Post by ndavis021410 on Oct 25, 2006 0:12:50 GMT -5
Coasting Across America
Current mood: crazy
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural
And now, here's the man that always tries to find a new blogging state of mind....... HEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRREEEEEE'''SS MARTY! (Picture me running out and doing the Johnny Carson golf swing and taking my spot on the X).
So everyone, how ya doin? Sit back and kick yer heels up, grab your variety of confections big gulp (I like Mr. Pibb with a little orange Crush) and settle into my latest installment of self satisfaction......BLOG II <------ Those are roman numerals that mean the number 2.
I'm in the middle of a cross country drive taking me from Los Angeles, California to Chicago, Illinois. The idea struck me that it would be good to have my car in Chicago for the winter. Sounds good right? Get my Honda there just in time for the snow drifts, salt sprays and icy conditions. I know my car is a compact but in my mind I view it more like a mini-Hummer. Ya know why. Cause when I was on the show and they announced that we won a car the crowd went crazy with the hand clapping and the shouting and I thought they said Hummer, not Honda. So instantaniously the image of a big ass Hummer was burndt into my brain. Still to this day, when I look at my car I see a big Hummer. I actually lift my leg up real high when I go to step into the car and then I have to bend down real low and crawl in. I'm not gonna bitch about a free car, BUT, when you think of Rockstar car what do you picture? Hmmm. Like I said... I won't bitch.
So I jump in my car and hit the road. The first few hours are great. No traffic, the weather is perfect for driving, I got my I-Pod plugged into my car stereo and I am makin good time. Then, about five hours into the drive I have an ephipany. "WHAT the hell am in doing?" This was a bad idea. I have just under 30 hours to go and I'm allready totally sick of driving.
I drive and drive and drive and make it to Utah. I heard some interesting things about Uhah. I check into a random hotel, the last exit for 108 miles and I needed a break. Check into my room, no problem. Go to the "Italian" restaurant in the lobby cause there is no where else in sight to eat. Problem. I sit down and sink so low in the old ass booth that my chin is near the edge of the table. Gotta lean back so I don't sink in to low. Keeps your posture tight and I guess that's how they roll here in Utah. I sit there waiting for the waiter. Wait for the Waiter. Still waiting for the waiter. Yea, I see him 20 feet from me staring right at me real creepy like. Giving me a "Night of the Living Dead" meets Michael Jackson "Thriller" gaze. I say "Can I get a menu?" He says "You gonna eat?" I have to kinda laugh under my breath at the absurdity of his rebuttal but I hold it in cause he looks like he could kill somebody, possibly me or someone like me. I say "Yea, I'm gonna eat" and try not to be the one to make this guy snap. I look over the limited menu and scratch off a bit of some dried red substance and smell it. I have seen the show CSI and what this is considered is playing the detective. I am using my deductive reasoning skills and deciphering whether the substance is ordinary restaurant grade spaghetti sauce or if it is blood. It smells spicy so it's either sauce or hispanic DNA. I deduct it's spaghetti sauce.
I am ready to order and I do the big silent across the room wave. I start to order uopn his arrival. I ask for the chicken breast dinner. It says I get the chicken, fresh vegetable, chioce of potato, soup or salad and breadstick. I start banging out my order and in the middle of it he interrupts with a slight "uuummmm". I look up with a questioning look. He says "You get the chicken and choice of one other thing". I point to the description while poking my finger at the laminated menu and give him a quick and potent detailing of what I'm supposed to get. He says "No, You get the chicken and choice of one other thing". So you think this means I can get a chicken breast with a single breadstick served to me on a plate for $9.95? No vegetable, no soup or salad, no nothin. I have discovered a new depth on density in the human brain. This guys brain IS the side of vegetables! I am certain. There is no physical way to educate this guy on common American dining practices. What constitutes a dinner as opposed to bird and stick on a plate. I reply, "I'll have a hamburger and fries". Simple, he won't f**k it up and I won't make him snap and kill me OR maim me OR burn me with a side of soup or salad and a breadstick.
Hamburger comes. Looks good. I look up at the waiter and finally figure out who he resembles and kinda feel relieved cause it was beginning to bother me. Kinda like when you can't figure out who sang a certain song. He looks like Lurch with a dash of Jessie from Full House. You know, the Stamos guy formerly married to the amazingly hot Rebecca Romaijn. I know all about Full House cause I watched the E! True Hollywood Story so I could get some backround on the Olson twins.
Anyway, back to the story at hand.... The hamburger is raw and almost unedible. I go for it cause I am starving and sick of the absurdity of this place. I have no napkin and no ketsup, no water and no salt. Nothing people. Just a 1/4 lb of raw ground chuck and pepper. I make it work, scarf down the food poisioning waiting to happen and make a B-Line for the register where the creep likes to perch. the bill was $6 and change and I throw down $9 singles and roll out. Creep says "Have a good Day" and as he starts to correct his statement I mutter...... night."
I walk past 5 pick-up driving, camo wearing hunters that spoke so loud the entire time I was there that I felt like I witnessed the kill and slaughter of an animal. And based on the undercooked nature of my burger, I felt like I ATE the fresh kill. OHHH that's so f'n sick. I wanna puke just writing this. When I walk by them they fall silent for the first time all dinner. I sense alot of staring but I keep my eyes to the door. I don't slow or speed. I swiftly whip the door open and it swings wide and I stroll out into the chill of night. When I turn the corner I immediately dive into a quick walk/slow sprint to my room. I fear that dream walk syndrome is gonna set in. This is where you try to run but the ground is molasis or quicksand or seaweed and you can't get anywhere. You struglle to move forward but the harder you try the harder the cement sets around your ankles. I get to my hotel room door bathed in pitch black shadows off the back parking lot and execute the key card on the third try and step inside the room and lock and bolt the door. Whew! Time for sleep.
I wake up at 8:30 AM to the phone ringing. I immediately grab my cell and say hello. It's not my cell though. It's the hotel phone. I get otta bed and answer a real scratchy "Hello". The person hangs on the line for a sec and then hangs up. I slam the phone down. I got it all figured out. The reception desk is calling to see if I left allready and then they can clean the room. Most travelers at these hotels/motels get up early and hit the road. I sleep late. Always have, always will. I know it's reception. I just know it. I can't get back to sleep. After another hour of lying there... AWAKE, I pack my car and bring my key card to reception to check out. I walk in and the reception lady says "Checking out?" I say "Did you call me at 8:30?" She says no. I say "have you been here all morning?" She says yes. I say: Did you put a call through to my room 217 this morning at 8:30 cause if someone did call me then they would have to have been put through to my room and you would of had to of done that". Mind you that nobody on earth except for the Lord and baby Jesus knew where I was . Nobody. Her answer was no reply at all. Perfect ending for a night a Motel HELL.
I make good time on the road. Once again, no bad weather and no traffic. I pass through all of the beutiful mountain scenery and near Vail Colorado I really hit stride. After hours of uphill climbs I finally hit some nice long downhill driving. I feel my 4 banger Honda needs a break of the wear and tear of long elevation climbs. The winding effort of the engine stops and I coast down for miles at a time in total silence. So silent you can't even tell the engine is even turned on. I don't feel the cruise control kick on the accelerator once in the last 20 or 30 minutes. I am just soaring down the mountainside in a freefall. It's driving bliss. The downhill coast. I am scoping out the scenery and rolling my head around 360 degrees checking out the amzing landscape. Until. Woo Woo Woo. The stillness of my surroundings is shattered. I see reflections of red cutting in and out of the landscape. COPS. I put on the brakes, slow down and pull over. I put both my hands on the stearing wheel and wait. Cop walks up and taps on the glass. He puts his thumb and forefinger together into a fist and rolls his wrist in a quick clockwise motion. The international sign for "Roll Down Your Window." I comply and ask the typical "What's the problem officer?" He says I was going 14 miles over the legal limit. I said I was cruising down the hill, never even stepped on the accelerator for the last 30 minutes. Just following gravity's orders and freefalling down the mountain in complete controll. He says I should have watched my speed while coasting down the decline. Gotta stay aware of my speed and the posted limit. I feel like it is an atrocity. In the age of insane fuel prices we need to embrace the opportunity to coast. It is our way of giving back to the environment and saving some gas. Increasing our fuel efficiancy by not fighting gravity. Yep, ticket for speeding. Fine payable on-the-spot by credit card. Talk about taking my money and run. Cheers to gravity, F the cop!
We must embrace the coast when going downhill and help save the universe. Have a good day.....night.
Marty Casey
Current mood: crazy
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural
And now, here's the man that always tries to find a new blogging state of mind....... HEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRREEEEEE'''SS MARTY! (Picture me running out and doing the Johnny Carson golf swing and taking my spot on the X).
So everyone, how ya doin? Sit back and kick yer heels up, grab your variety of confections big gulp (I like Mr. Pibb with a little orange Crush) and settle into my latest installment of self satisfaction......BLOG II <------ Those are roman numerals that mean the number 2.
I'm in the middle of a cross country drive taking me from Los Angeles, California to Chicago, Illinois. The idea struck me that it would be good to have my car in Chicago for the winter. Sounds good right? Get my Honda there just in time for the snow drifts, salt sprays and icy conditions. I know my car is a compact but in my mind I view it more like a mini-Hummer. Ya know why. Cause when I was on the show and they announced that we won a car the crowd went crazy with the hand clapping and the shouting and I thought they said Hummer, not Honda. So instantaniously the image of a big ass Hummer was burndt into my brain. Still to this day, when I look at my car I see a big Hummer. I actually lift my leg up real high when I go to step into the car and then I have to bend down real low and crawl in. I'm not gonna bitch about a free car, BUT, when you think of Rockstar car what do you picture? Hmmm. Like I said... I won't bitch.
So I jump in my car and hit the road. The first few hours are great. No traffic, the weather is perfect for driving, I got my I-Pod plugged into my car stereo and I am makin good time. Then, about five hours into the drive I have an ephipany. "WHAT the hell am in doing?" This was a bad idea. I have just under 30 hours to go and I'm allready totally sick of driving.
I drive and drive and drive and make it to Utah. I heard some interesting things about Uhah. I check into a random hotel, the last exit for 108 miles and I needed a break. Check into my room, no problem. Go to the "Italian" restaurant in the lobby cause there is no where else in sight to eat. Problem. I sit down and sink so low in the old ass booth that my chin is near the edge of the table. Gotta lean back so I don't sink in to low. Keeps your posture tight and I guess that's how they roll here in Utah. I sit there waiting for the waiter. Wait for the Waiter. Still waiting for the waiter. Yea, I see him 20 feet from me staring right at me real creepy like. Giving me a "Night of the Living Dead" meets Michael Jackson "Thriller" gaze. I say "Can I get a menu?" He says "You gonna eat?" I have to kinda laugh under my breath at the absurdity of his rebuttal but I hold it in cause he looks like he could kill somebody, possibly me or someone like me. I say "Yea, I'm gonna eat" and try not to be the one to make this guy snap. I look over the limited menu and scratch off a bit of some dried red substance and smell it. I have seen the show CSI and what this is considered is playing the detective. I am using my deductive reasoning skills and deciphering whether the substance is ordinary restaurant grade spaghetti sauce or if it is blood. It smells spicy so it's either sauce or hispanic DNA. I deduct it's spaghetti sauce.
I am ready to order and I do the big silent across the room wave. I start to order uopn his arrival. I ask for the chicken breast dinner. It says I get the chicken, fresh vegetable, chioce of potato, soup or salad and breadstick. I start banging out my order and in the middle of it he interrupts with a slight "uuummmm". I look up with a questioning look. He says "You get the chicken and choice of one other thing". I point to the description while poking my finger at the laminated menu and give him a quick and potent detailing of what I'm supposed to get. He says "No, You get the chicken and choice of one other thing". So you think this means I can get a chicken breast with a single breadstick served to me on a plate for $9.95? No vegetable, no soup or salad, no nothin. I have discovered a new depth on density in the human brain. This guys brain IS the side of vegetables! I am certain. There is no physical way to educate this guy on common American dining practices. What constitutes a dinner as opposed to bird and stick on a plate. I reply, "I'll have a hamburger and fries". Simple, he won't f**k it up and I won't make him snap and kill me OR maim me OR burn me with a side of soup or salad and a breadstick.
Hamburger comes. Looks good. I look up at the waiter and finally figure out who he resembles and kinda feel relieved cause it was beginning to bother me. Kinda like when you can't figure out who sang a certain song. He looks like Lurch with a dash of Jessie from Full House. You know, the Stamos guy formerly married to the amazingly hot Rebecca Romaijn. I know all about Full House cause I watched the E! True Hollywood Story so I could get some backround on the Olson twins.
Anyway, back to the story at hand.... The hamburger is raw and almost unedible. I go for it cause I am starving and sick of the absurdity of this place. I have no napkin and no ketsup, no water and no salt. Nothing people. Just a 1/4 lb of raw ground chuck and pepper. I make it work, scarf down the food poisioning waiting to happen and make a B-Line for the register where the creep likes to perch. the bill was $6 and change and I throw down $9 singles and roll out. Creep says "Have a good Day" and as he starts to correct his statement I mutter...... night."
I walk past 5 pick-up driving, camo wearing hunters that spoke so loud the entire time I was there that I felt like I witnessed the kill and slaughter of an animal. And based on the undercooked nature of my burger, I felt like I ATE the fresh kill. OHHH that's so f'n sick. I wanna puke just writing this. When I walk by them they fall silent for the first time all dinner. I sense alot of staring but I keep my eyes to the door. I don't slow or speed. I swiftly whip the door open and it swings wide and I stroll out into the chill of night. When I turn the corner I immediately dive into a quick walk/slow sprint to my room. I fear that dream walk syndrome is gonna set in. This is where you try to run but the ground is molasis or quicksand or seaweed and you can't get anywhere. You struglle to move forward but the harder you try the harder the cement sets around your ankles. I get to my hotel room door bathed in pitch black shadows off the back parking lot and execute the key card on the third try and step inside the room and lock and bolt the door. Whew! Time for sleep.
I wake up at 8:30 AM to the phone ringing. I immediately grab my cell and say hello. It's not my cell though. It's the hotel phone. I get otta bed and answer a real scratchy "Hello". The person hangs on the line for a sec and then hangs up. I slam the phone down. I got it all figured out. The reception desk is calling to see if I left allready and then they can clean the room. Most travelers at these hotels/motels get up early and hit the road. I sleep late. Always have, always will. I know it's reception. I just know it. I can't get back to sleep. After another hour of lying there... AWAKE, I pack my car and bring my key card to reception to check out. I walk in and the reception lady says "Checking out?" I say "Did you call me at 8:30?" She says no. I say "have you been here all morning?" She says yes. I say: Did you put a call through to my room 217 this morning at 8:30 cause if someone did call me then they would have to have been put through to my room and you would of had to of done that". Mind you that nobody on earth except for the Lord and baby Jesus knew where I was . Nobody. Her answer was no reply at all. Perfect ending for a night a Motel HELL.
I make good time on the road. Once again, no bad weather and no traffic. I pass through all of the beutiful mountain scenery and near Vail Colorado I really hit stride. After hours of uphill climbs I finally hit some nice long downhill driving. I feel my 4 banger Honda needs a break of the wear and tear of long elevation climbs. The winding effort of the engine stops and I coast down for miles at a time in total silence. So silent you can't even tell the engine is even turned on. I don't feel the cruise control kick on the accelerator once in the last 20 or 30 minutes. I am just soaring down the mountainside in a freefall. It's driving bliss. The downhill coast. I am scoping out the scenery and rolling my head around 360 degrees checking out the amzing landscape. Until. Woo Woo Woo. The stillness of my surroundings is shattered. I see reflections of red cutting in and out of the landscape. COPS. I put on the brakes, slow down and pull over. I put both my hands on the stearing wheel and wait. Cop walks up and taps on the glass. He puts his thumb and forefinger together into a fist and rolls his wrist in a quick clockwise motion. The international sign for "Roll Down Your Window." I comply and ask the typical "What's the problem officer?" He says I was going 14 miles over the legal limit. I said I was cruising down the hill, never even stepped on the accelerator for the last 30 minutes. Just following gravity's orders and freefalling down the mountain in complete controll. He says I should have watched my speed while coasting down the decline. Gotta stay aware of my speed and the posted limit. I feel like it is an atrocity. In the age of insane fuel prices we need to embrace the opportunity to coast. It is our way of giving back to the environment and saving some gas. Increasing our fuel efficiancy by not fighting gravity. Yep, ticket for speeding. Fine payable on-the-spot by credit card. Talk about taking my money and run. Cheers to gravity, F the cop!
We must embrace the coast when going downhill and help save the universe. Have a good day.....night.
Marty Casey
;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D
TOo funny!
