Trying to find wi-fi in Arkansas is one hilarious exercise in near-futility. I say “near” because I’m plugged-in, obviously. I’m at a truck stop just outside of Brinkley, Arkansas, blogging away while sitting under a speaker listening to country music (“I’m gonna haaaate myself in the mornin’/but I’m gonna looove you toniiiiiight“), watching some employees of the adjoining fried chicken establishment go about their pre-lunch rush work and eavesdropping on two truckers having lunch (“Dang! I told that sumbitch to git that dang thang out my driveway fore I bulldoze it clear into his own yawrd.“). I need to steal a plastic fork so I can eat my balsamic garbanzo salad in the car. Can’t forget that.

Anyway, where did we leave off? Oh right, leaving Chicago. So, I left Chicago and it took a while to trudge through the prairie and arrive in Memphis, but I did. I eventually met up with Uncle Triathlon and Auntie Marathon and went to dinner at Spindini, a new restaurant their friend opened recently and we killed a good bottle of wine and some eggplant rollatini. Yes, yes and yes.

Uncle Triathlon and Auntie Marathon live next door to, of all people, David Guest, so in a pre-bedtime attempt to see if I could get a wi-fi signal, I found it eerily odd that I saw the name of his network (password-protected, as you probably could have guessed) pop up on my laptop. I wonder if I tried a password like “lizasux” I could have logged on. No, I don’t think I could have swiped wi-fi from David Guest. That’s too weird, even for me.

Anyway, even with a little cappuccino after dinner, I was dead to the world minutes after hopping into bed. I needed the sleep, though and slept like a champ. It’s always a good sign when I wake up in the center of a big comfy bed. An experience I always value, really. This morning, I met my tiny cousin for the first time as I ate breakfast. She (my tiny cousin) is too tiny to speak just yet, so our meeting mostly involved a shrill wreeeeeeeeeee noise followed by yanking my glasses off my face and trying to eat them. Still, when you’re that cute, such things are okay, if not downright hilarious.

I collect vintagey-looking postcards, like this one, but I have yet to acquire an Arkansas card for my collection. So far, do dice. I have found several for sale that have Jeff Foxworthy jokes on them, but, uh, that’s not really what I’m after. Anyway, a country cover of a John Waite song is on, so I think that’s my cue.

Anyway, Austin awaits. Later skaters.

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