RoadBoot

I just put up a captioned gallery in place of the old photosets. There are 187 photos, in no categories. The gallery requires flash to view, so if you don’t have it you are out of luck.

Quite a few episodes and people are missing from the collection, and many of our adventures are not mentioned there. By way of excuse I can only say that there simply were things that we neglected to capture with stills. For instance we totally forgot to snap a picture of Slack, even though her interview was the longest of all.

Otherwise I hope you enjoy the slideshow.

Btw, L.Acid was quite liberal with the veracity of his comments. It would not be a stretch to say that at least half of the words in the gallery contain some element of falsehood. More than a few are bold-faced lies.

We can’t tell anyone how Season Four ends, unfortunately. We actually had to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement with Mainframe, so if we violate that agreement we can be sued and other Fun Things.

Peter’s note, July 27th: As stated below in comments made by myself and a representative of Mainfraime, the claim above is not true. Chris and I DID sign an NDA, but that only extends to Mainframe’s business practices and copyrighted material. NDAs (as they have been explained to me) exist in the industry in order that organizations may avoid litigation. Mainframe (I believe) has no legal interest in any official or unofficial ending, and would not sue us if we told anyone. Also, nobody except the show creators know if scripts exist or not.

My newly dented MerBz still drives fine, although the mysterious squeak coming from the rear wheels occasionally asserts itself over the familiar hum of the road. CC and I are in the habit of driving with the windows and sun roof open in order to allow maximum airflow through the hot interior, and although the news services are full of flood warnings and weather admonitions we have seen nothing but the usual summer sun. My burned skin is peeling like a grapefruit, CC is sporting a tan for the first time in, like, ever.

I pilot the green craft across a spacious wasteland of asphalt towards a tiny islanded tree, which offers shade only to those standing directly beneath it’s scrawny boughs. Jonah and his palm tree would be proud.

A quick check on our equipment, a few curt jibes to insure that our partnership stays tenuously in the balance, and we move toward an inviting forest from which emanate (I like that word) the sounds of children blissfully playing amidst the laughing brooks.

(Honestly, I have no idea why brooks laugh. That’s the way writers of florid prose are supposed describe them, I suppose, but still there has to be a reason. Maybe the little streams are making fun of us, or telling muddied jokes to one another about the dubious virtue of their sources.)

Walking beneath the green trees we cross a wooden bridge into a park. THE Park. I had read about this place, but nothing prepared me for the ethereal (I like that word, too) beauty of The Glen Echo Carousel.

Actually, I had been prepared for it when I had scoped out the place the previous night, but I wanted to write it the way I did and anyway I’m not going to go back and change it now. So nothing prepared me.

Emidecimal was lounged against the carousel railing contemplating the universe or something silly like that. If she understood the language of the giggling brooks and was quietly inventing clever comebacks to their amoral humor, she gave no sign, but continued to stare at the motionless carousel creatures. It was early.

Well, I mean, we were late, but it was still pretty early. Not, like early early, but jsut early. I mean it was ten in the morning. closer to ten-thirty, becasue we were late.

man I am bored. i’ll write this post later.