26-Hour-Trip

by snaggle at 07:31 PM on July 09, 2002

A report from the field that I'm sure you're all eagerly awaiting: MG is alive and well, still enjoying his Kerouac-esque journey across the country. Actually, his journey has nothing in common with On The Road, but I thought I'd use the opportunity to make a pretentious-sounding literary reference. Columbia is a bit of a drive from Ames, but since I was too busy partying and getting drunk to meet up with mg the last time I was in NYC, I figured I should wander down there. Plus it gave me a good excuse to harass Jamila as well.

I hopped in my car at 4 pm yesterday and flew like a bat out of hell (or a Snaggle out of Ames, same difference) towards Columbia, MO where I was to meet up with Jamila and mg, mg's travelling companion, Christine, and Mr. Blank. After five and half hours, I at last arrived in Columbia and wandered my way to Teller's Gallery and Bar, where I proceeded to lift mg into the air in a genuine Iowan bearhug. (Not that we have many bears in Iowa, but still.)

As Mr. Blank's summary of the night will tell you, the conversation turned from what I'm sure was normal, polite dinner conversation to raucous, drunk inappropriateness. For example, I believe we really frightened our poor waiter when I exclaimed at the top of my lungs, in response to one of Christine's comments: "How can porn make you sad??"

As you could probably guess from thereon out, the whole night consisted of off-the-wall conversation, alternating between talking about typography and sex. (Christine, apparently, is afraid of giving head at night for fear of cavities.) Though there were times when I used my amazing skill at perversion to combine the two ("Hey baby, I like your x-height. Can I put my ascender in your bowl?")

The shining moment of the night involved a Fight Club party that Christine had apparently thrown at some point (where was my invitation?) where the guests were polled on which famous figure they'd like to fight. Until last night, the winner was Helen Keller — until I suggested Stephen Hawking (to which all died laughing when mg yelled, "How 'bout a brief history of this pummeling??") Which only further reinforces the fact of how geeky all gathered were. ("Take a look at the kerning on that babe!")

In the end, it was mostly Christine and I talking earnestly about triple-x rated topics, though we'd just met, and the other three displaying the entire gamut of red that the human face can exhibit. (Hey, you gotta have someone who's comfortable enough talking about ropy jets of jism flying across the room.) Since we were in an establishment that was serving fine barley and hops beverages out of plastic pitchers and glasses, we figured it would be an optimal place for me to discuss my homosexual experiences at the top of my lungs. Fortunately, no tragedy ensued (though I hope we managed to shock a few people.)

After a trek of two blocks back to the car (which just about killed the city-dwellers, believe you me) and a loaf of Jimmy John's bread, we parted ways with Mr. Blank and retired to Jamila's for a tad more inappropriate conversation (Christine: "Gotta go brush my teeth... cavities, you know.") whereupon we all crashed, still chortling at the events of the night. We awoke this morning and after a warning that certain comments would find their way to the Inter–net (yes, Mr. Blank, that's an en dash — just for you) we hit our respective cars and headed off into the wild blue yonder.