sink.
© 2000 Jamie Zawinski <jwz@jwz.org>

It was the end of a very long week, and Angela, Adam, and I were on our way home from Burning Man in this big old RV. The three of us were sitting up front, looking particularly scruffy and post-apocalyptic, and Adam was driving. We were in traffic somewhere around Sacremento, and this car kept passing us, then falling back. The car was full of twelve year old girls who kept staring and pointing and giggling. One of them waved, and we waved back, and this set off another round of uncontrollable giggling.

Um, ok. Whatever.

They kept pointing at Adam, and then they started writing something. Oh wow, they're holding up up a sign.

``Are you N'Sync?''

We almost died laughing. Now come on, these girls had clearly not thought this through -- I mean, if we were N'Sync, would we be driving our own bus? Come on! So then we spent a while trying to decide whether Adam was a plausible member of a boy band. It just wasn't working.

I suggested we moon them, but the others didn't seem to think that was a good idea.

Then they held up another sign: ``guy with braids looks like Zebediah'' (or whatever the name of some-guy-from-that-band is. Forgive me for not doing my research.) Oops. They're talking about me.

Angela said, ``I'm glad they were talking about you. I could only make fun of Adam about this for about an hour, but with you, I'll be able to get mileage out of it for weeks.''

Of course, she's not even in the band.