We're at the Iglfolks' for the week.
We had two new companions on the drive down: Sparkle and a TomTom GPS unit. Sparkle was quite good, except for periodic little anxiety attacks. It must be stressful not to know where you're going, especially when you've been wrenched from the only two homes you've known. But, then, how to explain Devo's love of road trips?
The GPS was also largely well behaved, except for twice, mysteriously, attempting to detour us. Clearly the system had been hacked into by evildoers. Had we been gullible enough to follow, there's not a doubt in my mind that we would have been raped and carjacked, our bodies dumped in a tobacky field, blood oozing from the gashes where our kidneys had been cut out. But they didn't count on the street smarts gleaned from my longtime "Law & Order" habit. Better luck next time.
Aside from some slight nagging, I was surprised by how mild mannered the TomTom was. Nary a trace of recrimination if you didn't do what it said. I guess that's why they're so popular. If I designed one, I'd make it thin skinned, needy, vindictive. Don't want to follow my advice? Suit yourself, Columbus. But don't come crying to me when you find yourself up Shit Creek.
Near Richmond we saw a car with antique plates being ferried on a flatbed trailer like a rare and prized collectible. It was a Chevy Vega.
Late in the trip, "Eight Miles Wide" came up on the iPod and I had an epiphany: "It's Sparkle's song!"
As we savored the raunchy lyrics, Dan suggested: "You should play it for my parents and see if they notice."
"I'll put it on the intercom," I said, remembering they'd installed an iPod dock. (Haven't done it yet, but I have three days left.)
The weather's been perfect, and we're having a great time -- no one more than Sparkle, who is every bit the mistress of her new domain.