A Road Trip Later

Finals were over, and I had smelled the spicy scent of freedom in the air, like the chili you know you will not be able to handle but still enjoy smelling regardless. Sure, I had started a Restaurant City account (more on that tragedy later). Sure, I was still at school days after my last final. Sure, I had only a week before summer school started and grades would (unfortunately) be out. Yeah, I had failed a final or two, but at the very, very least, I was finished with the semester.

I hung around Pacific for a day or two before taking the last of my stuff home on the immediate Sunday following my Friday final. On Thursday after everyone's last final, I planned to drive up to Canada with my good friend Sean (not Eric). But for a few days at least, I was free, free at last. (Actually, I ended up writing an essay or two before Wednesday, but it was still awesome the lack of responsibility.)

I think I overuse parentheses.

Thursday morning rolled around. My week was finally over. Seven straight sunrises I had seen and gleaned, and I knew Wednesday night had to change. So Thursday morning rolled around, finding me woken up at 7:45AM simply by the sheer excitement of leaving Stockton, officially ending the months of existence that I thought akin to prison but must concede to label "school."

Oh, I know why the caged bird sings, alright.

Yes, I just compared the life of the average college student to the plight of pre-Civil Rights Era blacks. I am indeed a Renaissance man.

We dropped Eric off at Sacramento Airport, about an hour north of Stockton. I was forced into the cubbyhole backseat, not unlike the ones my father used to describe to me when he was escaping the warfare in Vietnam.

Yes, I just compared sitting in the a cramped back seat to the struggles of Vietnamese refugees escaping a war-torn country, harrowingly haunted by the napalm and smell of burning flesh that followed them until they left in the barren waters that still held no promises.

But Eric left, and gave me a hug. I say this because his goddamn cologne (perfume) stuck on my collar for about 10 hours. It's like he never left at all.

As Sean and I drove past Truckee, we noticed the Sierra Nevada hills, and we agreed that a camera would have been nice. Man, those hills scream vista and beauty.

We stopped at Reno for lunch, at a place called the "Wild River Grille." According to Sean, they had the best bread, at least for a (turkey) burger. I had a salmon wrap that was superb. We continued to trek across the Nevada desert, rarely stopping and using smallish towns as milestones to mark our travel. In the process, we came to the conclusion that Sean's car should be named Jenna. It has something to do with Moses. Ask me if you're really curious.

We also started calling each other S-Man and A-Dawg. It had something to do with the town of Elko, NV ("The Heart of Northeast Nevada"). The website says to "take a moment to explore the "City" of Elko and all it has to offer!" because it really only takes a moment to explore all Elko has to offer.

But take it from S-Man and A-Dawg. That moment may be one of the greatest moments you'll ever have while exploring. Elko has loads to offer. Like the Fire Science Academy. And Metro Gasoline...

Both were lame. One was defunct and decrepit.

In Elko, we had a chat about whether to take a different route or not. It would be about the same distance as the previous one, but would cut through Utah, which I wanted to do, just to say we went through Utah. However, we agreed to stay on course and just take the original route to be safe.

Instead we missed the exits to both routes and ended up in Utah regardless of our intentions. West Wendover, NV-UT was our destination, to be precise.

We only crossed the border of Utah for about 50 yards, but we stopped at a gas station 50 yards in Utah, realizing that Utah was definitely NOT a part of our road plans. Sean got an apple and a coffee, and I bought a hot dog.

As we drove back into Nevada (which took about a minute since we were so close to the NV-UT border), we both agreed: Utah has the best apples, coffees and hot dogs. Damn that hot dog was good. I got one in Idaho, and it wasn't even CLOSE to the quality of dog I experienced in Utah.

Anyways, we drove up to Idaho and believe me you, Idaho is by far the WORST state. It's so bland and boring.

I swear, when we got to Montana, everything was just so much better. I recommend that everyone experience a Montana sunrise. Since it was so early, few cars were on the road. Thus, I was "allowed" to go 100-115 on the highway uncontested. Those damn mountains were so goddamn beautiful I have to swear to describe them.

Actually, Sean described them best when he said that Canadian mountains were better.

Said Sean, "These snow-capped mountains look like they're wearing a yarmulke while the Canadian mountains are wearing KKK hoods."

True dat.



vs.




When we were driving in Montana, a tantalizing 60 miles south of the border (it's weird from that perspective, isn't it?), Sean was pulled over for going 90 miles on a 75mph stretch. The fine was $40, which had to be paid right there. The cop was nice, but he would have been nicer if he let us go. So close. I actually thought it would be a good revenge idea to go outside and take a dump in the grass while the cop was looking up the information. Sean was against it.

Anyways, we stopped by Helena, Montana for some breakfast. By breakfast I mean Sean and I both had burgers. Eric called shortly thereafter, as he does twice daily to see how Sean is doing, and when I told him we were in Montana, well, it was funny.

"Where are you guys right now?" Eric asked through the reception-seeking phone.
"We're in Helena," I replied. I fielded a look from Sean, shaking his head.
There was a silence in the car magnified to me by the silence on the phone.
"...Is that in North Dakota or South Dakota?" Eric asked hesitantly.

I laughed, but Sean said he didn't know it either. He said he doubted most people knew...which makes me the abnormal one.

Dammit. Talk about story of my life.

I'll have more to come later!

Birthday Blog

I guess now is as good a time to blog as any other. I've been watching movies again lately. For some reason, I've been gravitating toward animated films. I recently saw the Hayao Miyazaki classics, Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind (1984) and Castle in the Sky(1986). I also watched The Girl Who Leapt Through Time (2006) and Bolt (2008). They were all good. I particularly enjoyed Nausicaa and The Girl Who Leapt Through Time for some reason. I didn't think the others were as good, but were still enjoyable. I might do reviews later. Anyways,

I'll start with last week. My father came to visit me in Stockton last Thursday. I had just woken up to his abrupt phone call.

"Andrew, I'm here."
Groggily, I replied, "K. Dad. Lemme get ready." Click.

I gathered my books and whatnot and joined him in the passenger seat of his pedophile/kidnapper white Nissan Quest van. My brother and I had merrily placed a "Mystery Spot" bumper sticker years ago on the back bumper so as to avoid the inevitable stares of passers-by who might find the van shady. Needless to say, the yellow sticker only made the van creepier.

But the creepiness wasn't new to me, as I walked down the stairs of my residence hall into the passenger seat of my dad's van. At this point, I was so tired that I delayed putting on the seatbelt. I just sat there lazily, body as exhausted as I usually feel when woken prematurely.

We got onto the street without any trouble, my seatbelt still unbuckled, and, talking sparsely as only father and son could, we continued driving. We came up to a stop sign and saw a police car parked, seemingly looking for stop sign-violators. My dad commented uneventfully, "Doesn't it seem like the police are everywhere?"

Before I could come up with a cynical I'm-tired-dad retort, I heard the saddening siren of a police car. I put on my seatbelt. I knew what was coming. We pulled over.

"I pulled you over," the police said callously, "because he wasn't wearing a seatbelt." He pointed to me.

"It's National Click-it-orTicket Week, so we are told to look out especially for seatbelt violations. How old are you, son?" the law enforcer asked.
"Eighteen," was my weak, and notably only possible, reply.
"I'll be right back."

I swear the whole time my dad was smiling as if he wanted to seduce the policeman out of a ticket. I myself am guilty of trying to laugh off the ticket. He came back.

"Sorry, officer," I said. "I'm still in college. You know how irresponsible I can be."
He laughed. "That is true. Let me see your license." I gave it to him.

I thought it was money in the bank at this point. Surely, he saw I was charming and couldn't possibly give me a ticket now. Still, a few more jokes wouldn't hurt.

"What's your address, Andrew?"
"My home address or my school address? Well, I can't really call it home since my parents kicked me out a long time ago. You can see why," I said, pointing to the seat belt.
He laughed really hard this time.
"Yep, those things are mighty inconvenient. I'll just use the address on your license."


And then I got a ticket.