I’m waiting for my car.  After 8 hours driving with three kids esconced in the back seat, the back of the Gold Monkey is a bit of a mess.  Actually, I would expect less of a mess from a troop of untrained spider monkeys, but if you’re going to be uptight for 8 hours trapped in a small metal box, you’re going to have a really miserable drive.

But back to the title line.  I’m sitting here working on the laptop while I wait for the guys at the carwash to scrape the french fries and popcorn off my poor, benighted vehicle’s carpets.  A gentleman appraoches me .  Russian, or at least from that quarter of the planet, I’m not good at localizing accents within a country.  He asks me how to fix the internet access in his house.

WTF?

Perhaps I just look like I know what I’m doing, which is a cool trick if you can manage it, but asking me what is wrong with his online access?  Talk about dangerously random.  I gave him the first fix that came into my head (reboot the router) and I do, genuinely hope that helps him out, but MAN.  I must have “Expert” tattooed on my forehead somewhere.  Or perhaps I just don’t scowl enough.

The drive from one end of California to the other is always shorter at the start of a trip for some reason. I think its because it has been a couple months since we last made the trek, the upcoming trip is new, its exciting. After the vacation, everyones tired, not only in general, but tired of one anothers company as well, so the drive back is punctuated by unnecessary sharpness and whining.