I guess yesterday was really more like Day 0.5. I didn’t make any stops, and I didn’t sign any books other than one for my mother–who, as it turns out, did not vote for Syracuse to be a stop on the tour. Maybe I should take her book away.
The highlight of the day, obviously, was the ceremonial picking up of the rental car that is to be my
prison home for the next two weeks. As soon as I got to the lot, I sensed something wonderful was about to happen: there they were, a dozen gleaming cars in hues of silver, black, and all other shades of dignity and grace….except for one, which was the color of a polished turd. And right then, I knew. Even before I went into the office and was handed the keys, I knew which one they belonged to. AND NOW IT’S ALL MINE!
Trying to decide which Crayola name this would get. Burnt Shit? Toasted Mud? Merry Dysentery?
The best part? Here’s the license plate:
A self-loathing car. We should have our own sitcom.
So after a frenzied hour of yet more panicked packing (“Is five board games really enough?”), me and the Crapmobile were off to Syracuse. I’m sorry to report that it was a fairly uneventful drive, with the exception of the terrifying moment when I drove under a tree and something fell on the roof–a large acorn, or a horse chestnut, or, given the volume of the bang it produced, an actual horse. I pulled over to assess the damage, but since I’m too short to see to see the top of the car, we’re all just going to assume it’s fine and that there isn’t a giant dent the size of Ohio.
Speaking of Ohio, that’s where I’m headed today! And in between, a bunch of other places. Follow on Twitter to get real-time updates on where I am, when and where I’ll be next, and how much of the Cheez-It box I’ve already consumed. (Answer: all of it.)