Where Are Kate & Mike?

July 8-10, we're driving out of Chicago, west to Omaha and staying at the Sheraton (402 - 342-2222.) Lunch somewhere in Iowa, maybe someplace specializing in these "loose meats" I hear so much about. Or Smitty's, a Des Moines joint specializing in deep-fried pork tenderloins. (Those may be the four most beautiful words in the English language.) Dinner maybe at the Flatiron? Unclear whether I'll ever eat again after Smitty's. Total hours driving: 7.


July 9-10, we're at the Hotel Boulderado in Boulder, CO (303- 442-4344). In a bold experiment, I've made reservations for 9 p.m. at The Kitchen, even though it's a 7 hour drive from Omaha. Sure, it should be enough time, but WILL IT? I am almost more excited about dinner at The Kitchen and brunch the next day at the hotel (featuring something called "batter-dipped apples") than the actual getting of an apartment in L.A. Draw your own conclusions. Total hours driving: 7.


July 10-11, we're at the Strater in Durango, C0 (970) 247-4431). Having gorged on batter-dipped apples, I will probably just order celery sticks from room service, but I'm thinking Mike might enjoy the Durango Diner's Bonus Burger Deluxe. If we make good time, we might drive down the road to Mesa Verde National Park (mmm...cliff dwellers). So if we mysteriously disappear, that's a good place to start the search party. Total hours driving: 6 1/2.


July 11-12, we're staying on the North Rim at the Grand Canyon Lodge (928/638-2611.) Again, a slight race against time is involved, since I'd like to cruise through Monument Valley (mmm...John Ford-esque) on the way (and see Mesa Verde if we haven't already) and we have dinner reservations at the Lodge at 9. And the next restaurant is about 75 miles away. Total hours driving: 8, plus however long we spend driving through Monument Valley, making up lyrics for the little-known Sir Mix-a-Lot song "I Like Big Buttes."


July 12-13, we're in Las Vegas, baby! (Federal law requires the addition of a "baby!" after each mention of Aslay EgasVay.) In the morning, walking around the North Rim and making astonished remarks about the largeness of the Canyon con Mucho Grande. In the afternoon, a cruise through Zion Canyon, and thence to you-know-where. Some people go to Vegas (BABY!) for the blackjack, I go for the sweetbreads. You heard me, sweetbreads. We have 9 p.m. reservations at SteakCraft, run by the same mad, mad genius who put braised bacon on the menu at Gramercy Tavern. (What is braised bacon? A fist-sized slab of unsliced bacon, cooked until tender. Drooooool.) After dinner, I will be in a fat-coma in our room at the MGM Grand (877-880-0880.) Mike will be on the phone with the paramedics and holding a mirror to my mouth. Total hours driving: 5, plus however long we spend circling Zion National Park looking for a bathroom.


July 13-18, we're in Los Angeles (finally!). Staying at the Sofitel (310- 278-5444) and searching furiously for an apartment, ideally a 2 bedroom jobbie with a cat-friendly landlord and a Whole Foods in the neighborhood, renting for under 2 K. Even better if it's in Santa Monica, has on-site laundry, covered parking and some kickin' vintage architecture. If it has a dishwasher, hardwood floors and central air, I will probably weep tears of joy. Well, somebody will weep. Mike and I've washed enough effing dishes to last us to our dying day. Total hours driving to L.A.: 5 1/2. Total hours driving in Los Angeles, looking for an apartment: Eleven bajillionity.

July 18-Aug 2, we're in the Midwest somewhere. We come back on a red eye American flight 7/18, landing in the wee hours of Tuesday morning. Mostly, I suspect we'll be in Michigan, since our apartment will be a barren wasteland, containing only cats, internet access and an Aerobed. August 2, the Furry Girls and we are flying back out to L.A., where, God willing, we will have an actual, honest-to-God apartment waiting for us.