I post this from the comfort of my sister’s beautiful house in Austin, Texas. Actually it’s in Pflugerville, which I think I spelled right, which is north of Austin just a bit. I made pretty good time coming from Houston as there wasn’t much traffic to speak of. Actually a large portion of the highway was freshly tarred over; it was at that perfect point, where it was fresh enough to be baby-smooth but had been there long enough to not get black all over your car. At some points I felt like I was in the episode of Seinfeld where Kramer adopts a highway and decides to make it less lanes so the lanes are bigger. Sometimes I felt like I had two lanes all to myself because the road was ride enough for 3 lanes and shoulders, and there was just one stripe down the middle, nothing else. Very luxurious.

The first thing I did in Austin (Pflugerville) was promptly lock my keys in the trunk of my car while I was taking things out. Luckily I had gotten my computer and other heat-sensitive things out of there, but it still had all my clothes and things. And the keys to my car. Now with most cars this wouldn’t be a big deal, especially since all the doors were open, just the trunk was locked. Most cars have a nice trunk latch by the driver’s seat; my car is not most cars. The matter was complicated even further by the fact that instead of the back seats lifting to reveal the inside of the trunk, they showed a sheet of solid metal, no holes. So I proceeded to call AAA and let them know of my situation, because they have been incredibly helpful in past pickles I have gotten myself into. The very polite lady informed me that the best they could do, considering the year of my car and such, was tow me to the nearest dealer where they would ask me a ton of questions, which would be a huge hassle, and lookup the code so they could make another key for the car. So it was going to amount to a huge hassle, and cost—neither which I’m looking for right now. My sister’s friends went out and banged on the car some more, trying to find a way to get into the trunk. Charleen in a stroke of genius decided to call the service number etched in to my glove compartment. Like a cool URI, the number still worked (after almost two decades) and she was put in touch with a certified Mercedes locksmith. Long story short (too late!), he was able to wedge open a whole and grope for the keys in the darkness of the trunk, eventually finding them and preventing any permanent damage to my car, all for a reasonable price. What scares me is those two car keys are the only two I know of in the world. I’m making copies tomorrow.

There are 269 contacts in my Sony Clié right now, I want that down as far as possible. How low can I go? By the way, filming for the show starts this Thursday!