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So, yesterday, while heading south on the New York Thruway (or Throughway, or however they spell it,) I started feeling a little sleepy. And then I see the sign for the next exit: RIP VAN WINKLE BR and that explained a lot.
Then I started paying attention to signs (after consuming a highly caffeinated beverage,) and I started wondering the kind of things you start to wonder 170 miles into a 330 mile solo road trip. Like CATSKILL CREEK. Did they kill a lot of cats? Did a roving pride of cats kill a lot of something else? Or do they have one of those vocational schools that teach you things like how to land on your feet, eat small rodents like ding-dongs, and have a complete focus on something while feigning total disinterest?
The last was really ruled out as a valid interpretation when I went across the WALLKILL, but that still leaves you with violence against or perpetrated by walls.
Of course, if you really wanted to go out on a limb, you could think of the Dutch influence in the area, and you could propose that "kill" is just Dutch for "creek," but that would be silly, because than the state would have signs that read, in translation, "CATS CREEK CREEK." That's almost as absurd as if somebody called their chai "Chai Tea" which translates to "Tea Tea." Silly, silly, silly. Preposterous, even.
Anyway, I'm home, and my mind may or may not be intact. I did go around a corner near Springfield, MA and could suddenly hear out of my left ear. Still stuffed, though, so it's nowhere near 100% normal.
I stocked my cd collection with the ones I inherited from my dad - almost doubling the classical section - and as I'm putting them on the shelf I think to myself: "Wow, dad will really be impressed with this collection when he comes down next time. I bet there's a lot here he'd like to listen to." I suppose it would make a good "People Unclear on the Concept" cartoon (Mr. Boffo, I think?)
One of the discs is a two-cd set of Dvorak's symphonic poems - all folklore and faerie tales - that I bought about 12-15 years ago. My dad didn't discover I had it until I had moved down to PA, and he really liked it, always wanting to listen to it, so I gave it to him for a birthday or Christmas 7-9 years ago, and he was thrilled. We joked about me getting it back as part of my inheritance, so it was really more of a loan. Wasn't supposed to get it back so soon.
In other news, Justin decided to break his own nose, smacking himself right in the safety glasses with a crowbar. He's got two or three bloody marks, and it's starting to swell.
Then I started paying attention to signs (after consuming a highly caffeinated beverage,) and I started wondering the kind of things you start to wonder 170 miles into a 330 mile solo road trip. Like CATSKILL CREEK. Did they kill a lot of cats? Did a roving pride of cats kill a lot of something else? Or do they have one of those vocational schools that teach you things like how to land on your feet, eat small rodents like ding-dongs, and have a complete focus on something while feigning total disinterest?
The last was really ruled out as a valid interpretation when I went across the WALLKILL, but that still leaves you with violence against or perpetrated by walls.
Of course, if you really wanted to go out on a limb, you could think of the Dutch influence in the area, and you could propose that "kill" is just Dutch for "creek," but that would be silly, because than the state would have signs that read, in translation, "CATS CREEK CREEK." That's almost as absurd as if somebody called their chai "Chai Tea" which translates to "Tea Tea." Silly, silly, silly. Preposterous, even.
Anyway, I'm home, and my mind may or may not be intact. I did go around a corner near Springfield, MA and could suddenly hear out of my left ear. Still stuffed, though, so it's nowhere near 100% normal.
I stocked my cd collection with the ones I inherited from my dad - almost doubling the classical section - and as I'm putting them on the shelf I think to myself: "Wow, dad will really be impressed with this collection when he comes down next time. I bet there's a lot here he'd like to listen to." I suppose it would make a good "People Unclear on the Concept" cartoon (Mr. Boffo, I think?)
One of the discs is a two-cd set of Dvorak's symphonic poems - all folklore and faerie tales - that I bought about 12-15 years ago. My dad didn't discover I had it until I had moved down to PA, and he really liked it, always wanting to listen to it, so I gave it to him for a birthday or Christmas 7-9 years ago, and he was thrilled. We joked about me getting it back as part of my inheritance, so it was really more of a loan. Wasn't supposed to get it back so soon.
In other news, Justin decided to break his own nose, smacking himself right in the safety glasses with a crowbar. He's got two or three bloody marks, and it's starting to swell.
