Countin' one eyed jacks and whistling dixie in the car
"The problem with creativity," said the man who played the finest of jazz, "is you never know what to expect."
And as a true Sillman, the planningist of planners, would tell you, the unexpected is never never never a good thing.
Planning. It's Murphy’s law crossed with a Puritan ethic - a Prussianist rule that demands that this family is always early and driving around the block until it’s acceptable to actually knock on the door, that has my grandmother showing up at airports 4 or 5 hours before departure time, that had my great-grandfather driving off without family members because they "weren’t ready."
"Dan," my brother says, "this isn’t the shortest way."
No, I say, but 3 minutes be damned I want to enjoy the scenery. Which is, to a Silliman, an exclamation of revolution, an announcement of anarchy - an act of unsettlement on par with casually describing the complete instability of our currency.
Im - imp - improvise. Impish impromptu solos and stopping to see if you can catch snipes or where that curly road curls to or what do those flowers taste like and who wants to drive to Mexico tonight (we have $5).
But you gotta have a plan man, understan'?
Well, says my Neal Cassady, we’ll cross that bridge when we fall off it.