I have no particular destination in mind, I just keep driving south, past Everett, past Lynwood, past Seattle, past Tacoma, driving as fast as I think I can get away with. There is a huge, goofy grin on my face. I have brought my own special mix CD for the ride, and I sing along at the top of my lungs, with wild harmonies and over-the-top vocal theatrics that would embarrass the hell out of me if anyone heard.