Well, not exactly “on the road.” More like, “on the other side of the office again.” My desk has been re-moved back to where I was this summer. No more watching the sun set out the window, or listening to the mysterious other guys in the corner butt heads about obscure things.
I do wish I was on the road, though. Walking Tucker this morning, in the relative heat of an unseasonably warm January, I caught a whiff of something indefinable that made me think of London. It actually made my heart pull a little. I gotta get out of town, dude. And not to New York, or DC, or Rochester, or Vermont, which are the only other places I ever go lately. I mean like the fuck off the East Coast. Smell some different air. Realign my perspective.
Last night after seeing a show, I stopped in for a pizza slice. While I was eating, I overheard one of the most inane conversations I’ve ever been privy to. This guy and a girl, apparently on a date, discussing…condiments. Seriously. It’d be a full minute on ketchup, two minutes on mustard, and just when I think they’re done, the guy’s like, “So what do you think of mayonnaise?”
Then it hit me: this is why I hate going on dates! Because they’re inane and awful! Absurd little mating dances where nobody learns anything real about the other person, and you come across as the lamest possible version of yourself. Still, I can’t think of a better solution.
Inquiring Cookie Monsters want to know.