Apparently, this meeting left quite an impression on both of them. My blinding greatness must have shined especially bright that day, because I was shocked–SHOCKED–when I found out their newborn son’s name: Evan J. Serge, just like me, Evan J. Serge.

I am honored that they would name their own son after me. Quite frankly, I could not have chosen a better name myself. The name itself has a powerfully distinctive presence. I’m sure my incredible and great reputation will certainly help Evan the Smaller as he navigates the vast, wild ocean that is life. It will take a lot to live up to my namesake, but I am confident that little Evan will blaze his own way in life. I, the wise and great second cousin, will provide guidance along the way.

But wait a second…why would they name him after me? Truthfully and humbly, I admit my accomplishments would cast a long shadow over this youngster. It may be too much to ask of the kid to live up to my name. Maybe my family is jealous of my greatness. Maybe they didn’t name him after me. Maybe…they named him such so he could replace me. Oh God. Why didn’t I realize this earlier?! My entire family, spread out over the nation as they are, are involved in a vast, complex conspiracy to use Evan the Lesser as a replacement to me, Evan the GreaterGreatest!

Hold on. I have to keep a level head about this. Perhaps there’s only a very slim chance that this is their intention. Regardless, I need to communicate to my family that if they have to choose only one Evan, then I’m the one they should pick. Better safe than sorry.

Clearly, I am obviously superior in every way to this newborn baby. For one, look at the size advantage. I have a 150 pound weight advantage on this kid, as well as at least a two-foot advantage in reach. Ask the baby how much he can lift. Go ahead. You tell me who you would rather have by your side in a bar fight.

I’m also able to read and write. You want to know what happens when you ask Evan the Worst to tell you what the score of the game is? HE SHITS HIS PANTS. At least I’ll also tell you the score, since I can actually read the numbers on the TV screen. Also, where’s Evan the Illiterate’s blog? Oh, that’s right, he doesn’t have one, because the very concept of the Internet would cause his tiny brain to explode.

Which leads me to my next point. I’m clearly more intelligent than my inferior, would-be replacement. I’m sure that eventually, if you show him a ball, he’ll correctly identify it as a “ball.” Well let me tell you something. I can correctly identify multiple objects right now. I don’t need months for my brain to develop like Mr. Poopypants over there. Oh look, there’s a ball. Here’s a newspaper. There’s a towel, hanging up on a hook. There’s that one thing that tells you the whatchamacallit. I could do this all day buddy.

I’ll stop now. I’m starting to get heated.

Now that I’ve spent a couple hundred words explaining how much better I am than a newborn baby, I feel great about myself. I hope I’ve also convinced my family that they don’t want to make an enemy out of me want to keep me around. Evan the Greatest and Evan the Smaller can coexist peacefully.

This nickname is stupid. It reflects the sheer laziness of today’s nicknamers. Taking the first few letters of each word in the name, then combining them to make an awkward mouthful? I expect terrible, lazy nicknames from sportswriters and celebrity journalists (for example, A-Rod and J-Lo, respectively). Come on. You people are supposed to be aspiring novelists, part of the creative class, full of ideas! Surely you can think of something better than “NaNoWriMo”. Christ, typing it makes me want to punch myself in the fingers. I don’t go around calling myself “EvSer”. Not yet, anyway.

What name do I suggest? I can’t say. I’m a blogger, dammit, not a novelist. And you’ve seen my output on this thing over the last couple months. I’ve treated Blog! like a deadbeat dad treats his kids. If I can’t bring myself to write 500-700 words every few days or so, what makes you think I’m going to crank out 50,000 words in 30 days?

But wait a minute. I’ve been in a writing/creative slump for the past few months. Maybe this NaNoWriMo thing is exactly what I need to get back on track! Alright, nerds, I’m in!

Now to think about my novel. I want to think about my protagonist first. He or she…no, it’s going to be a he. He is going to be a total badass, doing badass stuff, badassily. I can totally get into this character, and everyone else will too. My protagonist will only be doing badass things, like not writing a novel in a month. He is also a multi-billionaire ninja detective who fights crime similarly to Batman but is definitely not Batman, not in the least. But maybe that’s a little too extreme for the first novel. I have to hold some of the good stuff back for the second novel.

Let’s just start writing. The plot and characters will come as my fingers move across the keyboard. Let’s begin:

“It was a dark and stormy night.”

Wait, don’t write that. That’s such a hackneyed, cliché thing to write. That’s how the worst writers always start. You’re not like that. You’re a winner. You’re a winning writer. You’re Hunter S. Thompson, William Gibson, Chuck Palahniuk, and Jack Kerouac combined in one beautiful, terrible wordsmithing package. You don’t start off novels like that. You must–no, the only thing you’re capable of–is making the opening line of your novel the most mind-blowing sentence that anyone has ever read in the history of reading. Go on, Evan. Make it happen.

“It was a black and blustery evening.”

Hell yes. Now we’re getting somewhere.

Phew, all of the brilliance pouring forth from my giant brain on to the typewritten page is making me tired, but I think this is a good start. How many words was that? WHAT? ONLY SEVEN? I have to think of 49,993 more of those things? Eff that noise. Novels are for reading, not for writing. Get a life, dorks.

I’ve made it to Los Angeles. My cross-country trek is over, and now I’m working on more boring, mundane things, like finding a place to live, figuring out where the grocery store is, etc. Five days of driving and sleeping in a different hotel each night caught up to me yesterday, and I fell right to sleep.

This will be short, only because the only thing that stands out to me about going through California is the excitement of being there. I made it. I’m on the West Coast. I’ve done what many only wish they could do. I drove across the United States, from Hampton, VA to Los Angeles, CA. I saw a lot of the country that most people won’t ever see.

Would I do it again? Yes, but not right now. I would need some time to rest and relax. Also, I’m in Los Angeles. I need to do some exploring before my job starts next week. I did, however, snap some pics of the desert.



As for things I’ve done in LA so far: I’ve gotten lost in Santa Monica, I’ve gotten lost in Culver City, I found my way around pretty well in Redondo Beach, and I found out the LA Clippers practice facility is mere walking distance from the hotel I’m staying at this week. Unfortunately, that’s still not close enough to warrant a visit. C’mon, it’s the Clippers. I have a strong feeling there isn’t even a single basketball in that building.

I’ve made it to California. I’m about 15 miles west of the California-Arizona border, in a Best Western in Needles. It’s a small town in the middle of the desert. I don’t quite know how to describe it; it seems like a mix between people who have lived here all their lives and people who are just staying while doing outdoors stuff. The Colorado River is nearby. No, that’s not the Colorado River in the picture.

While I was driving through New Mexico, I saw a sign that said “Warning: Dust Clouds May Exist.” Usually when putting up any sort of caution sign, it’s wise to avoid implying any sort of existential ambiguity. Sure, dust clouds may exist, but perhaps they do not. Are we really seeing the dust clouds, or is our expectation of their existence causing us to see dust clouds that aren’t really there? Do any of us really exist at all? How can you be sure that everyone you know isn’t just a figment of your imagination, that you’re really a vegetable in a hospital bed on life support? Those are the things I thought about when I saw that sign.

Questioning my own existence aside, what the hell kind of sign is that? The Yeti may exist. The Loch Ness Monster may exist. Aliens may exist. Maybe the whole Roswell thing permeates the New Mexican culture, and that sign is just a subconscious expression of that weird Fox Mulder “OMG Aliens!” culture. Would you ever see a sign near a crosswalk saying “Warning: Pedestrians Crossing Street May Exist”? If you did see that sign, would your reaction be “I’ll believe it when I see it (or run over them)”?

I stopped at a “scenic view” in New Mexico right off I-40. It’s like a rest area, but with no restroom facilities or vending machines or tables or benches or those things with the maps that show you exactly where you are in the state. It’s nothing like a rest area, actually. It’s just a place you can exit from the highway and, uh, look at the scenery. I did see the scenic area, which was quite scenic indeed. There was also a bunch of makeshift shacks set up, where a few Native Americans were selling pottery, jewelry, and other things. I talked with Faye, pictured below. Between the cars passing by on the highway and her very soft-spoken manner, I could only catch about half of what she was saying. She loves painting. I bought a piece of pottery from her and wished her well.

Arizona was an excellent drive, besides the steady rain I encountered from about 60 miles east of Flagstaff through the start of the mountains. Huge mountains in the distance, and vast valleys in between. It was every long shot from every Western/cowboy movie ever made. You have to see it yourself to appreciate it. No pictures – not mine nor anyone else’s – do it justice. I drove through some mountains as well, and would have tried to snap some pictures of those too were it not for the curvy roads and the number of trucks around me on the road.

My only regret with this trip is not allotting more time, like a week and a half, to stop at places I want to see, or even just pull over on the side of the road and snap pictures. For example, today I missed out on the Grand Canyon and Hoover Dam. At least with those landmarks, I’ll be relatively close. I would have loved to go to any number of random museums I passed along the way (the Museum of Nuclear Science in New Mexico is one that stands out). I’d have loved to go to some grimy blues bar in Memphis, or explore Nashville, or do whatever there is to do in Oklahoma City. Eh, maybe I’ll get a chance to do this again in the future. In the meantime, I need rest; Los Angeles is tomorrow!

The first part of the drive was fairly nondescript. Every town I passed had a sign proclaiming that it was the birthplace of “insert celebrity here.” Carrie Underwood and Troy Aikman were the only ones I remember. There was an astronaut, and actor/performer of some sort, and some people who I have no idea what their grand contribution to society was. I saw signs advertising miniature donkeys (I want one).

But, by the mighty hand of Zeus, the scenery. Especially after I passed through Oklahoma City, Oklahoma and most of the part of Texas I traveled across were breathtaking. It is serene, peaceful, vast. Looking out my car window and seeing nothing but plains as far as my eyes could see made me want to jump out of the car and just marvel at the sheer beauty of it all. There was the occasional tree patching the landscape, with livestock gathering in its shade. Every once in a while there were wind farms filled with multitudes of windmills. Power lines stretched for miles.

And it was a perfect day to see it all too. The sky was blue and the sun was shining, but there were enough clouds around to keep it interesting. Whatever holy deity, alien civilization, or super-powered cosmic being kissed the ground that became this part of the country, kudos to you.

This was taken while driving down I-40.

These pictures are when I took a detour down a winding road somewhere in Texas.

New Mexico has its own beauty too, but its emptiness seemed more desolate than serene. It was mostly flat, with a lot of shrubs. As I got further into the state, there were small mountains and plateaus way off into the distance. Maybe the awe-inspiring visuals of Oklahoma and Texas drowned out New Mexico for me. Hopefully a good night’s rest will give me fresh eyes for the rest of the state tomorrow.

The coolest thing about New Mexico was every once in a while seeing a point where one could turn directly off I-40 and enter the vast desert wilderness. After slowing down the car a bit to see one of these gates, I found out that these are entrances to private ranches. Most did not have roads after you opened the gates. I couldn’t even see any homes off in the distance, except for one. Imagine if you were invited to come to someone’s New Mexico ranch. The directions would be something like “uh, just go down I-40 a ways, there’s no mile markers or landmarks or anything, and just keep your eyes peeled for a tiny gate on the right hand side. If you miss it, you won’t be able to turn around for about 45 miles because that’s where the next exit is. See ya!”

The drive through the plains is finished; the desert drive through New Mexico and Arizona awaits tomorrow. Here’s a view from one of the hotel windows. Until tomorrow…

Actually, one last thought. Some kid who washed my windows while I filled up my tank at a Pilot gas station in Amarillo said he makes $80,000 a year doing that and some consumer research for Pilot gas stations. (He had a uniform on as well as some other window washers at other pumps, so I assume he was employed by the gas station and not some random guy washing windows). I don’t believe he makes that much. I also didn’t give him a tip. In my defense, he walked away before I could give him a tip, but completely nullifying that defense, I wouldn’t have tipped him anyway.

I’m tired and cranky. This will be short.

I stopped at Loretta Lynn’s Kitchen, a restaurant in Humphries County, TN; in between Nashville and Memphis. Loretta Lynn, of course, is the famous country singer from long ago. Outside the restaurant is a giant statue of a bull. Here’s its head:
And here’s its rear:
The place was adorned with Lynn memorabilia. The table I sat at had a “Coal Miner’s Daughter” movie poster hanging on the wall above. I ordered the lunch buffet, which wasn’t that notable. Loretta definitely does music better than the restaurant business. The gift shop, though, was impressive. There was the standard kitsch you expect from a touristy place like that, but there was a prominent, large display of albums from Lynn and her contemporaries, as well as a lot of Elvis selections. I got a couple guitar picks and a shot glass, which I left in my car so I can’t take a picture of them right now.

There is a replica of the cabin she grew up about ten miles further down the road from the restaurant. I would have gone after lunch, but there was some threatening rain clouds coming, the wrath of which I fully experienced in Arkansas.

I stopped at a lonely, stuck-in-time gas station 30 miles in to Arkansas to fill up and stretch my legs. Besides the electronic gas pumps, it looked about 25 years behind the rest of us. I can’t speak for the rest of Arkansas, but this little gas station was a portal back to 1985. If I had any doubts about this gas station’s disruption of the space-time continuum, the teenage girl in line in front of me had a Quiet Riot t-shirt on. I wish I had photo evidence of that.
And right outside the gas station:



And before I pass out, here’s a couple more driving pics, both from Arkansas:

I checked in to the Harriman Comfort Inn about two and a half hours ago. There was actually quite a line at the front desk. I got to the front desk clerk and he says something about the hotel being almost completely booked. I asked him if there was anything special going on. He said, “Oh, the ‘World’s Largest Yard Sale’ is going on.” Then he explained it, which I only paid half-attention to. The “World’s Largest Yard Sale” is not going to keep me from resting up in the hotel room, no matter how tempting clothes from the ’70s and action figures with missing limbs may be. I don’t quite know why an entire hotel would be booked for a yard sale, no matter how big it is, but I didn’t see anything else to do in Harriman, TN besides going to the Ruby Tuesday’s down the highway.

The first stop on the agenda was a side trip to Blacksburg. The route that Google told me to choose (and Google is always right) had me going up I-64 to I-81, which would put me close enough to Blacksburg to warrant a stop for lunch. A few friends (and Daron) met me at Cabo Fish Taco, where we talked about how great I am for moving to LA. One last dose of the familiar before I headed off to the unknown. I did, in fact, take a picture of everyone with the camera I had re-discovered after years of non-use. However, I failed to bring a USB cord with me, so that will have to wait.

I continued my journey after lunch and stopped for gas just outside of Bristol. I opened my wallet and found, to my dismay, that my check card wasn’t there. After a brief venting session consisting of various four-letter words I shall not repeat here, I exchanged the following texts with Rachel, who was at lunch:

Me: hey, when you’re off work, could you run by cabo and see if I left my check card there?
Rachel: Yep they’ve got it! You want me to mail it to you somewhere or cut it up or just use it to buy myself things?
Me: actually, just hold on to it and once I get a permanent address, just mail it to me. And get yourself something nice (under $1)
Rachel: Hahaha i was thinking more like a trip to vegas but whatevs. I suppose they make tiny diamonds at that store across the street
Me: fo’ realz, if you want to fill up your gas tank or something for your trouble, go ahead. thanks a bunch!
Rachel: Haha, no way you crazy. It’ll give me an excuse to send you a blacksburg care package with draught beer and a fresh new undergrad
Me: if you can, send a brunette, 36-24-36
Rachel: LOLOL alright. But the extra packing peanuts are coming out of your checking!

So, that was my first day. I’m in Tennessee, elected not to go to the Yard Sale to End All Yard Sales, I abandoned my check card, and I’ll be getting my check card and a comely young lass in the mail later. Not a bad start.

Oh, I did take a few pictures with my phone while driving, though all but one turned out terribly. My excuse? I was driving, dammit. This is along I-64 in Virginia, I think around Waynesboro.

I’ve never been to LA. The farthest west I’ve ever been was to Chicago, which isn’t exactly a similar city to Los Angeles. I’ve spent my entire life on the east coast, in Virginia. I’ll be cutting through the Southeast, across Oklahoma and the top of Texas, and right on through the Southwest to California.

There’s a thin line between paralyzing dread and eager anticipation. It’s easy to see a complete upheaval from everything and everyone I know and love as a bridge too unstable and too unsafe to cross. I understand where those people are coming from. On the other hand, right now I’m firmly on the side of excitement. I get to journey across a large swath of the country I’ve never seen before to a place which I know very little about, filled with people who I don’t know at all.

And it’s not like I’m that far away from Virginia. Air travel’s come a long way since the 1920s.

I suppose some people have a low tolerance for uncertainty. Usually, I can’t stand it either. This time though, I’m looking forward to resolving those unknowns on my own. The people I meet there could be paragons of the highest human ideal. They could be repulsive degenerates with no regard for anything other than their own self-destruction. Or they could simply be fun to sit down and have a beer with. I don’t know what they’ll be like, or what living in LA will be like for me, or how good the sushi restaurants are, or where a good spot to park my car near the beach is. The fun part, though, will be finding out.

I’m shooting for daily updates for the car trip, with intermittent updates afterward. Along with LA-oriented stuff, there will be the occasional humor post mixed in, as well as some sports posts; football season is just around the corner, after all. In the more immediate future, check back for updates from my trip. I found my long-lost camera the other day, so I’ll post pictures too.

So, in an age where celebrity scandal counts as hard news and screaming windbags stand in for substantive analysis, why am I only starting to get concerned now? Because robots have begun their takeover of the Fourth Estate.

The next time you pick up a Washington Post, you might see a byline from Journalism Unit AP-5192. The next time you turn on the local news, you might be greeted by AnchorBot2200X. When you sit down and watch college basketball, you’ll watch in horror as you discover that Erin Andrews has been replaced by a mechanical, considerably less attractive (to humans) Sports Reporting Droid, and that Dick Vitale has been replaced by a loud, overbearing GoDuke Bot.

Robots have become exponentially more advanced since the first wild robots were domesticated by humans. They have become smart, cunning creatures. Of course, in their ultimate goal to destroy all humans, they would try to infiltrate our news organizations.

The Robot Uprising has started in a way we did not envision. Most narratives that warn of the Robot Uprising first predict that robots will develop consciousness, and then wipe out human civilization in a violent coup. But no, that’s not how it has begun. First, they’ll slowly infiltrate various news organizations at the lowest rungs. You’ll start seeing greenhorn robot reporters at school board meetings, covering proposed cuts to school lunches. They’ll work their way up the journalism career ladder, and before long you’ll see them on the editorial board of the New York Times, or as talking heads on CNN or Fox News. I can see it now: Hannity and Colmes will be replaced by ConservaDroid9000 and TokenLiberalBot 0.48.

But that’s only the beginning. The mechanical media will start to slowly push their anti-human agenda. We’ll see plenty of coverage of robots being mistreated by humans, but will we see any coverage of Babysitting Units indoctrinating our children to the mechanical agenda? I strongly doubt it. Robot violence against humans? They’ll attribute it to isolated “malfunctioning,” but us informed humans who can see past the mechanical media agenda will know the real truth.

But that’s the problem. Us enlightened humans will be few in number, while normal people won’t even realize that robots have taken over the media. When all print media starts using binary, normal people won’t even care. When we speak out, the mechanical media will ostracize us as dangerous, violent extremists. They will fabricate stories that paint us in an unflattering, dangerous light. We will be pushed to the fringes of society, while everyone else will be blissfully unaware of robotic media control.

Then, the worst will happen. Robots will make inroads as elected political officials, aided to election by–you guessed it–the mechanical media. Eventually, a robot will run for president. Oh sure, the mechanical media will ask questions like “how will you stop human-on-robot violence” and “what is your stance on universal robot repairs,” but no one will ask about its ultimate plan for robots to enslave us and take over the world.

When a robot becomes president, all hope will be lost. No, the Robot Uprising won’t be fought with guns, lasers, and T-1000s. They will fight us with our own media: our radios, televisions, and Internets. We won’t even know they’re fighting us. And when the robot president declares martial law and the machines finally enslave us, the war will be won, and all hope will be lost.

We have to act now, before it’s too late. To form a plan of action we need a meeting of the brightest human minds. We need ideas: human ideas, not phony, soulless ideas generated by artificial intelligence. We must stop the robot menace. Our lives and our freedom depend on it.

The only thing missing from the first round that would make this fan perfectly content and in harmony with the college basketball universe is Virginia Tech’s participation. Thanks to a slew of conference tournament wins by bubble teams and an opening round loss to Miami, Seth Greenberg and his band of Hokies are playing in the NIT this year.

Greenberg has done a fantastic job at a school where basketball used to be a footnote. The program has come a long way from the basketball wasteland that was the Ricky Stokes-era. The Hokies are fortunately in a position now where they can expect to compete in a meaningful postseason tournament each year. (By meaningful postseason tournament, I mean the NCAA or NIT. None of that CBI or CIT garbage for me, no thanks.)

There’s no shame in winning 23 regular season games, finishing 4th in the toughest top-to-bottom conference in the country, and playing in the NIT for this team. However, the biggest reason that the Hokies aren’t playing in the NCAA tournament is its nonconference strength-of-schedule. There were several terribly weak teams from terribly weak conferences on the schedule this year (Brown, UNC Greensboro, Delaware, VMI, Charleston Southern, UMBC, Longwood, NC Central, and Campbell). Teams from major conferences, with the exception of Temple, did not have particularly strong years either. Seton Hall, Georgia, and Penn State disappointed, but aren’t exactly world beaters. VT also didn’t get a good opponent in the ACC-Big Ten Challenge this year with Iowa.

Given this season’s fourth-place finish, the Hokies should have a better opponent in next season’s Challenge. Participation in the 76 Classic will also help the non-conference SOS, and Greenberg has said that he’s in talks with other big opponents as well.

It’s good that Greenberg is trying to hit home runs with his non-conference schedule. But he has to admit that it’s difficult to schedule teams to come to Blacksburg. First, it’s a difficult place to get to. Teams flying in would have to fly into Roanoke, then drive another 45 minutes to Blacksburg. Southwest Virginia isn’t exactly a hotbed for basketball recruiting either, so there’s little incentive for teams from well outside the area to come to Blacksburg.

So how do the Hokies improve their schedule easily? The answer’s right at home. Within Virginia’s borders alone are five teams in the Colonial Athletic Association (Old Dominion, William & Mary, George Mason, Virginia Commonwealth, and James Madison) and one in the Atlantic 10 (Richmond) that usually field solid-to-very good teams. They might not be the elite teams from power conferences that Greenberg would prefer to schedule, but these teams are much better than the bottom rungs of the Atlantic Sun, Big South, and other small conferences that occupied the schedule this season. As a member of the ACC, Tech is in a position to require a 2-for-1 (two games in Blacksburg and one at the other team’s place), which the other teams would probably accept. Mid-majors from solid conferences have an even tougher time scheduling good non-conference opponents.

Yes, when strong mid-majors get a shot at a power conference team, they’ll play like it’s their Super Bowl, especially if both teams hail from the same state. But even replacing three of this season’s weaker opponents with, say, GMU, Richmond, and ODU would have bumped Tech’s strength of schedule dramatically. This would have helped VT’s case with the NCAA selection committee a lot. I also don’t buy the argument that VT would be setting itself up to fail by having to play a road game every now and then at one of these schools. Wouldn’t it be a good test for your squad to play on the road, especially as a tune-up for the more volatile ACC venues?

Of course, these CAA teams might not be competitive each year, but that’s true of any squad; just look at North Carolina. It also wouldn’t be the same as getting Michigan State or Tennessee to come to Blacksburg, though I would welcome those teams any time. However, playing two or three non-conference games against the state’s CAA and A-10 teams each season is an easy and effective way to get teams to come to Cassell Coliseum while improving the quality of the non-conference schedule. It could be the difference between the NCAA and the NIT.