CW2006: Tuesday Wednesday (so I’m a few days behind)

As my audio blogposts mumble, I left Champaign on Tuesday, and I drove and I drove and I drove and I drove. There is much driving to get from Champaign to Lubbock. And the pathway that you drive is populated by far more of those large hollow metal animals than you’d think would be necessary. That one at least serves a purpose, trying to get suckers, um, I mean tourists to come in and eat an oversized steak. Many of them are totally beyond my understanding however. One place had a small menagerie of the critters—horses, cows, a ram, and a giraffe that was smaller than any of them. What kind of giraffe is that? and don’t forget about that zebra I audioblogged about when I was leaving Tulsa. What he has to do with gun cleaning and reloading is still a mystery.

The treasure trove of hollow animals is broken by long stretches of vast emptiness once you get past a certain point in Oklahoma. You begin to wonder if you haven’t joined the Joad family, and even more if you might not be Grandma who will never make it to the other side. There’s a lot of dry land that looks very human-unfriendly. Just before I left Oklahoma, I was interested to see a large field fire. You could see the smoke plumes miles down the road. Perhaps all those “Do not drive through smoke” signs there do serve a purpose. Fortunately for me, the smoke was far off the road and no driving through smoke was necessary.

Eventually I did make it to Lubbock, and after a tour of many side streets in West Lubbock and Wolfforth, I did make eventually make it down the many-rutted wagon trail that doubles as the road to Locke and Becky’s house. Menageries became a running theme for the trip as the Carter-Rickly herd of dogs, horses, cats, and other youngling. First there were horses to feed, and dogs to keep out of the horses food. The evilest dog is the newest, a puppy that just showed up. The boys are calling it Spike. I want to call it Barni, cuz it was found in the barn—and also it’s an annoyance like the large purple dinosaur. It’s also a girl, and Spike just doesn’t fit its hair-do.

I bowed out of the fun-filled weed spraying and horseshoe collecting and instead watched young Carter-Rickly 1 play in the pool. He has grown much taller since I last saw him. He’s tanned and has those long little boy legs that jump and run and fly around. He confessed that he doesn’t really remember me, but that he was telling his mom that he did. That didn’t stop us from silly giggling around the pool. My favorite part of the poolside antics was when Barni asked if she could jump in for a swim too. I gently helped her into the pool. Becky wasn’t really amused however. I think Barni really enjoyed it. She was swimming happily at the pool edge, but Becky made me grab her back out of the pool (getting drenched in the processs). I stand by my belief though: that puppy loved her pool time and it wasn’t traumatizing at all that she couldn’t climb out. Not at all. She relished in the joy of a life unbounded by the all encompassing dusty soil that is the panhandle of Texas. Really she did. Locke heard my account of puppy swim and he concurs. And when Locke agrees, you know that it is true. These really are great days.

Unfortunately, it was later Tuesday Wednesday evening that I learned of the depths of weeniehood that our Will Banks has attained. We’re talking far, far deeper than the Walk of Shame through a conference hotel lobby. A weeniehood much larger and all-encompassing than the horror of not getting a bagel with cheese when you ordered that very explicitly at the McDonald’s drive-through. It is a weeniehood that may go on record as the biggest weenieness in the history of computers and writing. Indeed so epic is Will’s weeniedom that I shared the details with the V2 people for publication.

Now what horror transpired? How did my once dear and sweet Willie Bobbie accomplish this feat? Well, weeks ago, he argued that I had to stay in the dorms because he would be in the dorms and we’d have fun. That evening at the Carter-Rickly hacienda I learned that he who was formerly known as Willie Bobbie wasn’t even coming to the conference. Did his massive weenieness let me know? Had I any idea that I was being stood up? Why no. SuperWeenie just ignored me completely and went flitting off to some bar or club or dance recital and left me abandoned. He whined something about travel money to Becky, but we all know that there is no amount of travel money deficit that would be too much if he truly loved his tengrrl. Sniffle, sniffle. Clearly he does not. The weenie. I shame him.