Tuesday, June 28, 2005
The humidity is wilting
Step outside and feel myself curling up like the corners of book covers. I find all this so unnecessary. Just rain again and get it over with. The rain yesterday was marvelous. When it rains like that, warm air and fat plashing drops, a camaraderie develops among those happy to walk around in it. One can smile at people--these are circumstances removed from the ordinary. The order of things is shifted as people have to reassess their priorities (stay dry? Splash in puddles?) and readjust. The city divides into tribes. The sociology of a proper summer downpour is fascinating.
Sorry for the dereliction of bloggerly duty this week. Between the new job, jury duty (sprung today after two mornings of listless waiting in the assembly room) and this past weekend, I've really had no time. Furthermore, the lack of comment indicates that only furthest-flung are still reading at all (thanking you, Nick). With everyone out of town (you skiving bastards) doing things probably more interesting than what might be related here. Just wait till I take off for Asia. Then you'll see. All kinds of shit.
Anyhow, an interesting weekend shared by P-otatohead (I'm really running out of P-words) and myself. What began as a casual, conservative drive to Philadelphia, with the help of a full moon, bad directions and a tire blown to ribbons, turned into an epic adventure. I refuse to take the blame; Mapquest fucked it up. How am I supposed to know that I-80 is not the same thing as the New Jersey Turnpike? You should have seen the moon that night. Saffron. Jaundice? The tire (brand-new) exploded under us at 12:15am, 60 miles down my beloved I-80. Shot to hell. Smoking slabs of black rubber trailing behind us like fishtails. I never thought I'd have to figure out how to change a tire before I learned to drive, but that's what we did. Jacked that sucker up, jumped up and down on the tire iron to loosen the lug nuts (father dear's advice), dismantled the wheel, chucked it in the trunk and slapped on the spare (or, as the portly gentleman at the auto repair shop the next morning would call it, the doughnut). We then rolled at 50mph (wow, does that suck) to the nearest rest stop, where we discovered, to our indescriptible chagrin, that we had gone in COMPLETELY the wrong direction.
Knowlton County, New Jersey? Holy shit. Much rending of hair and groaning and rueful laughter accompanied our first confrontation with a map. Had it not been for the doughnut, which prohibits speed above 50, we would have persevered on to Philadelphia, which we estimated to be 90 miles away (and of course there's no all-night tire repair shop on I-80). Unfortunately, that thing hates distance, too, so we found the nearest sizeable town on the map, Stroudsburg, PA, and set a course. We were going to cave in and get a hotel room. When we got to the Super 8 outside Stroudsburg at about 2am, however, they said their cheapest room was $80. Our cap was $25 per person. This place down the road was $66, but we stood firm. So we slept in the car. In the parking lot of the Super 8. It was surprisingly tolerable, though I think employment of the word "comfortable" might be be excessive charity.
Woke up smelly and unshaved at 8am (and 3am, and 4am, and 6am, etc). Drove to the Wal-Mart/K-Mart complex down the road to get the tire changed. Went for breakfast at the Arlington Diner (where the guy who ran the auto shop likes to take his wife on Sundays). Went to the Salvation Army store across the street, picked up a shirt, a pair of shorts, a glass beer goblet labeled "Falstaff Ale," (by then we were both in the mood for some serious sack) and a record of German oompah drinking songs, with the imperative on the back: "Trink, Sing, TANZ!!!" Frightening. All for $7.50. Awesome. Then we hiked over to the Wal-Mart, where we walked around in batting helmets, played catch in the sports section, threw a giant foam frisbee in Gardening Tools, deposited the helmets in original places, and then made for Clothing. Walked amid the racks, loudly calling to each other the exotic provenances of the garments for sale. An interesting variety: Honduras, Bangladesh, China, Nicaragua, Mexico, El Salvador--as American-style a melting pot as I've ever seen. We decided not to get ourselves ejected from the store, mostly because it wasn't the employees' fault their employer symbolizes everything that is evil and warped in the world.
The tire had been changed by then, and barring a little spur-route congestion where 80 meets 76, we fairly breezed to Swarthmore. Somehow, my iPod lasted all the way (it would not fare as well on the road home). Anna greeted us at the barn, and we passed a mostly lazy afternoon catching up. That night we barbequed on campus, which meant schlepping everything over, leaving out the fucking ketchup, which sorely put me out. Later, we hiked to the woods without a flashlight, intending to make a wee bonfire and have s'mores. The woods were pitch-dark; the only light, where the moon failed to penetrate the forest, was the sparkle of millions of luminous fireflies, like the flash of bulbs that sweeps through the stadium on the first pitch of the World Series. It was fairly stunning, the sparkling forest. There were these three people at the site already, lighting fireworks, adults, so we sat with them and watched the Air Defenses and Chinese New Years go off. And the s'mores were rather lovely. Except when the cops came and rousted us; certain persons who should have known better neglected to mention how, um, illegal unsanctioned bonfires are. Oh, well.
I would write more, but I haven't the time. I have to be at work in twenty minutes, and am leaving bright and surly tomorrow morning to visit Jacob in Lewisburg, PA (passing through Stroudsburg, of course). Back sunday night. Don't hold your breath.
Sorry for the dereliction of bloggerly duty this week. Between the new job, jury duty (sprung today after two mornings of listless waiting in the assembly room) and this past weekend, I've really had no time. Furthermore, the lack of comment indicates that only furthest-flung are still reading at all (thanking you, Nick). With everyone out of town (you skiving bastards) doing things probably more interesting than what might be related here. Just wait till I take off for Asia. Then you'll see. All kinds of shit.
Anyhow, an interesting weekend shared by P-otatohead (I'm really running out of P-words) and myself. What began as a casual, conservative drive to Philadelphia, with the help of a full moon, bad directions and a tire blown to ribbons, turned into an epic adventure. I refuse to take the blame; Mapquest fucked it up. How am I supposed to know that I-80 is not the same thing as the New Jersey Turnpike? You should have seen the moon that night. Saffron. Jaundice? The tire (brand-new) exploded under us at 12:15am, 60 miles down my beloved I-80. Shot to hell. Smoking slabs of black rubber trailing behind us like fishtails. I never thought I'd have to figure out how to change a tire before I learned to drive, but that's what we did. Jacked that sucker up, jumped up and down on the tire iron to loosen the lug nuts (father dear's advice), dismantled the wheel, chucked it in the trunk and slapped on the spare (or, as the portly gentleman at the auto repair shop the next morning would call it, the doughnut). We then rolled at 50mph (wow, does that suck) to the nearest rest stop, where we discovered, to our indescriptible chagrin, that we had gone in COMPLETELY the wrong direction.
Knowlton County, New Jersey? Holy shit. Much rending of hair and groaning and rueful laughter accompanied our first confrontation with a map. Had it not been for the doughnut, which prohibits speed above 50, we would have persevered on to Philadelphia, which we estimated to be 90 miles away (and of course there's no all-night tire repair shop on I-80). Unfortunately, that thing hates distance, too, so we found the nearest sizeable town on the map, Stroudsburg, PA, and set a course. We were going to cave in and get a hotel room. When we got to the Super 8 outside Stroudsburg at about 2am, however, they said their cheapest room was $80. Our cap was $25 per person. This place down the road was $66, but we stood firm. So we slept in the car. In the parking lot of the Super 8. It was surprisingly tolerable, though I think employment of the word "comfortable" might be be excessive charity.
Woke up smelly and unshaved at 8am (and 3am, and 4am, and 6am, etc). Drove to the Wal-Mart/K-Mart complex down the road to get the tire changed. Went for breakfast at the Arlington Diner (where the guy who ran the auto shop likes to take his wife on Sundays). Went to the Salvation Army store across the street, picked up a shirt, a pair of shorts, a glass beer goblet labeled "Falstaff Ale," (by then we were both in the mood for some serious sack) and a record of German oompah drinking songs, with the imperative on the back: "Trink, Sing, TANZ!!!" Frightening. All for $7.50. Awesome. Then we hiked over to the Wal-Mart, where we walked around in batting helmets, played catch in the sports section, threw a giant foam frisbee in Gardening Tools, deposited the helmets in original places, and then made for Clothing. Walked amid the racks, loudly calling to each other the exotic provenances of the garments for sale. An interesting variety: Honduras, Bangladesh, China, Nicaragua, Mexico, El Salvador--as American-style a melting pot as I've ever seen. We decided not to get ourselves ejected from the store, mostly because it wasn't the employees' fault their employer symbolizes everything that is evil and warped in the world.
The tire had been changed by then, and barring a little spur-route congestion where 80 meets 76, we fairly breezed to Swarthmore. Somehow, my iPod lasted all the way (it would not fare as well on the road home). Anna greeted us at the barn, and we passed a mostly lazy afternoon catching up. That night we barbequed on campus, which meant schlepping everything over, leaving out the fucking ketchup, which sorely put me out. Later, we hiked to the woods without a flashlight, intending to make a wee bonfire and have s'mores. The woods were pitch-dark; the only light, where the moon failed to penetrate the forest, was the sparkle of millions of luminous fireflies, like the flash of bulbs that sweeps through the stadium on the first pitch of the World Series. It was fairly stunning, the sparkling forest. There were these three people at the site already, lighting fireworks, adults, so we sat with them and watched the Air Defenses and Chinese New Years go off. And the s'mores were rather lovely. Except when the cops came and rousted us; certain persons who should have known better neglected to mention how, um, illegal unsanctioned bonfires are. Oh, well.
I would write more, but I haven't the time. I have to be at work in twenty minutes, and am leaving bright and surly tomorrow morning to visit Jacob in Lewisburg, PA (passing through Stroudsburg, of course). Back sunday night. Don't hold your breath.
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