and decided to eat and the nearest place… oh crap. It was an Applebee’s. But, heck, it was all we had. We sat down at our table and found out our waitress was about as tired as we were. We ordered sliders and a couple of salads, and barely ate that.

We barely had enough energy to get back to our hotel room and ignore the horrible bed. (Seriously. What circus left the trampoline behind?)

Highlights from a Mad Dash: Utah...

Utah.

Utah.

Right.

Something nice to say about Utah…

Hmmmmmmmmmm….

Dirt.

Brown.

Oh! We saw some prairie dogs – I may have this way out of order but I had to think of something – who were quite adorable but terribly stupid. Of the handful of sweet and cuddly live ones we saw, I also witnessed dozens more of them squished in the road.

Not nice.

Certainly not worth a picture.

We got out of there as quickly as possible.