Miscellaneous Sightings to be Filed

• There was a sign at this Travel Plaza which spelled Novelties "Noveltyies."
• We saw a sign which read "ADULT STORE XXX FACTORY OUTLET."  YOU GUYS.  WHAT IS AT THE FACTORY OUTLET?  IS IT, I DON'T KNOW, LIKE REMAINDERS OR SLIGHTLY DEFECTIVE STUFF?  GRADE D BUT EDIBLE?
• A sign at a Dallas store read "Condoms To Go!!!!"  Errrr, is there a situation when you go into that store and are like, "I'd like my condoms for here, please!"  Actually, nevermind.
• There were many, many opportunities to buy fireworks on our trip.  Our favorite location was "Wild Wilma's Fireworks."  Lizzie and I imagined that she had blown off an unfortunate body part with fire works (nipple?) and earned the money to open her store by monetizing her misfortune, perhaps in peep-show form.
• Why would we go to the pawn shop that offered "100's of GUNS!" when we could go to the pawn shop that offered "1000's of GUNS!!!"  Why so stingy with the exclamation points, pawn shop #1?
• If the sign for your town/city's zoo has a goat on it, your zoo is probably boring.  Sorry.

We're on a Great Big Convoy

 BEHOLD! BATMAN'S MEMPHIS HEADQUARTERS!  No, seriously, look at the building between the signs in that first picture.  Nananananananana BAT BUILDING.

We left Nashville on Sunday morning and faced our biggest drive yet--out to Dallas.  It would end up being a little under 10 hours, and we'd cut through the rest of Tennessee and Arkansas on our way.  We decided to stop in Memphis for some barbecue, and found a place in Midtown (which is a weird combo of sketchy and college town, hence the bus in the picture?--okay--why did they make an anti-gun graphic where the gun is pointing at the head of a young black man?  How about no) that boasted great food and had a similar mix of locals and college hipsters.  I was afraid that it would be like Red Bones in Davis Square--everyone is always like "EHMERGERD, RED BONES HAS THE BEST BBQ," but I am sorry: everyone who says that is the wrongestest.  Their food is uninspired and uninteresting, and you always have to deal with its crowds of douchey people with ironic facial hair to boot. Anyway, this place, though similar in looks and demographics to Red Bones, had wonderful food, perfectly portioned so as not to cause road-trip regret miles later.  Oh!  N.B. Most folks I know from the south are like "y'all here in Boston are the worst drivers," and before this trip, I would have agreed, but Nashville drivers are FAR WORSE, and even Randy agreed when I mentioned this to him.  (He couldn't tell me why TN is called the Volunteer state, though.  He should read up on this in case it comes up in an audition).

After lunch, we kept on going and going, stopping only once in Arkansas to pee and to WITNESS A CAR CHASE! 

J/K, it turned out not to be a car chase, but just some dude who was driving too fast and careened into a Bank of America

Anyway, pretty awesome that Lizzie and I happened to catch what will be the biggest story for some time in Geyer Springs while stopping to avail ourselves of their facilities.

Arkansas is sorta sketch on the West Memphis border, but then rocks the whole "Natural State" angle with pretty landscape and gorgeous skies.  We drove through Little Rock, and then Hope and gave a shout out to Bill Clinton, but couldn't stop as we needed to get to Dallas, since I was flying out Monday morning. (Lizzie is going further west, but unfortunately I have to get back to da office.) We drove on through the dark, finally navigating Dallas' complicated interchanges around ten, checking in just before eleven.  Lizzie got some work done as I drooled on myself and watched some HD "A Knight's Tale." Remember Shannyn Sossamon, you guys?  Yeah, me too, even though she spells her name wrong.

When I got up this morning, I celebrated by slipping in the tub (see "Nana Shannon," per the previous post) and smashing the shin of my already dicked up leg on the outside of it, which kept me from falling, but created a huge disgusting knot, which I will use to explain my limp to people who don't need to know about how I turn into bambi on ice when I have three drinks.  This complicated the fact that my flight from Dallas to Charlotte, where I had a 25 minute layover, was late.  I could tell who the other folks going to Boston were by their winter gear, and even though my leg was throbbing with every step, it amused me greatly to see the herd of us in our pea coats running in a pack, sweating in the Charlotte heat, over to the next terminal to catch our flight.  It was snowing when I got home, a far cry from the 70 degrees I left in Dallas.  Alas.

The Ballad of Randy

Hello, and welcome to our balcony.  Please, come, sit by the live plants which oddly seem faker than plastic ones, and partake of some equally plastic diet pepsi...

As mentioned, Saturday night we stayed in Nashville.  As we checked in, I said to Lizzie, "I wonder how many of the folks who work here are trying to make it big in 'Music City.'"  Later that night, tired and bedraggled, we were having dinner in the hotel, and, okay guys, try not to take this personally, but we were talking about our friends and family, when our waiter came up and said "Oh!  Are you casting a show?"  Sorry that our waiter thought you all were so weird that you obviously had to be characters in a show. 

Anyway, this confirmed my earlier suspicions, and I had to say that, unfortunately we were not casting agents, and just had really colorful friends and family.  I asked him about his career aspirations, and he told me he had written his first screen play at the age of five, had been an extra in a ton of movies, and had even been featured in American Idol rewind.  I had been joking about the high levels of vitamin c in my cocktail, and he said that he was taking more vitamins so he could look good for his upcoming headshots. :( :( :(

Okay.  C'mere and sit next to Nana Shannon.  You are a charming, lovely, and intelligent person, Randy.  However, the entertainment industry is cruel, and I'm afraid the fact that you, with your wonderful personality but average looks have not succeeded yet and are now in your thirties does not bode well.  I know--it's not fair.  I'm in my thirties too, and it's shocking that, given my spectacular talent as evidenced by the video in the earlier post, none of the casting directors whom I waited on while working at Friendly's offered me a career in Broadway.  I am not saying that you need to give up on your dreams all together and drown yourself in the faux Opryland waterfalls, but I am saying that all the vitamins in the world are not going to turn you into a leading man, so maybe it's time to refocus those dreams a wee bit. 

Good luck and God speed, Randy.  I'll look for you in an upcoming episode of Nashville, as charming waiter #5.  Maybe I can be drunk customer #8...

States of Snark Sing Along

So--have you ever wondered what it's like traveling with Shannon and Lizzie? Exactly like this video.  Lots of trucks, diet coke, filthy windshields, and me forever caterwauling, making up words to songs while Lizzie decides whether or not today is the day she drives us both off a cliff.

You're the only Ten I see

Lizzie and I call bullshit on this.  How is this an efficent way to enforce the speed limit?  Virginia, you persist with your lies.

We continued through the Blue Ridge Mountains, cruising south until we hit the Tennessee border, where upon we took another much-needed bathroom break, and made for the also aptly named Smoky Mountains.  Our final destination was Nashville, but when we got to our hotel, more than a little slap happy after a nearly 10-hour drive, the room was absolutely filthy, and smelled like a combo of cigarettes, fornication and despair.  Lizzie asked for another room, but the second room was worse, the beds covered in detritus.  We decided that it wasn't to be, and left for our current abode, the Grand Ole Opry Hotel, which boasts a faux jungle, which our balcony overlooks.  Tomorrow we are heading for Dallas--who knows how many Cracker Barrels we'll see on the way!  (At least 45).

Happenings at the Maury River

Maury River:  In the case of Brook, you are...NOT THE FATHER!!!! (I TOLD YOU I TOLD YOU I TOLD YOU I TOLD YOU.)

But there is a cow drinking from you, like that's a normal thing to do...

Virginia is for Liars

Hey everyone.  So I know we rapped in that last post, but I'd like to continue keeping it real.  As you know, Lizzie and I have been bff for nearly 30 years, but you can be best friends with someone, and still not know if s/he is a Commie.  To that end, I have developed a fool-proof Commie test.  Lizzie had woken up before me, so as I went to shower, I craftily put the TV on "Saved By the Bell," the most American of shows.  If, when I came out, she had changed the channel, I knew I'd have to turn her in.  When I emerged, Lizzie turned to me and said, "They couldn't have done a better casting this show," and I knew she was as American as Lee Greenwood and giant crosses on I-81. I can't even tell you how relieved I was.  Almost as relieved as I was when we sneaked into a Hardees to pee after driving for hours to escape the Virgina snow. 

We left Winchester around 9:30, and made our way South West through the Shenandoah valley, surrounded by the (true to their name) Blue Ridge Mountains, eventually popping off the highway when a town called Buena Vista promised a Tourist Center, which would most certainly have a bathroom we could use.  We followed the signs for miles, and when we finally, finally found the tourist center, which promised to be open 9-5, it was closed, and we had to dash back to the aforementioned Hardees to empty our bladders. WHY MUST YOU LIE SO, VIRGINIA?  At the Hardees, I had Lizzie take a picture near this "no loitering" sign with her best "I'm loitering" pose, and I laughed so hard at her efforts that I snorted, the horrid sound nearly knocking Lizzie from her post on the post. 

We eventually returned to I-81, contemplating whether the Red Carpet Inn matched the Red Roof Inn (if you know what I'm saying) and whether the fact that we were keeping pace with the Bakersville Casket double trailer held ill-omens.  We also passed THREE open weigh stations.  Seriously--in all our travels, we've never seen one open weigh station, let alone three.  Must have something to do with that full moon.

Also, we seriously passed more than 35 Cracker Barrel restaurants as we made our way to Nashville.  It was horrifying, and oddly comforting...

On a roll, or something...

Psst.  Hey.  You guys.  Can you rap for a minute?  So we drove for a long time today, and when we finally got to our final destination (which is a story in itself) I had too many adult beverages, and upon leaving the restaurant, stuffed a roll in my purse.  You know, like an old lady.  I also smashed my knee on the bedpost, so tomorrow, when I'm like "where the hell did this giant bruise come from," you'll be like "hey, remember when you had too many adult beverages and forgot how to work your limbs?" and I'll be like "oh yeah, and Lizzie and I totally split that purse-smuggled roll, scarfing it like we hadn't eaten in years." and you'll be like "I'm sort of embarrassed for you right now." and I'll be like "YOU DON'T KNOW ME." and then it'll be awkward for a while, until maybe you drink too much and shave yourself a weird beard, and it'll be cool again.  Okay.  Onward.

Snow, why are you such a hater?

We had smooth sailing until we came to about Harrisburg, and then it started to snow.  A lot.  Traffic slowed to a crawl, and we crept our way  down I-78, and then onto I-81.  Trucks managed to blow by us, tossing sand and salt slushies in our faces as we tried to count the snow-covered cows.  We considered the merits of going back to Voorhees, NJ (sure, it's Friday, but it's not the 13th or anything), but taking the giant cross made out of scaffolding as a sign, decided to keep going (though hell should bar the way).  We made it to Maryland (still snowing) and then popped into the knuckle of West Virginia (oh my god, still snowing) and finally into Winchester, VA, where we decided to stop before Lizzie's iron grip broke off Hybrid Maude's steering wheel.  We shoveled food into our faces, and downed adult beverages, and shall sleep all of the sleep until tomorrow, where upon we shall make our way toward Nashville, TN.

Connecticut is always the worst part of the journey

Greetings, SOS friends!  Our adventures this weekend will take us from the frozen, rolling hills of Massachusetts to the (hopefully) warm plains of Texas. 

ROAD TRIP!!!!!!1!1!!!

We left in Elizabeth's Prius, which shall for this trip take the honorific "Hybrid Maude," at 9 am.  Our mission for the day was simple--drive as far as we could without completely losing our minds. 

Statistics:
States crossed:  7
States Peed in:  4
Diet Cokes Consumed:  9
Bags of trail mix consumed:  1
Cows Seen:  57
Songs Caterwauled:  Innumberable

And now, a mystery.  Even though it ranks #48 out of 50 in terms of area (and awesomeness), Connecticut always takes FOREVER to get through, against the very laws of physics. Lizzie and I decided to amuse ourselves by treating the state's name like Voldemort, its very utterance a taboo.  It turns out I am sort of like Harry Potter, and couldn't stop accidentally saying Connecticut, summoning its evil to menace us.  While in CT, we had to stop at a Dunkies to hit the bathroom, and decided that we'd try to make it all the way to PA before doing so again.  Putting the P back in PA, if you will.  After four days, we finally made it out of CT, dumping out into NYC traffic, and then through beauteous NJ (j/k the parts we saw were nasty) and finally, dear lord, finally into PA. 

Smile.  You're in Pennsylvania, and you didn't pee your pants.

The benefits of Home Ownership

 Goodness, look at that gorgeous mansion in the distance.  What amazingly wealthy, highly cultured socialite could possibly own such a palatial domicile overlooking the tempestuous Atlantic?

Me.  I do.  Get off my lawn, poors.

High Risk of Injury

 There's a gorgeous cliff walk in Newport that goes behind some of the giant mansions, which, unfortunately, we didn't have a chance to explore on this particular day trip.  We'll come back for more when it's not raining and misty.  We also didn't get to toss babies from the cliffs, as show in the above picture, but we did walk through the tunnel of love, and once again, Lizzie illustrated which of the two of us is the more intelligent, as she stayed on dry ground while I descended down the wet and slick "forty steps" (see my shoes in the Rochambeau picture to get a really good idea of my survival instinct) to get a better view of the foggy ocean.

Vampires and Silver Bullets!

 Look at me, trying to be as cool as Jean-Baptiste Donatien de Vimeur, comte de Rochambeau, and failing.  My pointing arm is too high up, and I don't have a Coors light can crushed in my hand.  I admire the diligence of the young, drunk person who gave a beer to Le comte de Rochambeau, but I feel like this war hero deserves better than watered down piss. 

Rochambeau played a huge role in helping America win the Revolutionary war.  He departed Newport in July of 1781, cruising through Connecticut to join Washington (who actually commanded fewer troops than Rochambeau) in New York, the combined forces then marching onto Virginia to a little siege I like to call "The Siege of Yorktown" and then onto a little battle I like to call "the Battle of the Chesapeake."  In late September, he hooked up with his pal the Marquis de Lafayette, and was vital in forcing the surrender of Cornwallis.  So, while it is a popular joke to tell the French that "if it weren't for us, you'd be speaking German," in actuality, if it weren't for the French, we'd be speaking...er, English.  You know what I mean.

Anyway, victorious, Rochambeau returned home to France, and WAS ALMOST GUILLOTINED during the reign of terror.  France, why your revolution gotta be so creepy?  Napoleon I gave him a pension, and he died at the age of 81 in 1807.  This statue (a replica of one in Paris) was donated in his honor in 1934.

So...why's the state called Rhode Island...

When it's not an island?  Because, my friends, its full name is the "State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations."  Ain't nobody got time to use such a big name for such a rinky-dink state, so it's been shortened in common parlance, leaving out the (uncomfortable) reference to the mainland. We drove from Exeter, stopped for lunch in Point Judith, and crossed the (toll) bridge over Jamestown to Rhode Island, that is, the actual Rhode Island, also known as Aquidneck, the largest island in Narragansett bay.  There are several theories as to why Aquidneck was called Rhode Island, but in 1644, DJ Roger Williams spun out this line:  "Aquethneck shall be henceforth called the Isle of Rodes or Rhode-Island." and a legend was born.  Attempts have been made to change the island's name officially to Aquidneck, to avoid the confusion of crossing a bridge from Rhode Island into Rhode Island, but the measure never passes, though the RI department of transportation graciously allows Aquidneck to be a variant appellation.  DJ Roger Williams and the Variant Appellations will be taking the stage now.

So.  What's on Aquidneck/Rhode Island, Rhode Island?  Newport!

Exeter, Rhode Island

 This is the baptist church adjacent to the graveyard where poor Mercy is buried.  The whole town was quiet, and seemingly shrouded in an eerie mist.  All of the trees and stones were coated in lichen, indicating that the air, at least, is clean.  Mercy Brown's story is one of the best documented cases of exhumation to deal with the problem of the undead.  It's interesting how close to the 20th century this occurred, and how the advent of embalming finally reaching these rural farm towns (which was sure to prevent the undead from rising to drink the blood of the living) helped alleviate some of their fears.  By 1882, ten years before Mercy died, it had been discovered that TB (the artist formally known as consumption) was in fact caused by bacteria, but folk knowledge and local legends still held a lot of clout, allowing for the disturbance of Mercy's grave.  I wonder what she had to say to her father when he showed up thirty years after her exhumation.  The cemetery she's buried in is still accepting new tenants, and we saw a stone for a 19 year old man who had passed in 2005. 
The cemetery is eerie, but peaceful, and it doesn't seem that Mercy is angry.  I imagine she gave this young man the grand tour when he was interred, telling him to thank his lucky stars that vampires in the 21st century merely sparkle.

Mercy of the Fallen

A cold and misty day in January seemed like a good time to visit the undead.

George Brown was a farmer in the small town of Exeter, Rhode Island in the late 19th century.  Consumption was all the rage, then, and George lost his wife to the disease in 1883, and his eldest daughter, Mary Olive, died less than six months later in 1884.  It was quiet for a while, the disease, until it struck George's seemingly healthy only son Edwin around 1891/2.  He struck out with his wife to Colorado Springs to seek treatment from Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman   cure his illness in the healing waters, and while he was away, his younger sister, Mercy, fell ill and died on January 18th, 1892.  She was placed in a crypt while everyone waited for the ground to thaw.

George's neighbors began to whisper.  Something wasn't right--illness was common, but it seemed George's family was having a considerable run of bad luck.  They confronted him with their suspicions that one of his family members was in fact undead, and feeding on the living.  They demanded he do something before the vampire started finding victims outside of the Brown family.

With a group of friends and neighbors, George had a doctor exhume the corpses of his wife and daughter Mary Olive, who were, having been ten years in the ground, in advanced states of decay.  However, when they looked in Mercy's coffin, she seemed to have shifted, and her body was still fresh. When the doctor removed her heart, it dripped blood.  The doctor drained her body of fluids, and her bloody heart was burned on a nearby stone wall.  The ashes were given to Edwin, who had recently returned, still ill, so he could drink them in a protective potion.  Mercy's body was buried, as was Edwin's when he died just two months later.  George himself lived until 1922, and the fates of his other two youngest daughters is unknown.  People who visit Mercy's grave often report seeing blue orbs...like this one in a picture I took, to the right of her grave.