Moving
A Blog Post in Two Parts

II
Moving Out

I woke up this morning to the rhythmic drone sound of my alarm clock, with no memory of why I set it in the first place. Rolling over, I dimly recognized the old issue of Wired I had been reading before I went to sleep the night before, though I had no memory of what I had read. Thinking back on this, a reverse montage of the previous day zipped through my mind, and I remembered why I had to wake up early again. Michael was moving home for the summer.

I wasn't quite as energetic this morning as yesterday, so I was a little sluggish getting ready. I would be driving one of two cars today, as that was what it took to move Michael in last fall. Technically. To be more specific, one of those cars was a Sea Wolf-class size Mercedes with a trunk large enough to support it's own weather patterns. This car is no longer with us, so two separate vehicles were necessary.

After loading up on music for the trip, I prepared to follow Dad in his GPS-equipped car. The trip isn't that difficult, I think there are something like eight turns to make over the course of two hundred country miles from Fort Wayne to the Kenyon sign.

"Follow me, I'll try not to go too fast," assured Dad, standing by his German-engineered Volvo. Bear in mind that he finds it relaxing to watch grown men go tear-assing down drag strips on TV, and bear in mind that he is on a first-name basis with most of the Lingenfelter shop crew.

Incredulous, I responded "If I'm behind you, I'm the one who gets pulled over."

Pause. "Oh yeah."

We hit the road, and I settled in for yet another drive through the land before Time/Warner. Three things make this worthwhile for me. First and foremost, I get to see Michael again, so I'll have someone to get my jokes and to tell me all kinds of obscure facts about things nobody else knows. Second, the Gambier Deli serves an amazing toasted onion bagel with cheese and red pepper open face sandwich that I can't get enough of. Seriously- sitting in that little deli is, to me, as great or better than the time I sat in the St. Mark's Cathedral plaza in Venice eating lemon gelato. Third, the ride includes a couple of landmarks worth noting.

The first point of interest is the giant statue of Uncle Sam that advertises fireworks just across the Ohio border. I've seen photographic evidence that if you stand at his feet and look up, he looks down at you menacingly and his left hand gives the finger. It's all in the perspective. The second comes much later when the road suddenly narrows down to one lane and all cars are forced onto an offramp. A sign directs highway travelers left across a bridge where, if you look to the right, there is no road coming out the other side. Road, then... trees. I've come to refer to this as the End of the World. The highway continues a little while later at an intersection with a little bar on the corner near the End. It isn't the restaurant at the End of the Universe, but it's the thought that counts.

So, in between landmarks and turns, I was left to listen to music and try to keep up with Dad. I've made the drive solo several times, but this was the first time I came close to doing it in twelve parsecs. Darn close. My speedometer needle went up and leaned to the right more often that the Wall Street Journal editorial page. All the while, stories of the Ohio Highway Patrol echoed in my mind. "They don't cut anybody a break." "Maximum fine every time." That, and reassuring myself that passing a tall semi truck on the inside of a turn was safe enough because if the truck tipped over it would fall away from me. I don't usually speed, and I've had a dull gnawing worry that now that I've been accepted to grad school I'm going to blow up in some spectacular and ironic car crash. By the way, I should also mention that I spend most of the drive coming up with clever metaphors for going fast, but most of them were terrible, so I'll spare you all.

When we stopped for food at a gas station, Dad told me that there was one turn that he didn't remember that well, so if we took the wrong one, flash my headlights. We got back on the road and he suddenly turned off at the very next offramp, a good deal before the one I take as prescribed by Mapquest. I flashed my lights frantically and fumbled with the cell phone trying to dial his number. We pulled over and he told me that his GPS had told him to turn, and that we'd still end up on the same highway to go south. It made sense to me. The problem was that, many miles later, the GPS instructed us to take a ramp that was closed for construction.

Gps: "Turn here... Turn here... Come, brave Odysseus, and crash your ship into these rocks so that we may eat you and your crew... Turn here... Turn here..."

Remember when Obi-Wan Kenobi tells Luke to switch off his targeting computer and go with his instincts in the Force? Remember how that worked out? When in doubt, trust the Trilogy.

After a detour through the pleasant town of Ontario and a turn onto the highway we wanted in the first place. I listened to the Doors Greatest Hits and he Smashing Pumpkins Adore, which are great because they put me at ease for an otherwise tedious drive.

We came upon Kenyon College at last, and made our way up the hill to the campus and onto one of my favorite streets in the world. An idyllic little brick building and tree lined road with sidewalks. And women. ("Women sir?" "Aye." "Pretty women.") Confident, well-read, cultured women as far as the eye can see. The kind of young women for whom the line "what's your favorite Nick Adams Story?" would work. In my mind, anyway. I can't actually try this, as I always smell like a three hour car ride.

We parked and met Michael as he was coming out of his room. His hair looks longer, and his stride indicates an end-of-semester fatigue, though he smiles the same as always. I already described the bagel at the deli, and it was every bit as good as I expected. Michael informed Dad and I that he will be learning Anglo-Saxon next year, and I think we both had the same confused expression on our faces.

His dorm room is surprisingly clean and his things are ready to be carried to the cars. Laundry, books, computer, and issues of the Collegian that he has input in all get crammed into trunks and back seats. One item gets special treatment, though. I place a small lamp with three monkeys carefully behind the front seat to protect it and all of it's inherent coolness. In the process of carrying a defunct (stress the FUNK) refrigerator to the trash pile, I got to meet Michael's room mate for next year. He seems nice, the poor soul. We bade a manly farewell to Jay the RA and drove to the bookstore. Courtesy of Michael's seemingly bottomless account, we loaded up on goodies. I got a cool punk rock magazine, Dad found a sweatshirt for Mom (she will wear it in this weather, just watch), and Michael bought a CD by one of the campus vocal ensembles.

Departing Gambier, Michael and I always speak back and forth in excited bits of sentences until the outskirts of the small town of Mount Vernon, where he promptly falls asleep. I listen to noisy punk music and psyche myself up for the distance to the gas station stop when I can get a Frappuccino for the rest of the way home. We passed through a torrential rain storm; a squall so fierce that Dad slowed down to the speed limit. Michael slept through most of this, until I swore and narrowly avoided a semi in the right lane swerving to avoid a truck by the side of the road. Thankfully, I've played Starfox 64 enough to escape these tight situations.

We arrived home to a vegetarian chili dinner and two manic dogs, happy to see Michael in particular.

I got a message that Todd had called, so I went over to his apartment to watch The Last Samurai with a bunch of other people. It was cool, but not as much as Kurosawa's work. Todd also showed me his new G4 iBook and worked on loading it with all sorts of goodies. James lives there now too, and we all played with his GI Joes and laughed our twenty-ish arses off. These are the things I really miss about college: sporadic GI Joe fun and listening to Todd talk as he installs software.

All in all, this has been a great couple of days. I think I'll go collapse.