I'm the Snowman, You're the Fred. Because I'm Driving, That's Why: Tim On Tour, Part Four

I swear to God, Jason's iPod was made on the planet Oa. It seems to have a battery charge of at least 24 hours, and is shaped by his ridiculous willpower. I haven't winced one time at any song that thing's spit out, nor has Jason skipped anything abruptly (like I would've if my iPod was in use--I've got Nash Kato's solo record on there for chrissakes).

We're on the east side of Tallahassee, our Whataburger feasts resting on our lap. I stop being fussy with the placement of my food after realizing I would have absolutely no problem with that delicious white gravy spilling on any item in that box of greasy delights. Put it on my tombstone: that's good eatin'.

Next stop: Ocala, after a few back-n-forth phone calls to the other DFKF vehicles. It feels comforting in a Smokey & the Bandit way. Gas and lottery tickets (my secret vice for this weekend) from an Ocala belle long on updates regarding her personal life and a little short on the oral hygeine. Nice lady, who's putting her stimulus check and recent lottery windfall to good use. She's paying off the bills, and only allowed herself one splurge: Diane Lane's Untraceable "on the DVD". (Had she told me she bought it on VHS, I would've tried to talk her out from behind the counter to come with us and play bass.)

Swear to god, we did play two shows, and I have thoughts on them. Patience is a virtue.