Random Roadtrip Tableaux

It all began with the end of my stint in Corporate America. That's right (censored corporate publishing house name), I will dance in a bear suit for you NO MORE!

And yes, I actually did wear a bear suit, a she-bear suit, it was Take Your Children to Work Day and I turned out to be the only volunteer willing to wear this.

And for the last time, I parked my car on the streets of New York, and of course, the spot was under a tree, so the blessed Volvo was once again made a canvas for pigeons.

A little Jackson Pollock splatter on the driver side windows...

Then a little Georges Seurat pointillism (or poopillism, if you will) on the trunk.

Before I hit the Holland Tunnel, I passed a car wash. But...wasn't it just going to get dirty again?
And so it began...

Question: How do you know you're in Hoboken, New Jersey?

When you're driving beside a car with bullet holes...and upon closer inspection... I concluded that said bullet holes were actually custom-painted phony bullet holes, beyond it actually looking like they were painted on (there was also no rust or discoloring [not that I'd really know]), this may prove more than ever that I was in New Jersey. Whether this beats a Confederate flag is for juries to debate.

As I leave the Jerz, it begins to rain, my left windshield wiper stops working, and I get stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic at the Delaware Memorial Bridge.

When I called this number they put me on hold.
The song that was playing on the line while I waited: Jump by Van Halen.

Ok, I made that part up. Might as well juuuuuuuuuuuuump.

I am one of maybe five people in the world (all of which you'll meet in heaven) that photographs poor grammar on the sides of commercial moving trucks.

About 10 minutes later, I passed a sign for Whites Motel and Restaurant, which I am hoping was just lacking the apostrophe that this moving truck superfluously added. I can't think of why else they'd name a place Whites if it didn't belong to White or the Whites Family. Sadly, I did not get a picture in time.

You know, if I were a truck driver, I would paint my truck ALL YELLOW and call it the BIG BANANA and I'd have a cartoon on the back with two female M&M's straddling a BIG BANANA and then everyone would know that I have a really big self-esteem problem. I am really ashamed of my gender and my own big banana, which...ahem...requires no advertising.

After 12 total hours in Washington, D.C., and with 11 hours of driving to Birmingham ahead, I left Saturday morning after some abbreviated sightseeing.

Bristol is the last town in Virginia before you get to Tennessee. The Bristol Chamber of Commerce really wants you to know that.

Not that the first town in Tennessee would ever be outdone.

Lastly, picking cotton in Mississippi.