Choosing music for road trip is an important part of the packing process. I need to be sure I have the right amount of hard-rockin', upbeat driving music; a bit of catchy, sing-along middle-of-the-road tunes; and some quiet, soothing songs for those potential moments when I might like something while looking out over Nantucket Harbor at night or hanging out by the pool at the hotel before or after the wedding. I'll need music to keep me awake as I make the two-day drive from Massachusetts to Cincinnati and something to for the hour-long ferry rides to and from the island of Nantucket. And when Bryan and I drive back from the wedding next Sunday, I'll need the kind of CDs he'll enjoy as he takes a shift behind the wheel, because his tastes are not as varied as mine.

So that's what I'm focusing on this afternoon as I begin the packing process. I'll need two bags, one for the two days in Nantucket, one for the weekend in Cincy. I'll need to be sure not to forget my suit for the wedding, and make sure I have "nice clothes" for a fancy dinner out in one place or the other. I'm choosing the music now mainly because I'm not in the mood to pack clothes, and because I've got two loads of laundry to do � one of which should be done now � and want to bring the good boxers with me on the trip. And I'm tired and would rather sleep now, but I do have work later. Maybe a nap, to try to get my body on that skewed schedule since I'll be driving up to Massachusetts Monday night after work. The plan is to stay up late tonight, then sleep in as late as possible tomorrow, yet still getting up with enough time to take care of the few errands I have to run before work and leaving.

It was a fine weekend, though. After the concert Friday night, I overslept Saturday, which was nobody's fault but my own � In moving my clock radio at some point Friday, I'd accidentally turned down the volume. I had the alarm set to radio for 6:30 a.m. so I could get a 7 a.m. train into New York to help Mia move stuff into her new apartment. At least she was staying in the same building, so there wasn't far to go, but the guy with his name on the lease was only going to be around (and let Mia move her stuff into the living room) from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. Mia's mom and I couldn't understand him. Why not give her a key? Why is he such an asshole? Since Mia will be at the wedding next weekend too, she had to move her stuff in this weekend, so it's going to sit in the living room for the week, until the other two guys move out and Mia can move her stuff into her room. I don't know when the other new girl moves in.

So anyway, I woke up at 10 a.m., shocked at the time, and bolted out of bed, called Mia to apologize, threw on shirt, shorts and a hat, brushed my teeth, and got in the car. Immediately after getting on the parkway, I realized I needed gas, but the stop was as quick as it could be, and the only thing that slowed me down was the rain and the congestion on the New Jersey Turnpike. No traffic on Route 3, none in the Lincoln Tunnel, and upon emerging into Manhattan, I made the first left and made my way to 10th Ave. At 57th I turned west and then right again onto 11th. I pulled into the garage near 63rd and was knocking on Mia's door only an hour and 20 minutes after closing my own. Not bad.

With the help of Mia's friend Kelly, we had everything moved into the new place by 12:45, and Michael was there watching us with the last of it. I think I heard the lock turn as we left. Mia's mom treated us all to lunch, and as we ate ate Penang, a storm parked itself directly over the intersection of Columbus and 71st and we watched the people walk by in the torrent. A few people I saw simply gave up � already soaked through, they just strolled down the side walk and across the street, not worried about their clothes or hair or the weather.

By the time we left, the rain had stopped, and we walked back to Mia's now empty apartment. I took a nap on the air mattress while she and her mom continued to clean, and her mother later dozed in Mia's room. After our naps and Mia's trip to the gym � "I realized I had no place to sit," she said, "so I went to the gym." � we showered and dressed and headed down to Gramercy Park to meet Lori, another Notre Dame friend, for dinner.

At City Crab, we found Lori and her boyfriend Alex at the bar, and shortly thereafter her sister, sister's husband and a friend arrived and we passed a fast two-and-a-half hours at dinner. From there it was back up to Times Square, and before going into the bar, Mia showed her mom all the new changes to 42nd Street and the area. It began to rain again as we walked back to 8th Avenue and turned north from 46th Street into Scruffy Duffy's, one of a zillion Irish pubs in the city. Decorated with signs on the wall (including a Maine license plate "Scruffy") and 10 TVs � one big screen � all showing MTV 2 with no sound, we grabbed two seats at the bar and had a drink each while watching videos we didn't recognize. Until Redman came on, I didn't even recognize the artists, and Dave Matthews' "The Space Between" was the only video I'd seen before. But showing videos on TV while playing other music just doesn't seem like a good use of the audio/video systems. We're there watching rap and hip-hop videos while listening to "Babylon" (first song when we walked in � why does that happen to me wherever I go?), "Like A Prayer," "Dancing Queen," "Bodyrock," and the like.

When we got back to Mia's about 1:30, I looked out the window at the city as she and her mom changed for bed. I wished the entrance to the tiny � maybe about 3-by-3 feet � balcony was from the living room and not the bedroom of one of her roommates. And we weren't even sure if the roommate was home, since most weekends both the other ladies take off to spend a couple of nights with their boyfriends. I would've liked to sit out there on the balcony, 17 floors above the tiny park, gazing down at West End Avenue and the West Side Highway, a beer in my hand and the lights below me. I wished, too, that I had someone to join me out there, the two of us just sitting there in the cool New York night, the quiet hum of the city seasoned with the occassional horn or siren, a breeze coming off the Hudson, scattered apartments a block up alive with light in the medium darkness, because it never truly goes dark in New York City.

I slept well, considering, in a sleeping bag on the hardwood floor of Mia's room, her mother on the air mattress and Mia on a quilt. At 8:30 this morning, the light coming through the bare window, I could sleep no longer, so I got up, dressed, said goodbye and headed down to the garage. In 60 minutes I was home, from door � down 11th to the Lincoln Tunnel to the Turnpike to the Parkway � to door.

Now I've got seven slots left in one of the two CD wallets I'm bringing with me, so there are a few more albums to choose.