Bulgarian Roadtrip

The awesome foursome (Cat, Steve, Jr, and me) recently rented a car and drove the better part of Bulgaria over the course of a weekend. Like the characters in The Breakfast Club, another piece of Americana that Jr doesn't know, we are the stereotypes of our setting: the queen of snark, the doorknob, Rainman, and the foodie. We represent Canada and the states, New York and Maryland, science, history, and literature; the 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s and 21st century are our childhoods, our lives. We're a motley crew (even if Jr doesn't know who they are) and we have a blast together. We have each written a post to share our perspective of this trip. Inspired by The Sound and The Fury, you'll read four tales (you can guess which one is the tale told by an idiot) of a series of moments in our lives where paths crossed and memories were made. Each his its own style and muse, some poetic, some prose, some musical. Mine, loosely based on Sandra Cisneros's House on Mango Street is a tribute to each of my compatriots on team NIS.


The Tribe has Spoken

He lives under a rock. Not literally, although it was a concern during fall semester when he wouldn't come out of his hole. This kid, smarter than me and all the rest of our friends, is clueless about so much. He knows his classical music. He's got sports stats to a T. Chemistry? He's your man. But ask him who sings a pop song and his response is likely to be, "How the fuck should I know?". We threw him some meatballs, "Roxanne" and "American Pie." He'd never heard them before. When he couldn't recognize Neil Diamond's "America" he almost got voted off the island, yet another reference he didn't understand. One last chance, you can win immunity if you know this. Here's a hint - he's "the boss," he sings "Born in the USA," he's from New Jersey. Our young Rainman couldn't figure out that we were listening to "Thunder Road" but he did shout "Springsteen" with glee as he pieced together the clues about the Asbury Park native. He proudly procaimed, "I went to school in New Jersey. I know Jersey guys!" But he didn't know about breaking the seal.
He's a good kid. Young grasshopper, so much to learn. Does he even know why we call him Rainman? He prefers to be called the messiah. He hasn't learned yet that he doesn't always have to be right. Three days in a car, we gave him a crash course in Americana, Canadiana, and ettiquette; in return, he taught us about car snacks. We did our best, but in the end, all we could do was shake our heads, eat our haribo, cover our ears, and say "MUSKRAT!"

Cat, Queen of Snark

She invented the snarkometer. And though for weeks it seemed the snarking stars were aligned, on this trip she only struck gold with her Joplin covers. She defeated Jr in a map fight, though her navigation skills cost her two beers. Her wit was quick as she identified a cast of characters including Rasputin, and the iconic Beatles, Nicholas Cage, and Alanis Morrisette. Fortunately, this wasn't blasphemy since that orthodox priest never did appear. "Why wasn't that on our list?" the snark would fly as we passed our third wreck on a post. But it was her description of our final missing bingo square that earned her the crown. As we passed the car in our last stretch back to Sofia out came the cry, "Hey! Look at that shirtless fat driver drinking a beer while driving a car." And was he also enjoying fine tobacco products while talking on a cell phone? Is it still a snark if it's completely accurate?
"We're gonna miss breakfast."
"You may be right. I may be crazy."And snark-free she joined me on the race to the buffet. They call me the foodie, but I think Cat gets it (or maybe she just felt guilty for mocking my swine flu with oinks that caused me to choke on my water that then came out my nose...perhaps we should call her the queen of snarf.) But she was the one who was enjoying her dinner so much that she got halfway through before realizing the food on her plate was actually Steve's.

And speaking of Steve....

Steve Who Makes us Look Fat

"Give it back!" "Delete that!" "Come on!"
A man of many talents, soups, songs, snarks, stork sightings, though he did miss snow, Steve's most remarkable (and frustrating for his travel partners) talent is his ability to make everyone look fat in pictures, including himself. Incidentally, Jr took this opportunity for another muskrat moment by sugesting that Steve would make a great lingerie photographer with his uncanny ability to enhance the size of the certain body parts. Response? One of many, "You're killing me, Smalls."
Steve of course, blamed my camera and insisted on using Cat's to practice. I have to confess, by the end, he'd gotten much better.
His inability to flatter people on camera is surprising considering how good his eyes are. It was Steve who spotted the Ohio license plate on the way to Veliko. Thought he wouldn't let us stop to photograph the replica Medieval Times castle on the highway or the fake Roman/Communist bus-stop in the village, he did let us get out to document the dinosaur by the canon. 

Fortunately his good eyes are connected to quick reflexes that allowed him to stop the car for random cattle crossings. I'm honored to have been his co-pilot, given such large responsibilities as "Give me one more and then cut me off" and environmental/entertainment officer. My job was easy with such a Bingo winning driver!
Final score: Steve 7, me 4, Cat 2, and Jr 1 (but it was the fire he wanted, so he was thrilled.)