#20—On the Road

So right now I'm in New York City in what folks are calling "The Village of Harlem." I don't really know how I feel about "The Village of Harlem" moniker. Village suggests a sort of intimate enclave in which camaraderie and friendliness is the norm, which, frankly, is so outside of anything I experience while in New York City that it's almost funny. Maybe The Village of Harlem is meant to be ironic? Mostly I think it's that someone thought it sounded good without thinking about what they hell they were saying. In that way I do think it's probably pretty appropriate for NYC: over the top, a wee bit pretentious, badly planned, and oh, you know, just a little too too.

What more I can say about The Village of Harlem is that folks are crazy. They walk out into the middle of the street with such frequency and so boldly that you'd think the city had made Lennox Avenue a pedestrian walkway. Old men in the corner store try to get you to change their five dollar bills into singles and when you won't, they try to take your singles off the counter, the woman's whose guest flat you stay in seems allergic to heat, and, in general, chaos abounds.

Meanwhile, I got here after driving to and spending the night in Pittsburgh. Let me first caution everyone to stay out of Ohio if at all possible. And if you can't stay out of the state, drive 40 miles per hour. Contrary to reports, I suspect Ohio actually has absolutely no unemployment. Every single Ohioan must be a State Trooper. Good Lord, they are everywhere! And they've made these evil little crevices and cutaways along the highway such that they can pounce on you. Okay: I'm being a little hyperbolic. Oh, wait, that's not Ohio, Ohio is flat as hell and boring as all get-out. No, the crevices and cutaways is PA. Yes, now it's coming back to me, the nightmare two days of driving...

On with my tirade: I've figured out, now that things are coming back to me, that all Ohioans can't be State Troopers. No, no. They must divide the jobs between two sectors. The ones who aren't Troopers walk around in sagging pants on the edge of the freeway and pretend to be doing some sort of road work (across the ENTIRE state!). Aaargh! Anyway, do heed my advice and take care. You should know that driving 40 miles per hour won't be that much of a burden and you won't find there to be significant difference between yourself driving 40mph and the folks driving the maximum speed limit, which is 55 miles per hour. I'd like to suggest that one of the reasons so few Ohioans leave the state (I mean, really, how many folks do you know from Ohio living outside of Ohio) is that they can't get out of it for having to drive so damned slowly. Wow.

I went to Pittsburgh for the night in order to see Ua and Aaron and Yona and Terrance. Ua, all ten years of her, is 5'2"". And oh is she gorgeous. Aaron is obsessed with Legos and Legoland and spent the night printing out his Christmas wish list. Would that when I was five I could have printed out a wish list. Would that I could print out a wish list today. But, alas, to whom would I give it?

Then yesterday I drove from there to here. Let me also say: Stay out of Pennsylvania if you can. Pennsylvania is the crevice/cutaway state. It too is a state in which you can walk faster than you can drive. Ugh. I'm beginning to learn to appreciate the c'est la vie-ness of the Rocky Mountain West where you can drive like you have a place to go.

Finally, a short update on the Thule Cargo Box. The Thule has been retired (and thankfully so, I'd say). It's now sitting in Amanda and Nate's garage where it has been all summer. In fact, I know I'll need to remove it, but metaphorically and literally, it's nice to be in the world without something over one's head all the time. I've been trying to decrease the amount of crap I'm carrying around. That hasn't really worked so well. I mean, I did take some summer stuff back to Portland and put it in the storage unit. And I did leave some more stuff with Amanda and Nate (the poor dears). And now all the stuff I have is stuff that fits in the back of the car (in Oliver's area, which I have to say feels oddly empty). So it's not like I've learned my lesson about having too much stuff. But I'm learning it. I do know that if I can't see it, I forget it. And if I forget it, I don't need it. So....

I will go and pick the stuff up from Amanda and Nate. But already I don't know what the hell is in those bags. What I want mostly is like six pairs of jeans, ten tops (this is so that I don't have to wash on a specific day every week, I can have overlap), and maybe five colorful sweaters. Everything else I want to be done with. So that's one of the goals for the new year: decrease, simplify, get on with living as lightly as possible.

Now if only I could stay away from the $4.99-a-pound soul food buffet down the block. I mean, if I'm to be living lightly, that probably should include my behind. And their mac-n-cheese is not helping. Not at all.

My Love,
C