Mutton Busting

Do you like seeing small children strapped to the backs of terrified sheep? Me too! Mutton Busting was our pre rodeo entertainment, and was probably the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life. My favorite part was the announcer, who upon seeing these little tykes get thoroughly stommped, would say 'Aw, they're all right, give 'em a round of applause' and the slightly older children dressed as rodeo clowns would pick the little ones up and drag 'em back to the chutes. HAHAHA. Seriously the best thing ever.

Nebraska Ho!

Just kidding, Erin, you're not from Nebraska. We woke up pretty late Thursday, having needed to sleep off the adrenaline from the previous day's endeavors. After some much needed grooming, we went to the Phillipsburg Chamber of Commerce, where Erin's Dad bought us some duck racing slips (duck racing is on Saturday. Cannot wait.) and some fabulous rodeo t-shirts. Seriously he is too nice. I am going to move in here. His kindness shall be rewarded with unwanted house guests. Then Erin, Lizzie and I headed north to Nebraska.

(Okay guys, don't tell Erin I told you, but her sense of direction is just as bad as mine and Lizzie's, and that is saying something.)

Our destination was Little Mexico, a delicious restaurant in Republican City (where I don't think I'm allowed) on a lake. We made it into Nebraska, and stopped at a prairie dog town (see picture, above) which was pretty adorable, and then continued to Rep city. Erin told us that she didn't quite remember quite where the restaurant was, but that we'd figure it out. Lizzie, employing a literary device known as "foreshadowing," said, "That's okay--this is what our trips are like--we usually wander around for hours to get to a destination that ends up being closed anyway."

And that's what happened. We wandered around this little city of 150 for an hour, trying to employ google maps to help us, and we just ended up on a series of dirt roads that probably did nothing for our Nissan Versa. (Erin calls it our "wind up toy"). We finally ended up at a camp ground, whereupon Erin asked for directions. We got there and the place was closed. As they say in Mexico, "Let's go to Bugbee's back in Alma." We drove back south to Alma, Nebraska, and ate at this adorable diner. I had a grilled ham and cheese and they used real ham in the sandwich--not deli meat. And then there was pie.

This one goes out to Lisa

This is Dexter. He lives here with Erin's family, and unlike *some* dachshunds I know, has exceedingly good taste and really likes me. He sits on my lap, and runs over to say hi to me whenever possible, and not just because he's using me to, say, get someone else's attention. Also, blue toes--a good look, no?

I don't think we're in Massachusetts Any more, Toto

Good morning! Most of you will recognize that lovely lady opening the door in the picture to your left. This year's States of Snark trip is brought to you by the fabulous Erin, and her wonderful family, who's kitchen I am sitting in right now, IN KANSAS! The room Lizzie and I am sharing is better than my apartment, and if they're not careful, and don't stop being so nice to us, I'm not going to leave.

Lizzie and I left at the hour affectionately known as "the ass crack of dawn." I was up at 4:15, and out the door by 5:15, and we were on the plane by 7 something or other. We stopped briefly in Atlanta, and then went on to Wichita, where Erin and her Mom met us. We made the exhange (I'll be visiting more with Erin's Mom later, hopefully, right now we're with her Dad and Step-Mom) and went off to our first adventure, Oklahoma! I asked Erin how far away we were from the border, and she said "about 45 miutes," and the deal was done. We drove south, crossed the border, and started looking for lunch. Braman was our first attempt, but it was more of a ghost town, and since I don't like ghost food, we moved on. We finally hit a little town called Blackwell, ate at the above pictured diner, and then started west (passing through Medford, Oklahoma, which is a wee bit different from Medford, MA). We stopped in Pratt, Kansas to get important supplies (where we experienced a dust storm, my eyes, MY EYES) and meet Erin's Grandma, who is awesome, and made me miss my Grandma (emo moment). Erin picked up her Dad's 1-ton pick up truck, which we'll be cruising in once Lizzie heads back home.

This is important. Our rental car, Mutton Maude, is a Nissan Versa with a four-cyllindar engine.

After visiting Erin's rad Grandma, we started North from Pratt to Phillipsburg, which is normally a 3.5 hour drive. It started to get darkish, and Erin called from her pick up to let us know that we were in for some weather (pictured above). There were some low lying clouds that looked like evil fingers (in snazzy gloves) which Erin informed us was a "wind-gate." We would pass through said wind-gate (and it would be windy) and then the rain would hit. Yep, that's about right. Poor Mutton Maude was shaking, being (Jimmy) Buffeted about by the heavy wind and rain, and we had to pull over for a minute to get our bearings (and we did an amazing in-car driver switcharoo--Lizzie is in charge of any injuries and blood-related trauma, and I am in charge of nature) and Erin called again and said "It doesn't do us any good to wait, because it's building on itself" (STORM CEPTION! A STORM WITHIN A STORM. A STORM ON TOP OF A STORM) and we continued, bravely, onto Greensburg, where we waited for a bit at a convenience store, as Erin's Dad was concerned about the storms maneuverings (which are complicated and SO INTERESTING! ASK ERIN!) as there was a possibility of tornado making on its back end.

Greensburg had been absolutely obliterated by a tornado 4 years ago, like the whole town, o-bli-ter-ated. They've rebulit, amazingly, but I thought it was an interesting place to wait out a tornado warning. As we watched, a storm chaser pulled up, and Erin asked him about whether it was safe to continue north, and he said that we'd be out of it in a few miles.

Foolishly, we believed him.

We got back on the road, and there was some mad crazy cloud to cloud lightening. It was non-stop, and lit up the sky like the Roman candles we didn't get to see after the Waltham Fireworks crapped out on the 4th of July. I was gobsmacked (First use of gobsmacked in states of snark?) and we watched the lightening just do its thing. At this point it was around 8. It was super dark on either side of our car, and turns out we were about to hook up with a severe thunderstorm. It was moving North, and so were we! Fancy that! There was blinding rain, fierce lightening, and us and Erin, moving along about 35 mph on the highway (so was the storm, says Erin). Erin was in pole position, and I white knuckled it as Mutton Maude shook and shimmied. We couldn't stop, as there was nothing around. We had the radio on, and then it burst out into an emergency alert bulletin (amusingly followed by this song) telling us about the stormpocalypse happening in several counties (later I asked "which county were we in?" and Erin said "the one where the storm was." Has she been secretly hanging out with my Dad?). We kept going and kept going and kept going, and then it started hailing (luckily Lizzie had bought the hail insurance for Mutton Maude) and I said, frustratedly, "Okay now you're just being an asshole," and then the hail stopped, at least.

Eventually when we reached Hays, an hour south of our destination, the rain slowed, so we hit a Kwik stop for bathroom break and comforting, comforting snacks. Lizzie took over driving, as my arms were shot, and we gunned Mutton Maude so we could make it to Erin's folks' house before the next cell hit around midnight. We made it in at 11:45. High fives all around! Now we're going to head up into Nebraska for snackage, and tonight is day one of the rodeo, huzzah!

Back in old Napoli That's Amore

So right now my computer has more viruses than Bret Michaels, but I still wanted to do a closing Italy post, so I'll put up the accompanying pictures later.

Friday was our last full day in Italy. We left Vietri Sul Mare around 8:15, and drove to Naples so we could see the giant flaming piles of trash Naples Archeological Museum, where they keep all sorts of fabulous things, but mostly the artifacts they dug up from Pompeii. The streets were indeed lined with garbage, and as we waited in line to get into the museum, the lucky few who had to wait outside all had their hands across their mouths, sort of like when Pompeii was hit by Vesuvius back in '79. The museum used to be the royal stables, and as we climbed the stairs to the first gallery, Terri, our new friend, leaned over and said "I bet the horses hated these stairs." Awesome.

We saw some fantastic mosaics, gorgeous frescoes, including one of what Vesuvius probably looked like before it blew its top all those years ago. We spent a charming 15 minutes in what I like to call "Penis Land," where they kept all the excavated naughty bits, and related, er, etchings. There was a lot of man on goat action, which made the following story very sad.

Lizzie and I are bad people, and have been wondering how the Italian folks we've seen have remained so thin, when they eat ALL THE TIME. You can guess at the theories we tossed around, and one of the turns out is not so far off. Back during the time of Pompeii, the rich folks would have giant banquets about 4 times a year, and they would eat eat eat eat eat and eat until they made themselves sick, go to a room they called THE VOMITORIUM, for reals, and puke their guts up, and then eat some more. Ugh. That is some unhealthy living, folks. I was discussing this with Terri, and I said "How much do you think the slaves preparing this food that ended up being wasted hated their masters?" and she said "And it's even worse because the goat they were cooking was probably their girlfriend at one time." And there was much laughter.

We left the museum, and drove back up to Rome, where we took a siesta before dinner. This would be our last dinner together, and the woman who had at the beginning of the trip told us she wanted to leave without us (who we'd been calling Vacation Boss) kicked Gary off the bus, and reminded us that we needed to tip our tourguide. No shit. Thanks, vacation boss, the sun certainly wouldn't know to rise in the East and set in the West without you telling it to do so. At dinner, there was a 60-something Italian man with white hair playing a Casio keyboard (with the back beat key doop doop doop doop) and several of the folks on tour with us began dancing to the psuedo Italian music (Dean Martin standards) while the servers and other guests looked on in horror. On the ride back, our last ride together, Vacation boss insisted that we all sing Auld Lang Syne, and Lizzie and I opted out, as did our friends. Then they sang the happy birthday song (which translates to "good wishes to you") to themselves, and hugs all around. Weird. We had drinks with Stew and Terri, because we are going to miss them.

Neither Lizzie or I could sleep on the flight home, and when we finally got into JFK, we taxied for an hour and a half. This led to some barely contained rage, which was exacerbated when, upon landing in Logan, they changed the baggage carousel on us several times. Still, made it home safely, and my biggest regret is that Victorio didn't meet me at the airport to convince me to stay and raise goats with him to clean up the garbage. We could've been something, Victorio. Here's looking at you, kid...

OMG Pompeii. It is no secret that I am a big fat nerd. Lizzie and I were in our nerdish glory today on our visit to Pompeii, and the only thing that could've made it better would have been if the grounds had been closed off to other tourists, who were in the way of us getting our nerd on. We got to Pompeii early in the morning, with Vesuvius looming over us with a psuedo innocent expression on (I'm just a mountain, la la la BOOM SUPRISE VOLCANO!) The eruption that destroyed Pompeii happened in 79AD, when Pompeii was a bustling Roman city of about 18,000 (it had originally been settled by the Greeks, but was conquered by the Romans eventually, as all things are.) The city was supposedly under the watchful eye of Venus, but she was busy washing her hair during the four-day event that choked the city with poisonous gasses before dumping 20-40 feet of ash on it. There were some survivors, who lived to tell the story, but they considered the city to be ill favored by the gods, and eventually it was forgotten until mid 16th century.

The ruins are amazingly preserved, ash being good for that. The roads are in pristine condition (including with the over-the-shit stepping stones), and it's easy to tell which rooms were used for what--bakery, private villas, food markets, etc. (apparently the citizens of Pompeii were famous for a disgusting oil that they squeezed out of fish, let rot in the sun for 10 days, and combined with some herbs--sounds like Vesuvius was sort of doing them a favor). We saw an old laundry, slave quarters, two theaters, and the amazing forum and market place. The most crowded room (no surprise) was the brothel, which had detailed frescoes of people in various stages and forms of coitus, as a menu of sorts. (Yeaaaah, I'll take a number 7...no, make that a number 5, and Super size that, please.) The rooms had super hard rock slabs to serve as beds, which meant you got some free exfoliation at the same time as your STD.

In the big open forum, they kept the plaster casts they'd made of bodies they'd found. When excavating, if they hit something that sounded hollow, they'd make a small hole and fill it with plaster, leaving an amazing likeness of the poor person or animal that had been suffocated. There was one plaster cast of a boy crouching and holding a hankie over his face, and a woman they call the "pregnant lady," 'cause she's got a round little belly. Sheesh. What if you were having a fat day and that's when Vesuvius blew? For all eternity (or as long as your plaster holds up) you're going to be the pregnant lady, even if you're not. People say that Pompeii is haunted, and if I were that lady I'd be like "oooOooOoOOOh I just had too big a serving of fish oil that day and am retaining water....NOT PREGNANT...OoooOoohhhh!" Apparently the archeaologists are now doing plaster casts of the root systems of plants, so they can see what the vegetation was like. Awesome!

After Pompeii we went to Naples (through the slums) to a vineyard at the base of Vesuvius, and then back to our hotel. Lizzie and I explored the little town by our hotel, and it's sort of amazing how the North End of Boston really resembles it. They're famous for their cermaic up here, but (time to be an ugly American) most of it looks like something (as Lizzie noted) that you can find at Ocean State Job Lot.

Tomorrow we're heading back to Rome, where, you know, all roads lead...

Everyone Loves Capri Sun

Buona Sera!

Guess what Lizzie and I wore today to the Isle of Capri? (I bet my Dad will get this...) Capris! Capri is a hot, crowded tourist trap, but a beautiful hot, crowded tourist trap. We got up with the sun and took an hour and a half boat ride out to Capri. Once there, our group of 40 had to squeeze onto two mini busses, and there weren't enough seats, so Lizzie and I had the pleasure of sitting on a makeshift fold out seat which fit (sort of) in the aisle. I was squeezed between three enormous men and one enormous woman, who bitched the whole time about how uncomfortable she was. I wanted to punch her, but I had lost all feeling in my arms. The drive was your usual treacherous coastal drive, complete with hair pin turns and plummet-to-your-death cliffs, but when we got to the top (to the town of Ana Capri) the view was stunning. We heard all about where Tiberius Ceasar held his orgies (anywhere he wanted) and how he used to make people "fly" off the cliffs by his villa if he was bored, or if they displeased him. We did a little shopping (very little--Jackie Onassis bought her sandals at Capri, which shows how far out of our price range they are) had some lunch, and then went for a walk. At 2, we crammed back onto the mini busses, and hit the even more crowded town of Capri.

Capri is very haute couture, and all sorts of rich celebrities visit. I suppose this is a selling point, but it's really just crowded and expensive, and my favorite part was the walk to the Augustus Ceasar Gardens, which offered spectacular views of the sparkling blue water. By the end of the afternoon, we were exhausted, and lined up to take the funicular down to the port. Good lord. The funicular has not been updated since Capri was a quiet hide away in the '60s. It's absolutely mobbed, and people are pushing, shoving, cutting in line, and it's much worse than even the Kenmore Square subway stop after a Sox Game, if you can believe it. I had some serious rage, as did Lizzie, and we were contemplating the benefits of causing an international incident by elbow dropping this one bastard all the way down the cliff. We barely made it in time to board our boats, and mostly slept on the boatride home. There at the port, Victorio (on whom I have a crush) was waiting for us. If Victorio had been driving the mini busses, he wouldn't have made us sit on a cardboard flap crammed between two sets of angry, sweaty tourists.

Now we are decompressing in our hotel room, and will head down to the bah later for some diet coke (or, as the server at the restaurant called it, American champagne) our earlier food poisoning severely limiting our food and drink choices. A little while ago we heard some awful Italian techno music pounding up from the beach, which I believe was a sound check, which in turn leaves me in breathless anticipation of the real event.