Recent Kerouacian experiences on the road

We got back today from a visit with Richard and Michelle at their new house in Massachusetts. While we were talking in the car on the way to go bowling, we somehow got on the subject of dilettantes and applied it to certain persons who exemplify that characteristic toward being beat. Beat wannabes, if you will. Or quasi-bohemians. Richard came up with the term "fauxbo," and it was perfect. Get it? Faux (fake) hobo.

Unfortunately, the term is already on Urban Dictionary with a definition of "fake boyfriend." Hearing that, Michelle suggested "phobo," which is a portmanteau of phony and hobo. Not bad. But, sadly, that term is on Urban Dictionary as well (meaning: xenophobe). And "Phobos" is a moon of Mars.

So we thought perhaps we had created a neologism, but fell a bit short. I'm not sure if you can suggest alternative definitions to Urban Dictionary for existing words....

While out for dinner Saturday night (before seeing the energetic Gaelic Storm in concert at The Calvin in Northampton), a young guy sat on the bench seat next to Crystal and asked her if she were leaving. She said no and then he asked her if he could share something with her. She assented and he said, "Jesus loves you." She smiled and said something like "Yay for Jesus!" and turned away to resume talking with the rest of us. He took the hint.

I borrowed two highly recommended books from Richard, both by Jorge Garcia-Robles -- The Stray Bullet: William S. Burroughs in Mexico and At the End of the Road: Jack Kerouac in Mexico. Richard's book collection is quite something (it's in a fantastic space above his garage that they call the East Wing). Their new house is fabulous.

We spent some time listening to Jack's recording of Dr. Sax. And talked Kerouac and Beat Generation stuff as you can imagine.

On the way home, along I-95 in New Hampshire, a guy in a green Jeep Cherokee with NH plates passed me on the right and then slowed down in order to roll down his window and stick his arm out with a big thumbs-up. We could only imagine it was because of my license plate (see below). He had to be a Kerouac fan!

This is an old picture so don't call Maine State Police on me for an outdated sticker!

One more adventure (in addition to Google Maps taking us in a circle when we left Richard's and we went back by his road in the opposite direction) was when we stopped to get gas and the fuel door wouldn't open to let me fill up! I've always wondered what you're supposed to do in such a situation. In this case, with Crystal pulling the release lever inside the car and me prying with my Swiss Army Knife (Victorinox, never Wenger) on the outside, we got it open. Not without scratching the paint, though. I may need to take it to the dealer and say WTF? That's a mechanism that just can't fail. Oh, and Crystal noticed a chip in my windshield on the way home.

We had a great visit and now it's back to routine before we head out west in March. It's also back to the curation project tomorrow. If you don't know what that is, read my last few entries here.

Yair!