We leave on Saturday, and you know, I’ve been thinking, I should be kind of better at this by now.

I am packed not at all, save for a stroke of genius wherein I left my clean laundry IN A PILE rather than IN A DRAWER. Having everything out in the open makes packing easier? Right? Like, whenever I decide to do it? Luckily, the temps in Fargo have risen dramatically since those record-breaking lows back in February, so I don’t need to worry that poor planning will cause me to become hypothermic and dead.

This trip has been complicated by the purchase of several pieces of equipment – we spent four grand on a tiny little audio recorder the size of a VHS double-pack (remember those?) and another couple hundred on a baby tripod that is five inches tall. As luck would have it, the baby tripod is mounted on this gigantic octagonal piece of plywood that staunchly refuses to fit into any luggage that I own and will certainly not pass as carry-on. Happily, as well, three days ago Northwest changed their luggage policy from “total shit” to “total shittier” – customers may now only bring ONE piece of luggage, not two. Which, you know, is awesome, since we’re also traveling with a light kit that actually weighs more than I do and will either need to cleverly disguise itself as Erin or be shipped, at great expense, as air freight.

In short: FUCK AIR TRAVEL, FUCK PACKING, AND FUCK THIS FUCKING TRIPOD. I just spent eighty bucks on a shitty and enormous piece of crap luggage to accommodate the octagon plywood and my warm-weather gear – I’ll either use it for cover as I wait out the nwa/delta merger or else pack Pusser in it to save on airfare, next time out.