99 Problems but a Ticket Ain’t One

Greetings from the Second City!

For those that don't know, this is a nickname for the city of Chicago, Ill., intended to prevent anyone from accidentally comparing Chicago to New York (implicitly the "First City", or just "the City"). I'm currently staying with my Aunt and Uncle, whom I do not see nearly enough, after two long days of driving across the eastern half of the United States.

A random sampling of thoughts from my trip thus far:

• My trip across the country has been especially exciting because I am really, really bad at driving. I started out the trip on a high note at the drive-thru at the McDonald's of Port Jefferson Station. I mention this now, but seemed to have forgotten it at the time when I drove past the giant menu board where one customarily orders and instead went straight to the pay window. It was only when I got to this window that I realized I had nothing to pay for and likely became the first customer in the history of the MOPJS (and maybe McDonald's, anywhere) to pull up to the drive-thru in reverse. I've ordered a lot of large cokes in my life, but this was easily the order with the most style.
  

  
  

• Not only did I commit a social faux pas in reverse, I have already broken the law on two separate occasions (Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Taube!).
  

  I was driving 80 in a 65 mile-per-hour speed trap near Youngstown, Ohio when I accidentally passed a police car posted up in the median. Or rather, the policeman had been posted in the median until he started following me. It was at this point that it occurred to me that, in the future, I should probably refrain from speeding while driving with an expired license. It also occurred to me, once the police car's siren went off, that in the present I was completely and totally fucked. On the bright side, I thought as I pulled over to the side of the road, I would at least get to pretend I was Jay-Z in 99 Problems. I was about a quarter of the way through my fantasized interaction with the police officer ("'Cause I'm young, and I'm Jewish, and my hat's real low?"), when I caught a glimpse of the car in question whizzing by my passenger-side window in pursuit of an 18-wheeler. I'm sure there is a valuable lesson in here somewhere, but I can't quite put my finger on it just yet.
  

  This near disaster came less than 24-hours after a similar near-dustup with the law in New Jersey. For those that have been fortunate enough not to have spent any time in the Jerz, it is actually a violation of state law for a driver to pump gasoline into his or her own car. The picture below is of a gas station attendant at a disarmingly redneck truckstop in northwestern NJ near the Pennsylvania border. You will notice, though, that our friend has his back turned to me while he pumps gas into min-van with New Jersey plates. I, however, am a New Yorker perfectly capable of pumping his own damn gas. It was then that I turned off my car and sprung to action, filling my car with a tank's worth of revenge for all of unnecessary tip money the rest of us have been fleeced out of in America's Largest Landfill.
  

• Gary, Indiana is actually nothing like it's portrayed in the eponymous song from the musical "The Music Man". I won't go into further detail, but if there's any way you can avoid a trip to Gary or nearby East Chicago, you should probably do that.
  

  
  

• Just out of principle, I'm not shaving until I reach Seattle.
  

  
  

That's about all I've got for you guys right now. Everything's been great, and I'm really excited to get back out on the road. I should be crossing the Mississippi today, so I'll let everyone know how that goes.