Ryan's driving: a review

We stood carrying bags and jackets at Ryan's driveway, he came out of his house, naked for all the world to see, he wasn't expecting us so soon. This struck me as odd considering he was the one who had planned our departure time. He jumped back into his house, which gave Carlos, Ian, and I a few minutes to inspect the vehicle. Books, jewelry, pamphlets about the existence or non existence of God, spray cans, empty CD cases, ancient french fries, straws, loose change, one pepper shaker, one flip flop, one unopened can of Simpler Times, one black shoe, jewels, socks, tapes with no cases, cases with no tapes, beanies, loose papers of homework, belts, drug paraphernalia, and some other items which had questionable identities.

We were headed to LA for an art exhibition by some artists called the Date Farmers, because we wanted to prove to everyone how cultured, open-minded, and well-read we all were. And to hob knob. Because it sounds cool.

Ryan's mother walked outside, long hair and socks, and asked just one thing of us, "Please make sure Ryan doesn't get any parking tickets, I can't afford anymore." And with that she walked back inside. Ryan's little brother covertly peeked his head diagonally out from inside the front door, and I walked over to say hello. He almost frantically replied, "No habla ingles." Then uttered some other Spanish phrases which weren't coherent enough for me to bother translating. I kind of half-laughed, walked away, confused, back to the comfort of my friends.

Ryan walked outside, now fully clothed. "I thought you would have cleaned out your car before we left" I joked. Ryan replied, "I did clean it!" Which I somehow believed. His trunk held a wide variety of larger items, we crammed our bags in and they conformed to whatever shape the remaining space allowed, coats, hats, cameras, more books, art, more tapes, more drug paraphernalia, towels, blankets, pillows, slammed the trunk shut before everything fell out, and we hit the road.

The sun had melted the sky into an red hot orange and violet watercolor. Almost immediately Ryan packed a bowl, and we got super stony, The Talking Heads tape Ryan was playing suddenly made sense, and everyone sat quietly in a little car bubble of appreciation. We had to stop in Cabazon because Ryan had not eaten all day and needed a large burrito. This was inconvenient, and it gave Ryan heartburn. The rest of the drive consisted of angry, sludgy punk music. In Los Angeles Ryan calculated a beautiful display of parallel parking. One straight shot, beautiful composition, equal amounts of space in front and back, not to mention the consistency in the measurement of space between the curb and car. We were impressed.

All in all, a pretty decent experience. Ryan almost forgot where his car was once, but he found it quickly. He did lose his glasses once, but he found them rather quickly also. He also likes to pack bowls and smoke them while he is driving. But he does this rather well. So if you really like listening to the Talking Heads or the Grateful Dead, and you don't mind getting stoned while you're at it, and you enjoy burritos and don't mind the smell of cigarettes, then Ryan is the perfect driver for you.

Three out of three doobies.