Good Morning, Good Morning

Alright, I arrive... In more ways than one, believe me. Over the days following our return, I have had little chance to reflect; life, it seems, is an unstoppable force, and no attempt on my part to stave it off for another moment proved successful. But yesterday, stumbling into the great room after another afternoon's fun with the delta lab, and was immediately accosted by images of our trip, my memories, posted life-size on the screen. Dimensions of the experience manifested themselves in the colors and forms playing across the screen, emotions unfelt washed over me, pouring out onto the floor. Everything connected and broke at the same time, I effectively re-experienced the entire journey, and man, was it a doozie. But, as they say, if it hurt, it was probably worth it. And it did hurt. Damn cockeyes. Anyway, I seem to shirking my responsibilities by droning on as I am...The five questions, I am reminded. Five questions concerning all the many facets of the trip. Righto.

Funniest moment: I have to say, there were a lot of them. Among my favorites, this one shines the brightest. Me, in shotgun, minding my own business, playing rise o' nations. Taima, driving and kvetching, as always. Robin and Russel hammering Bowie in the far back. Shane and Trevor, battling over punch buggies, cruiser bruisers, cockeyes and mustangs. Which would have been fine. If they hadn't been battling for the chance to hit me the hardest. So there I was, eyes glued to a screen, somewhere in "who the hell gives a flying crap" North Carolina, getting punched every three seconds... cause if you think about it, between all of the different cars in the games, there are very few that you can't get punched for. Every three seconds, Shane or Trevor digging their knuckles into my bicep. It started to wear on me. Quickly. But, I am a level minded man, it takes a little more than a couple of pansy punches to break me. But then, it happened. For some reason, maybe there was a special car of some sort, maybe Russel egged them on, I don't know, all I know is I was playing and happy one moment, and the next moment Trevor and Shane hit me with a super double mega-zord punch, pounding the living crap out of my already tender arm. I paused, reflecting. I put the laptop down, sighing. I slipped into the far corner of the front of the car. I settled my nerves and prepared for the battle. I faced my prey. Time slowed. They laughed, long, distorted laughs drawn out by my slowed perception. I bared my teeth. Time hummed. The air was still. I pounced. Their eyes dilated in fear, mouths drawing open in shock. The dank air of the van passed whistling by my ears, singing softly valkyries songs of victory. I made contact. So, upon reflection, it all worked out like those looney tunes fights, a big ball of dust with fists and legs and heads poking out. Taima seems to remember getting kicked in the head, by I'm not going to stake any claims about that. The only thing that mattered was my prey. They got what they deserved. Damn straight.

Most Beautiful: On the way down, we took a detour off the main road to find Zoe Ladner's college, a little highway that wound through a national park. There, i saw the mountains of my dreams, tall and broken peaked, shattered bones thrust from the tree laden flesh of the berggiests they call the smokies. The trees were a scattered water color of pale blooms and new buds, the greens and whites and soft lavender of the Carolina spring. The stones were a shining silver robed in white, marble, granite, alabaster, it seemed to me. And about their feet slid the quiet serpent songs of rivers running clear and cold. Beautiful.

Most annoying: I don't feel right talking about any one point. I mean, if I still felt annoyed, believe me, you'd hear about it, but right now, I'm at peace with everyone involved. But hey, we were all damn annoying. Just to be fair.

Best food: No contest. Barb and Bob's the gumbomancers. No f***ing contest. Excuse me. I sneezed. Good Gumbo.

Best song: On the way home, we made the choice to drive all night, a midnight run for New York. And, as it turned out, I was the choice for the graveyard shift, eleven to five. Most of it was fine, Shane rocking shotgun and navvie, The cool night rushing by at ninety miles an hour, there were some points that were harder than others, Taima getting us lost, stuff like that, bu all in all in went smoothly. Until about three. At that point my reserves were running low, fatigue dripping in from the edges of my sight. To combat it, I turned on the Cd player. I don't know what it's called, it was on one of Russel's mixes, (it was the excellent Cornershop singing 'Brimful of Aisha', Rusty) supposedly it was about some womans bust, but I loved it, and it kept me up for almost two more hours. I was sitting there, bouncing up and down in the drivers seat, chanting "everyone needs a bosom for a pillow" at the top of my lungs. It was great. Then, at about five, the signs turned into melting hands and little blue fairies started chasing the car. I thought it better to pull over. But for those glorious moments, that song rocked my socks. Sweet.

Willow Thorneater out...