Halloween in Miami

So yesterday and today I made those changes on the website and while I was doing it I noticed that I'd never put up my writeup of Miami. Well, the writeup is about half stuff that could go in a writeup and about half that should go here, so I'm going to dump some stuff here. It may be a little disjointed, but you guys should be used to that by now.

Last night Lynn (my sister) was in both of our dreams, although in mine all she was doing was sleeping on the floor and in Todd's she didn't say anything. Bit parts. Sorry, kid.

We're getting gas as Cocoa Beach.... Vero to Cocoa. You must be daddy's little pumpkin.

You may or may not be daddy's little pumpkin, I guess, but there ain't no pumpkins in the truck right now. Daddy's little or otherwise. We're just out on I-10 and Todd's returning phone calls right now so I'm sitting here baking in the sun as our pitiful little air conditioner is in its sleep mode right now. It's weird, sometimes it's fine and then sometimes it just gets pitiful and warm for a bit. Todd thinks it has to do with not using freon anymore because he says all of his new trucks do the same.

My space bar's still screwed up from the Kansas City trip when I pulled it off. Dammit.

This computer sucks.

I blame Robert.


I'm out of shape. But then you probably alrady knnew that.

We just bought a CW McCall tape and a tape of some comedian guy that I only bought because it has a skit on it called "hog story". I'm easy.

Hi, Lindsay. I miss you.

I'm a little surprised to find that I'm out of things to say. Part of which is because the keyboard sucks, and part is because I'm not saying anything right now. If I got started I'm sure it'd roll itself right on down into a hundred thousand words or so of brilliance.


I just hit my first bit of impatience. Usually on the way home from a tournament I hate the drive (which I probably don't mind on the way down) But it just hit me. I think the truck stop we were just in said 335 miles to Atlanta or so, so we've still got a good little while to go. Which may or may not suck. We'll see, I guess.

Todd's cell phone just told us he got a new message, at first I thought my computer was beeping at us.

This is sorta cool, I have the visor down to block some of the glare and there's a mirror on the back of it where I can see my fingers as they type, so I can watch my fingers and not really think about typing, which I guess means I've done an awful lot of it. Thing is, it really doesn't look my fingers are moving very fast even though I know I type 70 or so words a minute when I'm going good. I wonder how fast you'd have to type to make it look like they're moving fast.

You know, when we went to see Leo Kottke his fingers didn't seem to move terribly fast, either. He was just unhurried and really insanely smooth.

I guess I'll go away now. What the fuck? How did this get wherever it is? I can't even see if this is being typed anywhere. This fucking mouse pad sucks.

It's like it jumps you around the page dammit.

I think the main thing is you've got 8 fingers involved (not counting the space bar [and I use the right thumb for the space, in caase you're wondering] and I mean so I guess nine of the ten aren't doing much most of the time. It looks like there's some pre-moving, where the finger is going for the key while another is still being pressed, but even that means most of them aren't doing much at any one time except kicking back and enjoing the rest.

I wonder how many mistakes I made in the last paragraph. All I watched the whole time is my fingers in the mirror, which wouldn't make a bnig difference because I can't really read the screen because there's so much sun out and the contrast just don't cut it.

I can't stand the female parts in cw mccall's stuff. I hate it. With a passion. I wonder why I hate riding home from the tournaments so much while I really usually don't mind riding out there.


Doug's thoughts on nothing in particular