i wake up to this and totally lose the will to live. i can endure the cold, i suppose, but now i will be playing janis ian’s “i learned the truth at seventeen” in my head all day. dammit.
this is our cabin. it’s just like camping except it has a keurig coffeemaker. because. coffee.
as we get in the car to leave, a pickup stops in front of us and begins to parallel park. a huge RV, apparently inconenienced by having to wait two minutes, blasts him with his train horn. how could you possibly be in such a hurry in such a holy place? we pull out and begin to drive. mo points out that the rv is now parked in the road for no reason. as we come up on him, i blast him with the horn. we laugh and laugh. then he honks back and begins to follow us. oh, well. it will be a nice place to die.
you can’t come here without remembering how totally insignificant we are. trump? peyton manning? academy award diversity? the horror of blue snow cones? the canyon doesn’t care. a thousand years from now, someone will be standing in this same spot, looking at this same hole in the ground, thinking the same thing. i hope we haven’t killed the planet by then. and i hope keith richards is still alive then.
mo has a longstanding feud with our pal jenster over the affection of smokey, her childhood boyfriend. despite jenster’s Big City Woman allure, i think smokey. still likes mo more. or he could just be a sucker for racing pinyatas.
a skier in a former life, mo stands at the edge and wonders how much a lift ticket costs. i fear for a moment i’ve lost her. then she yells I’M COLD!!!!!!!!!! and races for the car. crisis averted.
road tripping with an artist means an endless series of oil paintings strewn through the car. the aroma of oil paint in a warm car is like banana bread in the oven. mo says she doesn’t think it will kill us to inhale it for a week. we both know she’s just guessing. good way to die.
i’m sure it’s nothing personal.
let the record show that i ran today at buffalo park, and mr. rob krar was nowhere to be seen.