I could blame work stuff for the light blogging these last few days but really it’s Tim Schumann’s fault. Here’s a picture of the guilty party, looking extra shaggy:
We met at some gathering, probably the regular Sunday night thing. Tim, you need to understand, is a highly theoretical human being and a talker. He was holding forth that night on a dozen different notions at least.
Tim explained at one point, “I am an anarchist.”
“And I,” said I, “am an archist.”
He was momentarily speechless.
And that was the beginning of, well, something. When Tim decided to move out to Seattle from DC in 2010, he hornswoggled me into driving across the country with him. We made it in three days and only stared death in the eye a couple of times.
The near death experiences were worth it. If I hadn’t taken that trip, he would have had bragging rights on beating me back to the good Washington. I moved back permanently a few months later. These days, Tim occasionally winds his Jetta TDI up I-5 to disturb the peace of my small, sleepy town.