Big Ugly Man Doll

Operation Wedding:  1200 Miles in 5 Days
My cousin’s getting married in Chicago.  Game on.

So there we were, exiting the Waffle House in Frederick, Md.  Thus fortified, and for some of us thus horrified, we moved people and things into the rain and into the cars, and then moved things and people again, still in the rain, until we had a good sense that we’d reached an equilibrium.  This involved me, my sister, my father, and Number One Son in my father’s car, and the rest of the girls in SOBUMD’s minivan – with my mother driving, embracing her inner yuppie and indulging her need for speed.  We followed along in the Toyota Sienna-sized hole left where the rain wasn’t falling anymore as my mother created a tunnel of “not rain” while trying to see if it would really hit 130 miles per hour. 

In the back seat of Dad’s car, my sister was exchanging ideas with Number One Son, who having been fed was promptly medicated.  One of these ideas was “read a book,” whereupon he mentioned not having a book in this car.  She, of course, had a book in this car, in fact she had two to choose from – Neil Stephenson’s Snow Crash, and Christopher Moore’s Fool. 

If you’ve never read either, I can recommend both.  Are they “appropriate” for a 10-yr-old?  Probably not – this just became a “lesser of two evils” question.  Right, Snow Crash – it’ll hold his interest.  She handed it to him and we lost him for about 30 minutes until he started giggling.   “What do you think of the book?” 

“I like all the swear words!” 

My sister wondered about my choice, which I maintain is still better than letting him read “Fool.”  Snow Crash has conversational swearing.  Fool uses it as an art form.  Snow Crash is about computers and hacking; Fool is a game of Grand Theft Auto mashed up with Shakespeare at his pornographic best – medieval porn and gratuitous murder, yeah baby!  At least he’s reading.  Me, it’s email, email, email on the Blackberry – plus a great example of technology in action:  Dad mentioned he’d like to hear Pat Boone singing “The Old Rugged Cross” and in 90 seconds it’s coming off some YouTube hard drive in the ether, over an IP network, to a wireless network, down the airwaves to my Crackberry, and into sound in the car, with my Dad singing along – all at 75 miles an hour, in the driving rain.  I love technology!

We collectively decided that we liked Ohio better than Maryland and Pennsylvania, because it wasn’t raining in Ohio.  They have sun there.  Quite a relief.  We drove past Youngstown, got to Twinsburg, and headed for the hot tub.  After a dip, we retired to our rooms, I plugged in the McGuffin, er, Blackberry charger, and headed for the local restaurant.  (There’s only one.)   After some food at a table lit by the largest television screens known to man, we returned to the hotel.  As we retired to our rooms, I determined that there was Scotch in the lobby.  I bought one for SOBUMD, then let my dad know that there was Grandpa Juice available downstairs.  He allowed as how he knew that, he and my sister having acquired same before we left for dinner.  I mentioned the (low) price and was instructed in how the pros do it: “You gave them money?  I just said “Room 425” and we pressed on.” 

Clearly, I don’t stay at hotels often enough.  Eager to test this new lesson, I went back downstairs and got another glass of Grandpa Juice, this time charging it to Room 425, just like he said.  That I was in Room 423 was not really relevant. 

In the morning, we found something very much like breakfast, loaded everyone into the cars again, and pressed on. 

Next, miles 293-613 – Destination: That Toddling Town.

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