Deep Underground with Raul Groom

Sunday, June 13, 2004

Well, here I am in gray-green Eugene, still recovering from the nightmare of being herded through O'Hare along with about ten thousand other restlessly lowing wet sacks of gravy as poisonous, black rain pounded the tarmac in drops the size of full-grown cicadas.

The place was a soggy sock-smelling tangle of delays and cancellations and overbookings, but Sophia and I were able to slip into two fairly spacious second-class seats on a 727 to Portland after I told one of the counter attendants that I was Mike Ditka's second cousin. This strategy was arrived at after Sophia dissuaded me from adopting several more obvious plans, all of which had the drawback of involving varying degrees of wanton violence.

In any case, I'm now out the door, headed to a party in the White Guy With Dreadlocks capital of the world. Wish me luck.

BTW yesterday's New York Times cover was one for the time capsule. If it's sitting in your recycle bin, go grab it. You damn hippy.


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