I've been dreaming about travelling quite a bit; two nights ago it was a surprisingly detailed revisitation of the Indianapolis trip, and then last night I think Matty Price and I were on the road again in the States... though not to North Carolina, more likely to someplace new. Maybe we were Amazing Raceing in this new, horribly land-locked American edition they've smited us with. When Phil Keoghan was explaining the origins of the mission in New Orleans last night and said "This historic building is the pit stop for this leg of the race," I fully expected him to instead say "This historic building... is gone." But no such luck.

This quiz said that when it comes to the intellectual sexiness, I'm a "hot tamale." Boy was that ever not a surprise. Anyways my response was poorly written so I'm not going to reprint it here, but at least the questions were moderately diverting.

I used to lapse into daydreams about going to the Sahara desert and just walking straight in, disappearing over the horizon. That was about five or six years ago and I think I stopped having that fantasy as soon as the smiley-faced purple pills were flowing down my throat every morning. As with many things once the prevailing problems were "solved," I never fully investigated the origins of that fantasy or what it meant to me. It wasn't a death wish thing, because I never stayed in the desert long enough to die. It might instead have sprung from the old proclamation that the desert "is clean." The elemental cleanliness of a land made of nothing but dirt. And the quiet... boy, the peace and quiet.

Time to go make like an X-man. It's opium, and I know that, but one can only spend so much of one's time dreaming of wastelands.