I'm on the road, cruising the byways and highways, and on course to arrive in Toronto sometime tomorrow. There's something exciting about taking the long way to the festival. Traveling up the highway, inching closer and closer, the anticipation building inside you. The knowledge that in two days, you'll be sitting in the Ryerson theater, watching two people whack away at their genitals, with a sure-to-be appalled audience. Good times...
Of course, there's also something terribly boring about taking the long way to the festival. The endless monotony (especially Pennsylvania, a stretch of desolate nothingness unleavened by anything resembling beauty); the other drivers, who seem to think they're in a new Road Warrior movie; West Virginia, Virginia's freakish conjoined twin; and did I mention the monotony? Oh sweet lord is Pennsylvania a tedious state.
But I love it anyway. As tiring as driving can be, it's still the way I love to travel. You can't see Coal Mining mini-golf from an airplane. You won't see the Greek restaurant / porn shop in the middle of West Virginia. And you certainly won't see the roadkill, splayed across the road in all its crimson glory.
OK, that one you won't miss. But the weird diversity of America is easy to miss when you're traveling high above the earth, so I'm glad I'm traveling the low road right now, soaking in the beautiful and terrifying splendor of this country I call home.
And it's a hell of a lot cheaper. That's a pretty good reason to drive, too, I suppose.