50,000 Monkeys at 50,000 Typewriters Can't Be Wrong
On Thursday, I’ll be at the OSCon up in Portland. I’ll be mostly running around, getting my geek on, but I’m also dong a couple of organized book signing events.
At both events, they’re letting me read from Dancing Barefoot, and I’ll be signing copies when I’m finished.
When people come up to me at a convention, they are usually approaching TVSWILWHEATON(I hate that guy), but Mrs. Wheaton’s Husband is usually who they meet. This is because TVSWILWHEATON(I hate that guy) just doesn’t exist any more, as far as I am concerned. He flew off to some other dimension last year.
(aside: My life is so much better since I saw the difference between TVSWILWHEATON(I hate that guy) and me. It seems so elementary to me now, but it took years for me to understand it — and it never would have happened without this website. I am so much happier, and so much more content and secure than I was just two years ago.)
While I was at the convention, I was able to do what I do with this website –introduce people who were hoping to meet TVSWILWHEATON(I hate that guy) to Mrs. Wheaton’s Husband (who’s not such a bad guy after all.) — on a much more personal, direct, and intimate level . . . and it was awesome. Many people commented to me about the difference between Mrs. Wheaton’s Husband, and a certain Big Time Guest who told people (who had paid something like 70 bucks for the opportunity to take a photo with him) “Don’t talk to me,” so he could race through the huge line and take their money with a minimum of unpleasant interaction — what a jerk.
There was a time about 10 or so years ago, when I was the jerk. Big time. So I left this convention feeling really happy. I think I gave people their money’s worth, and had too many awesome conversations, and met too many awesome people to count.
The convention was fun, to be sure, and I can’t wait to go back next year . . . but it was part of an even greater road trip. The road trip there and back is on par with my wedding, or the SpongeBob Vega$ Pants trip, in terms of times-never-to-be-forgotten.
While we were driving East, Anne and I stopped every time something struck us as interesting. We spent 4 days solid together, often separated by little more than an arm rest. We talked about our marriage, the kids, the nightmare their father is putting us all through, and our plans for the near future. We read to each other, sang songs together, took turns napping . . . we were just two people in love, experiencing the open road together. I remember a friend of mine telling me that the long drives he spent with his wife between New York and Florida made all the difference in their relationship. I totally understand what he meant, now.
The drive West was great (and is mostly audioblogged) but it passed far too quickly. I wish we’d had another day, so we could have taken our time, and explored more of Route 66. We’ll take the trip again, this time with the kids who I really, REALLY miss right now. They were supposed to come home today, but now won’t be back for another week. (see: nightmare, above)
Normally, when I take a trip, I can’t wait to get home. After just a few days, I long for the familiarity of my own bedroom and house. I miss the songbirds who sing just outside my window all night long, and the comforting hum of fans in every room. I miss my dogs, and I miss my chair.
This time, when Anne and I turned the final page on our TripTik, I felt sad. I felt sad that our road trip — our Route 66 Adventure — was over. I felt sad that we had to return to all the frustrations and injustices of our regular, everyday life. When we pulled into our driveway, I thought I may cry. I wish our trip could have lasted all summer.
If you’ve got someone in your life who you adore, you simply must spend 2000 miles with them. You’ll be glad you did.
Trust me. I know what I’m talking about.
I really like The Grateful Dead. American Beauty is easily one of my desert island discs, with Aoxomoxoa narrowly missing the cut (only one record is allowed from each band, unfortunately. You should see the dilemma this has created with Zeppelin.)
I especially love to listen to them live, though I’ve never wanted to actually attend a show (I don’t do well in crowds. Especially mostly-high crowds.) Regardless, I love the Grateful Dead, and their music has often taken the edge off of some othwerwise lousy days over the years.
I’ve been listening to a live recording of The Dead that was made at Bonnaroo in June . . . and it’s really amazing. I could listen to this 28 minutes of Dark Star-China Doll-Dark Star for days.
It got me thinking: the only live recording I have of The Grateful Dead is the commercially-available “Europe ’72” (and I can only find CD 2 from that release) and I am hungering for more.
I know that they’ve encouraged fans to trade live recordings and spread the music since the 60s, so I looked online for an archive . . . but I couldn’t find anything that didn’t time out.
That got me thinking (I’m writing today, so I’m thinking a lot . . . dangerous stuff, this thinking): I bet, somewhere out in Internetland, there must be a WWdN reader who has some live Grateful Dead recordings that they’d be willing to share. I’ll totally pay for the shipping and the costs of CDs, if anyone wants to hook me up. Any takers?
Back to work. Final thoughts on the road trip later today (pictures — nearly 500 of them — won’t be available for a few days). I need to finish the CruiseBlog, too.
2800 miles later, we are home.
And I am scheduled to talk about my trip on BBC Radio 5 in about 4 minutes!
Tune in, if you catch this in time.
UPDATE: Crap.I put the wrong URL here. That’s what I get for trying to race through it in 3 minutes. I’ll put up an archive feed if I can find it.
Stupid computers.
I love this road trip! Anne and I have been taking our time, exploring small towns (abandoned and otherwise) all along the way. XM radio has provided a wonderful soundtrack, (it’s all about Fred and Ethel, the classic rock station, and the 60s . . . but I will admit that we turned on classic country when we drove into Texas. It seemed appropriate at the time.
Is anyone listening to the audio blog? It’s fun for me, but I haven’t found my “voice” yet. It will get better, though. I thought it may be cool to take my phone on stage at the Trek convention, and have the audience shout something out. Something like, “The Trogdor comes in the night!”
I just love spending all this time with my wife, too. It takes a very specific type of chemistry to sit next to each other in a car for 8 hours a day, and I’m proud to report that our marriage is safely intact. 🙂
Couple of things I forgot to mention in the audblog:
When we stopped in Williams, we ate dinner in a hotel restaurant, where our waiter was:
1. Left-handed
2. From California
3. Named “Wil” and spelled with JUST ONE L!!
Those of you who are official stalkers will know that I fit all three of those criteria. He had a beard, so I decided that he is The Evil Twin.
Somewhere before Williams, Anne said, “What does this button on the mirror do?” as she pushed it. The radio fell silent, and a voice said, “Connecting to On*Star . . .” (I swear, you could hear the asterisk in the computerized voice)
We both looked at each other, sort of shocked, and I said, “It’s a rental car. there is no way the On*Star (again, I made sure to pronounce the asterisk) is going to be turned on.”
“Why are you pronouncing the asterisk?” Anne asked.
Before I could reply, a soft and friendly voice came out of our speakers. It said, “Welcome to OnStar (no asterisk, this time . . . weird). How are things out there in Arizona?”
It was like the teacher came into the classroom, and caught me setting my desk on fire. And I wasn’t wearing any pants. And the other kids were all tied up with electrical tape.
“Oh, uh . . . it’s fine!” we said.
“What can I help you with tonight?”
“Well, here’s the deal: this is a rental car, and we’re just fooling around with the buttons . . . so . . . how are you?”
She laughed, and we talked about stupid stuff for a few minutes. I thought it was really cool, despite my inner privacy-zealot screaming at me “THEY KNOW WHERE YOU ARE!! THEY KNOW YOU’RE DRIVING TEN MILES OVER THE LIMIT!! THEY KNOW YOU PRONOUNCE THE ASTERISK WITHOUT KNOWING WHY!!!11”
We told her we were heading into Williams, and she told us to have a nice drive.
Which we did.