Meanderings: July 14, 1999

Wednesday,
July 14, 1999

I wanna go on a road trip. Wahh.

When I was little, we used to go to Arkansas every summer to visit my Mom's sister Helen. Dad was a Chicago cop, and usually couldn't get furlough at the same time as Mom's vacation, so most of the time she'd take us down there herself. The cheapest way of getting four people down south was driving, so from an early age I got used to the idea of piling in the car at 0 dark hundred hours and spending 12 hours driving from Chicago to Oakland, Arkansas. And I have to admit, I got addicted to it. When we were little, Mom used to put this huge custom-cut pad in the back of the station wagon, add pillows and blankets, and install a cooler full of pop and sandwich stuff. We'd crawl in and read, play games, snooze, whatever while she drove -- to this day, I still think crashing out in the back of the car is incredibly soothing. When I grew up, I found out that I really enjoyed driving long distance as well -- there's something incredibly wonderful about hopping in the car, putting on some great cruising music and hitting the road. Unfortunately, Lyndon doesn't feel the same way -- then again, he doesn't drive, and never really did any long-distance driving until he married me. But it means that my road trips are limited to times when I'm in the States on my own.

See, we don't have a car here -- my license expired last summer, and you have to be resident in Sweden for six months before you can apply for a Swedish driver's license. By the time that rolled around, we were busy moving into the house, and it took me a few more months to find out what was involved in getting a license. It's a bit more involved than in the States - I had to call up and request forms to apply for permission to apply for a license, get my eyes checked by an optometrist, get a Statement of Residency from the tax office, and send everything in with my old Canadian license. Vagverket (the Swedish Bureau of Motor Vehicles) then told me that I couldn't automatically exchange my Canadian license for a Swedish one (which I knew already) and would have to make an appointment for three tests before I got the Swedish license. I'm now waiting to take my theory test -- when I pass that, I'll have to take a driving test and a winter driving test (they take you out on a skid pad and make sure that you know how to perform an emergency stop on ice, control a skid, etc.). Makes standing in line at the BMV look like a breeze, I must say.

Since I didn't have a valid license and Lyndon doesn't drive anyway, however, we didn't get a car when we came here. It hasn't been much of a hardship -- Stockholm has good public transportation and taxis are easy to find when you need one. But dammit, when the weather is beautiful and warm like this, I just wanna get behind the wheel and cruise for a couple of hours. Wahh. I can't wait for August and NASFic -- driving up to San Francisco afterwards (please God) would be sooooooooo good.

Jesus jumping H. Christ on a rubber crutch.

Forgive me for the language, but I am just appalled. I listen to cd93.com over the net at work (it's a pop station based in Monterey -- thank Allah for T3 lines), and they just played a song called, I kid you not, "David Duchovny."

This thing could be used as the ultimate stalker anthem -- "David Duchonvy/Why won't you love me/Why won't you love me/David Duchovny!" the singer wails, going on to reveal some of her weirder fantasies (thank you, but that falls under the guise of 'too much information') and how she's flying out to him for some one-on-one attention. I'm sure Tea is just thrilled with this piece of musical virtuosity -- it's always nice to know that unhinged women are obsessing about your husband.

And singer lady? He doesn't love you because you're an egotistical psycho. Just a thought, no?

TOP