Monday, June 11, 2012

Road tripped

 Nap hair
I do this thing where I get all miserly with my paid time off and refuse to cash in but one hour unless I'm taking at least a week off. This leads to weekends like this past one, where we left Columbus at 6 p.m. on Friday and arrived at Nick's brother's doorstep in D.C. at 1 a.m. Hi! Hugs! Flop directly on top of the covers without changing clothes, mouthbreathing before my face even hits the pillow.

So I think we're going to be a little kinder to ourselves in the future in regards to travel timetables, but we still had a great weekend. My power pop nerd husband was in the Official Matthew Sweet Fan Club at age 11, and owned a hat that boasted as much. A few weeks ago, I saw that Matthew Sweet was touring playing the Girlfriend album start to finish in a city where we have family, I jumped on it as I hadn't yet thought of a birthday gift for the dude. Who am I kidding, I wanted to go, too. Who doesn't love infectious poppy commit suicide to?

The show was great, the company was killer, the weather was like standing inside of a dog's mouth in which the dog also lives in hell, but that's okay. A pair of Ohioans can swing humidity. Performing an album in order start to finish is a pretty generous act for the fans. I started thinking about the integrity of The Album and how we cherrypick songs these days rather than absorbing The Album as one complete work and what does that meeeaan?! Then I thought about an album like In the Aeroplane Over the Sea and how the tracks aren't even properly parceled out and what a delightful effect that is. I think if I could hear any album performed live start to finish it would be that one.

On the way home, we passed the most grisly highway accident I've ever had flash past me at 70 mph. No emergency vehicles were on scene yet, just a car rended clean in half, I swear, its contents launched so far in orbit I could clearly identify them as I zipped past the southbound accident site in the northbound lane. Blue Coleman cooler. Tube of sunblock. Sweatshirt. It was an unsurvivable scene. I felt sick.

This morning, I looked up the accident and learned that a northbound driver crossed the median and struck a southbound driver, killing him. I tried not to think about the unnecessary stop we'd made mere miles before we passed the accident. Tired of tracking our sandaled feet through fetid gas station bathrooms, Nick declared we were to pee at a Marriott off the highway in West Virginia and so we did. We grabbed snacks from the Kroger next door, lingering in the aisles for no reason, considering prices of produce as though we were actually going to buy groceries in the midst of a road trip.

And so today we are not roadkill, we are people with a sink full of dishes left from last week, zero clean bath towels, in an apartment without air conditioning. Just the two of us and our needy, fat cat. And thank the freaking stars.

1 comment:

  1. I had a recent road trip where I saw more accidents on this one 10 hour drive than I've seen in all of my years of driving (and I've seen quite a few). Many of them had happened split seconds before I drove by, and it was scary.

    I'm glad you're not roadkill.