Two fluffy, light things--One satisfying, one not

Okay, I don't want to hear Utah whining any more about not getting enough rain.

I thought this was supposed to be an arid climate. Sheesh.

Anyway, I am currently in what I am assured is a wetter-than-normal Provo right now. Yvette is making a belated breakfast and Ben is in the garage putting the finishing touches on a cornhole set, bringing some Ohio sophistication to the wild west. Yvette and Ben have invited a mess of their friends in tonight for a "Meet Ted!" party and need something to entertain them once they grow bored of my tiresome antics (median time: 24.78 seconds--an even 25 if I've had some caffeine). Yvette has also asked if she can post a link to this chronicle of piffle, so that her friends can get some all-important back story. Please be on your best behavior in the comments section.

So, Utah. To be brutally honest, it has already gotten on my bad side, but only because of the weather. Its been the roughest of the trip by far, and normally this wouldn't bother me; rainy mountains are still mountains, and Yvette & Ben are great fun to be with, and their house is awesome and warm and spacious (I've got my own bedroom and bathroom again--lordy, am I ever lucking out with the way-above-par accommodations during this trip).

Why this dreary weather vexes me is simple, and it comes down to the sudden promise of realized dreams, and the even more sudden dashing of same.

It goes something like this: As you may recall, the mission statement of the Mad Lurch included my hope to Phineas Fog my way across the country using every mode of conveyance--car, airplane, bus, train, boat, rickshaw and (of course) hot air balloon. Now, obviously, I was kidding about some of those, but they were still part of the road-movie, travel show iconography of the enterprise, and I held them close to my heart.

Last night, I mentioned all this to Yvette and she told me something that immediately captured my imagination. And it was happening *today* at a local fair in her and Ben's very neighborhood.

The stars were right. It was clearly providence, and possibly a message from God that I needed to become a Mormon. So here are some images from 6 a.m. this morning, when--for a few fleeting moments--everything seemed possible.









Tickets for a (free!) ride were first come, first serve, but we got there early enough and secured some. Don't we look pleased?



Then, about the time Ben observed how perfectly things were working out, a voice on the loud speaker announced that there were thunder storm cells in the area and the event was canceled.

God damn it.

As is now becoming customary with me and crushing disappointment, I then had a doughnut. And this doughnut, freshly made at a local bakery and purchased from a small grocery store, was the best doughnut I've eaten in ages. I don't say this lightly--and I anticipate screams of complaint/disbelief in the comments section from Tom, and I can't quite blame him--but yes, this was a better doughnut than even Bill's in Dayton. Still warm to the touch, with dark, rich chocolate and subtle, creamy custard, it was perfectly prepared, and was a bit of (Mormon) heaven in dough and, well, nut (Note: there were no nuts). Exquisite.

It almost made up for the body blow of the proffered, and then promptly jerked away, possibility of making part of my trip in a real, live hot air balloon.

But not quite.

This, obviously, means only one thing: Steve, I'm afraid you're on rickshaw duty.

Yours,

(Insert picture of me in a hot air balloon here)



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