The Fake Gordo Ramsay and I took a roadtrip with the grunty teen who is here on holiday and would rather be mining uranium with his hands than hanging out with his uncool parents. After much whispered discussions we decided to commune with nature for a few days, and as we hadn’t visited Yesomite off we went.
We lost radio coverage rather quickly, so I finally figured out how to Bluetooth my phone and my tunes filled the car.
Grunty Teen. “What’s that sound,” he asked in a horror filled voice.
|Moves, baby, Moves!|
Me: “Disco, baby, where’s your glittering ball.” Some impressive moves were being made in the passenger seat.
Grunty Teen: “Can I walk to Yeosimite?”
A little while later.
Grunty Teen: “You’ve got Kaleo, The Black Keys and Rihanna’s Love on the Brain?” Eyes wide in the back seat.
Me: ‘Yep, along with Dusty Springfiled’s ‘You don’t have to say you love me. (What a heartbreaker.) Midnight Train to Georgia (nothing else to be said), and a lot of The Boss, Pink Floyd, and The Stones.”
Grunty Teen: “I didn’t think you’d know who Pink Floyd was.”
As we approached Yosemite, I was alarmed at the temperature doovie in the car that was dropping at a rapid rate, so I lowered the window, stuck my head out and sniffed – dog style, whereby everything on my face froze.
“Holy hell, it really is freezing,” I said to anyone vaguely interested.
The Fake Gordon Ramsay looked at me sideways. “The snow didn’t give it away?”
Me: “I was kinda hoping it was fake snow because you know with all the supposed fake stuff out there…”
|Courtesy of LA Times|
Fake Gordo: “Yeah, because making snow and throwing it on the ground in random places seems like a fun thing to do.