Today, I embarked upon the Great Procrastinator Roadtrip of '08. In an attempt to circumvent the awfulness of long-distance, job-search rejection/indifference, I've taken to the road with hopes of either lucking into the perfect opportunity when I happen to be in the right place at the right time for a sweetsweet job or finding the awesomist place in the country where I wouldn't care if my job is crap because the locale is staggeringly bliss-inducing.
So where would a procrastinator go for the first stop on such a mission? Bloomington, Indiana of course. Why Bloomington? Because I can relate to those fiery cutters. Actually, it's because I looked into the city a few years back when I was considering going to college here, and it sounded like a neat place. . . blahblahblah. . . sorry. . . not interesting. . .
The day was driving. A six-hour drive swollen beyond that by road work and construction and road work and construction and. . . Driving is like exercise. If you get a bit of it, you feel refreshed and invigorated and your mind clears out that irrelevant nonsense you've been stuffing in it on a daily basis. But if you get too much of it, your legs and arms get all wobbly and you start talking to yourself.
On the path to Bloomington is Indianapolis. I've never been comfortable driving around cities of that size, and when I realized that I would be passing around the city that pays Peyton Manning during rush hour I was worried. But it wasn't bad. Five to six lanes and plenty of room to maneuver. No madmadmad New England drivers in sight. Quite pleasant, actually.
When I finally got to Bloomington, I couldn't find a hotel. I drove this way and back. I went straight. I turned. I found a place attached to a bar that had a big chicken on a sign boasting that tonight is the hot body contest. I drove some more. I finally found a clump of hotels. No rooms here. No rooms next door. No room there. "What's going on this weekend?" "Some drum corps. thing." The DCI finals are in town this weekend. I wish I had known. Not that I could afford a ticket right now, but I would've called ahead anyway. But I finally found a room.
So tonight I sleep, tomorrow I explore the city in search of jobs and cheaper hotel rooms.
I'm grateful for lucky sticks (20).
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Lucky stick comment made me want to cry. Good luck out there today. Knock 'em dead. But I do not want you coming back speaking Italian. You've at least got a head start on the French, so stick with that. Have fun young procrastinator!
That's funny, because I saw a blonde guy on a bike who I really expected to start shouting Italian at everyone.
Post a Comment