the making of a good road trip is a very subtle art. you don’t want to take too many people along with you or else logistics become a nightmare. however, too few participants in each others’ presence for too long can lead to feelings of hate and murderous rage. my trip this past weekend to north carolina was an example of a well executed road trip. even though it included a thick fourteen hours of driving in three days, no one was killed, arrested, broken, or maimed.
the drive south was dreary but our spirits were high. it was myself, three other men in their twenties, and a female preacher. i’m pretty sure there is a joke that starts out that way and i think it ends with “…that wasn’t my bellini!”. i made a mix tape for the journey with lots of current stuff on it (if you want a copy you can get one by contacting me). the scenery was about as good as it gets, with multi-colored trees and exotic nude dancing house billboards around every corner. the times when we couldn’t see a car length in any direction because of the rain were magical, like we were floating in a cloud unseen by anyone.
eventually we arrived at our destination, the homestead of i am not victor ward. it was a modern home with high ceilings and loads of stairs. spacious and clean-lined, it was a great place to host a party. friday night we went out to a bar with some horrible cover band. there were quite a few people dressed in costumes. somehow the people i was with found people they knew. i don’t know how that always happens. for whatever reason my old girlfriend’s cousin was there. so when the cover band quit it became a pretty fun night. i talked to a bunch of people who never asked my name. when we got back to the house we turned up the music so loud that they said it was shaking two floors above us and we hung out on the front stoop, just like i used to do when i lived in the south. there’s really nothing like it.
saturday was a long day. after being awoken by distant voices after a few hours of sleep i lay in a stupor for a while and came to the realization that i had twelve hours to kill before the party. i basically spent the day watching “america’s most smartest model” reruns and college football and by the end had had just about enough of men in tight pants (although is can you ever have too much?). as a break during the middle of the day my friends and i took a tour of the city. we ate some north carolina barbeque at a biker bar. later on the box social began and i made the playlist for the first floor of the house. people trickled in during the early going, glanced at me huddled over the laptop, corona light in hand, and passed by. the party started so early that by ten o’clock i was already fuzzy. i kept asking people who they were supposed to be even if they weren’t in costume. i met some nice young ladies and fellows. a couple friends of mine from high school showed up and we talked for a while. later in the night we sang songs of our youth in drunken disharmony. after about eleven hours of party, i finally passed out.
the drive back was hard to bear because of the total of 6 hours of sleep in two days. but i’d do it again, if only to see the looks on everyone’s faces when i claimed, without hint of sarcasm, that “yes, r.kelly is on the playlist. and please don’t touch the laptop.” congratulations to i am not victor whose party was definitely victor-esque.
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