Monday, June 26, 2006

Wheels: Check! (Patchouli Application Required)

So part of the problem with the Red Baron exploding is that I was going to be left in suburban Denver without wheels. This meant no trips to the mountains, no trips to the crags, no trips into the city to see my friends, and basically, without any of that -- what was the point of the trip? To sit in my sister's basement and watch free cable for 30 days, growing ever fatter as I drooled over the Food Network and pined for restaurants in New York? I'd be better off at home.

Luckily, with my brother's upcoming move to Germany, he and his wife are trying to unload their wheels: a 1970's-ish Volkswagen Westfalia van that comes "fully equipped" with windows controlled by handles, no a/c and an AM radio with a dial! (Seen here playing a supporting role in this photo -- the van, not the AM radio.)

The orange Westie also has a popup roof with bunk beds, as well as a sink, though I'm not quite sure how that works. That's ok, though, because in order to drive one of these vans, one is required to 1) stink like feet that haven't been washed in 8-10 days and 2) wear patchouli oil. Who needs a sink NOW, mofo?

The great fun about this whole scheme, of course, is that -- and I am NOT being facetious as you can see here -- I have always wanted to live in a Westfalia van. I think it's because I missed out on some essential college experience by never studying abroad or attending a Phish concert.

At any rate, I was always a little jealous of my brother. Not only is he the favored son of the family, he also has the metabolism of an Ethiopian ultramarathon runner. He's a doctor who will one day be rich as Croesus, is happily married with one perfect child, and on TOP of all that he ALSO got the WESTIE VAN that I always wanted! I mean shit, can I please have ONE CRUMB of the family luck here people? Not only did I miss out on the family chip that God put in everyone else's brain that makes them whizzes at organic chem and propels them into high-paying medical careers, I didn't even get to be the family hippie!

I guess the consolation prize to being lonely, barren and on the verge of qualifying for food stamps is that I get one month in the Westie. I'm starting to grow my dreads now in anticipation. OK, not really. But I might go an extra day without changing my underwear just to celebrate.


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