I just emailed you the tracking number for your accordion. I apologize for all the delays. Accordion transport turned out to be much more complicated than I imagined.
I packed it myself, though, and did so with enough love and finesse and bubble wrap to more than make up for the tardiness. Everyone at work who saw the case while I was wrapping it wanted to know where I got the “awesome vintage suitcase”, which got a little annoying because I had to explain to them that (a) it’s an accordion case, (b) no, I don’t play the accordion, (c) it’s for a friend, OK? and (d) NO, she doesn’t play the accordion, either. Now everyone at work thinks I’m crazy.
Canada was great. There’s an awful amount of time spent sitting at the border to get there, but you’re next to the Pugett sound so it smells like the beach the entire time.
I bought beer legally, but that wasn’t all that exciting because 14 year olds were buying beer legally right next to me. Nobody cards in Vancouver. This was a bit jarring to someone who, while working at the Golden Pantry, was brainwashed to believe that if you forget to card your grandmother she will rip off her grandmother disguise and turn out to be a 16-year old and a cop and a prison sentence. Seeing crunked up 14-year olds with braces in bars with is a little jarring, too.
I will post pictures soon. Mine won’t be nearly as high quality as Emily and Ashley’s (I’m the last person on Earth who buys disposable cameras, it seems), and I’m pretty sure that most of them are of boring ass shit out near the hotel we stayed in, but hey: they’re still pictures of a foreign country.
I would go into more detail about the trip, but everyone who reads this either was there or should have been there (Ahem. Erin.)
Whenever I read a whole bunch of books by the same author in a short period of time, I unconsciously start to write like that author, no matter what the context. When I was 15, even my IMs were John Updike. Emily loaned me a whole bunch of Joan Didion last month, and as I quickly read over this post, I’m already tracing certain phrasings back to Fumbling Torwards Bethlehem. Sorry if that’s weird for you guys.
Anyway, the book I’m reading now is from William, and it’s by Don DeLillo, and there’s no chance in hell of me ever writing like Don DeLillo (No amount of reading could ever make me write like I had something important to say). I should sound like myself again by the next post.