The stretch between Flagstaff and Barstow only had about three hours of Radiolab. There was a nice stretch, early on, where I listened to that new album by the Sigur Ros guy, Jonsi. But my mind began wandering places where it wasn’t allowed, so I switched back to the talking stuff.
There were two or three rain storms, a hell of a lot of wind and finally a cluster of yawns that I dispelled with Paul Tompkins first comedy record. I missed my coffee exit in Barstow because I was giggling over his “snakes-in-a-fake-can-of-peanut-brittle-routine” and had to backtrack.
Making some phone calls now to some of the LA cats to warn them of my impending arrival.
Rush hour. Yay me.
