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After re-evaluating the material and supplies necessary to accomplish this mission, it became obvious that my detention at PDX would be long and grueling. I would likely be forced to give up the absinthe, cubans and throwing stars, and that was just from the cavity search. This would jeopardize the mission. Luckily I had checked the board. The guys had a few good ideas on hydration and weapons but execution required an overland route. I would have to drive to Nevada by myself in less than a day and half, which is about as stupid as it sounds. Some of the guys suggested an array of OTC pharmaceuticals and naturally occuring psychedelics, but I am pretty whacked without that stuff. Plus I wasn't going to commit fungicide like some other people I know.
Oregon is a weird place. I mean why does just about everyone have a replica of a yellow toilet seat in their rear window. I don't know but it was enough to convince me to push the pedal to the floor and max the volume on "Dueling Banjos" as a sort of a defensive shield stopping for gas, caffeine and pork rinds only at well-lit truck stops.
I had a sweet rental car with satellite radio. Unfortunately the damn radio was stuck on show tunes and Broadway musicals. What sort of cruel joke is this? I usually sing songs from the first two Eagles albums on trips like this, so excuse me if I'm not hopped up to sing "Memories" from Cats. This is something Frank would like. But it sure wasn't my thing.
The radio problems might have been caused by the tequila I spilled on the radio. It made sense to dry it out. So being a responsible driver, I pulled to the side of the road to get out the little propane torch I use to carmelize the topping for creme brulee [more of Frank's French influence]. But the flame jet was a little intense and the mini-torch melted the plastic buttons and left a big scorch on the screen. Jesus H. Is this how its going to be? I'm on a big mission and all I've got is show tunes?
But as I was grabbing a bottle of Tanqueray to rinse out my mouth, I recognized the Song, a song that I remember hearing as a child in the 60s, a song that was always sung on the Jerry Lewis Telethon.
To dream ... the impossible dream ...
To fight ... the unbeatable foe ...
To bear ... with unbearable sorrow ...
To run ... where the brave dare not go ...
Hey, this was sounding pretty good.
To right ... the unrightable wrong ...
To love ... pure and chaste from afar ...
Well, forget the pure and chaste part. Quaint.
To try ... when your arms are too weary ...
To reach ... the unreachable star ...
I was bawling like a Gonzaga girl in front of an empty turkey platter. Still I managed to belt out the words.
This is my quest, to follow that star ...
No matter how hopeless, no matter how far ...
To fight for the right, without question or pause ...
To be willing to march into Hell, for a Heavenly cause ...
Then Hell it would be. For all of us.
I gripped the wheel and the car surged ahead through the dark.
Bowser
Oregon is a weird place. I mean why does just about everyone have a replica of a yellow toilet seat in their rear window. I don't know but it was enough to convince me to push the pedal to the floor and max the volume on "Dueling Banjos" as a sort of a defensive shield stopping for gas, caffeine and pork rinds only at well-lit truck stops.
I had a sweet rental car with satellite radio. Unfortunately the damn radio was stuck on show tunes and Broadway musicals. What sort of cruel joke is this? I usually sing songs from the first two Eagles albums on trips like this, so excuse me if I'm not hopped up to sing "Memories" from Cats. This is something Frank would like. But it sure wasn't my thing.
The radio problems might have been caused by the tequila I spilled on the radio. It made sense to dry it out. So being a responsible driver, I pulled to the side of the road to get out the little propane torch I use to carmelize the topping for creme brulee [more of Frank's French influence]. But the flame jet was a little intense and the mini-torch melted the plastic buttons and left a big scorch on the screen. Jesus H. Is this how its going to be? I'm on a big mission and all I've got is show tunes?
But as I was grabbing a bottle of Tanqueray to rinse out my mouth, I recognized the Song, a song that I remember hearing as a child in the 60s, a song that was always sung on the Jerry Lewis Telethon.
To dream ... the impossible dream ...
To fight ... the unbeatable foe ...
To bear ... with unbearable sorrow ...
To run ... where the brave dare not go ...
Hey, this was sounding pretty good.
To right ... the unrightable wrong ...
To love ... pure and chaste from afar ...
Well, forget the pure and chaste part. Quaint.
To try ... when your arms are too weary ...
To reach ... the unreachable star ...
I was bawling like a Gonzaga girl in front of an empty turkey platter. Still I managed to belt out the words.
This is my quest, to follow that star ...
No matter how hopeless, no matter how far ...
To fight for the right, without question or pause ...
To be willing to march into Hell, for a Heavenly cause ...
Then Hell it would be. For all of us.
I gripped the wheel and the car surged ahead through the dark.
Bowser
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