No matter how often I come to Primo 360, this one very pleasant, very likeable barista always leaves an irritating two inches of space for cream. I don’t take cream in my café, and I tell him so, but he still does it. Who puts two inches of dairy in coffee anyway? Refills are free, so I don’t whine about it. I also don’t say anything because he tries so hard to remember (without being told) what I usually order, and I always feel guilty when I have to tell him “mondo Italian” even though, at seeing my parked car, he’d already prepped a grande French. He’s visibly hard on himself, so I let the cream situation be.
Anyway, all that’s peripheral because at 4 o’clock in the pm, me an’ Roger are going to Washington D.C. for Saint Obama’s inauguration. It’s been three months in planning, but I’m still expecting Roger to call me and say, “We can’t take the company car after all” (which we are (Thank you, Mr. Dreamers Man, for rescuing us at our final hour)). I’ve realized that a Presidential Inauguration is an event on par with the dropping of the Times Square ball on New Year’s or Mardi Gras in New Orleans or a Rolling Stones concert at, say, Zilker Park (missed it *sob*), and an historic inauguration is all that on steroids. I need to go. Not going would be catastrophic for my sense of well being. Both of us had come to separate conclusions that the New Year would begin after the inauguration. That was our benchmark, and at its summit, we could see through the cloud of our individual Austin funks, and get our shit together. I would’ve hitchhiked earlier in the week, but at this point, it’s too cold, and I probably wouldn’t make it there and back in time anyway. Busses were never an option. Greyhound is a horrible and greedy opportunist, and I refuse to pay 350$ dollars for a roundtrip ticket on a stinky uncomfortable ride, where I’ve actually seen an angry driver leave an old man (who didn’t speak English) running alongside of the bus, slapping the windows to stop. Roger wouldn’t hitchhike, and if I were a driver, I wouldn’t pick him up either. All depends on the car we're borrowing, and I won’t feel safe until we’re singing “When the Levee Breaks” long past Waco.
I anticipate taking hundreds of pictures and lots of notes, as this is research for both my books and our screenplay. I might take a page out of Craig’s proverbial book and post some pictures on the ol' blog, but probably not.
Hoot! Hoot! See you all at the inauguration. Oh, wait, you’re not going. Burn.
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