14 May 2001

Michelle asked me yesterday if she was sometimes obscure when she didn't know it. I am not the person to ask. I am so not the person to ask. I set off people's geek alarms all the time, and not just with math/physics stuff. But yeah. I do think Michelle is sometimes obscure. This is not a criticism. It means that you've gotten deep into something enough to be interesting.

(That said, I'm reading Zenna Henderson short stories. They're okay. So far. Nothing has jumped out at me as particularly a favorite, and she was a little bit goshwow in the first one.)

My chiropractor's dad died. Which means no chiropractor appointments for me for awhile. Hot tub time....

I'm about to start doing a Christopher Dance. Christopher is coming out here! Yay! He's supposed to call me today and arrange a time to hang out. I haven't seen Christopher since...wow. Since the wedding. Over a year and a half. I hate it when that happens. Especially with someone with whom I used to be able to ride comfortably in the car for five hours worth of Iowa. There just aren't that many people in the world like that, but somehow two of them got born into the same family, Chris and his brother Phil.

Once I got to ride home with both of them. That was amazing. It was like an only child's dream come true. Two people I'd interacted with independently were being all brothery at each other and I got to watch. Fascinating.

One of the best trips home, though, Chris was up in the Cities and Phil was asleep. He was exhausted. He started to turn the car into a McDonald's parking lot, thinking that it was our highway turn. I told him to put it in park, and I drove the rest of the way home. Phil slept, and I listened to a radio play of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. The casting was amazing. The siblings all sounded like siblings, but not so much alike that they could be mistaken for one another. And their voices fit their characters as well. How did they do that?

But usually one or more Sass brothers would be awake, and we'd talk and listen to the radio. In Iowa. Do you know how painful this is? No. You don't. Because if you've driven across Iowa, you probably only did it one way, on your way to something else. We did it both ways, in one weekend, home and back. There was The Song Of The Trip more times than I remember.

The best/worst one was Counting Crows' "A Long December." Christopher and I heard that song six times in a five and a half hour drive. I like Counting Crows somewhat better than the next girl, but sheesh. Thing was, though, we'd just get locked into a radio station we could stand when the signal would fade. And then I'd scan for a better one while Chris drove. We could agree on some music, but very little of it is available on Iowa radio stations. So we'd get to one station that we could agree on, and then they'd put on "The Long December," because it was new and cool. The second time this happened, Chris and I looked at each other. "You want to stay on this station?" I asked. "I don't care," said Christopher. (This is his favorite sentence, followed immediately by, "Whatever you want." and "Oh, my goodness.") The fourth time, I said, "Uh, this is getting ridiculous." "Yes," said Chris. "Do you want to change it?" Long pause. "Do you?" he said. "I'm kind of scared to." "Me, too." So we didn't. And then, after five times through "A Long December," we got to Omaha. To familiar radio stations. When 101.9 was still the Edge and not some Floyd-and-Hootie abomination. And what did they play for us? Why, the brand new Counting Crows song, of course.

I still know all the words. And while that song has acquired other, more personal associations and meanings for me, I'm really glad Christopher found that he could come to California. I think he should. At least for a little while.