Well, I’m off to Chicago. By minivan. Please hold all comments/outbursts/projectiles until after the speaker has finished.
Yes…12-15 hours (depending on which mapping program/amateur cartographer one consults) straight. Just a few months ago, I was thinking how I’ve never really taken a TRIP. You know…just dug in, gassed up the vessel, SoBe ADRENE-RUSH in hand (far superior to the comparatively vitamin-deficient RED BULL)…
Well, the call went out. It’s the last hour before I’m off to the asphalt sea. I had a night of excited restlessness…a seemingly dreamless state of semi-lucid miasma. I’m not sure how that bodes for this evening’s drive, but, hopefully, I can drive right through ‘till dawn in Illinois. To leave in the dark in one state and arrive in the light in another…like a slow motion blink while traveling at the speed of sound.
It helps to romanticize about it. So far, I like the Pirate analogy. Sure, these waters are well charted, and most of the mysteries have been discovered, debunked and documented, but I haven’t seen them. Maybe they’re all jaded…maybe the beauty of Pennsylvania is so intense, the travelogue authors held back intentionally, making it seem like a painfully dreary, unadorned landscape. One man’s hectare of grain is another man’s panoramic view of Eden, right?
Regardless, I’m bringing my camera.
As I was packing and finishing up loose ends (via e-mail…it’s more exciting to me if I pretend I’m going somewhere technologically retarded), I got another “the call”. It seems the producer that was heretofore brushing us off finally got a hold of my agent. He actually read the scripts. He loves them…ALL of them. He wants the completed scripts within the next week to bring to his partners for possible production.
Like a pirate on a spaceship, I now feel strangely out of place…
Avast…