Number Two Pencils Will Be Provided

Recently my printer kind of died. I don’t react well to the sudden failure of technology. Modernity has spoiled me. Give me gridlocked traffic, event planning, or final exams. None of those set me off like something that usually works, suddenly not working. Fortunately my printer is largish, and positioned in such a way as to make it difficult to hurl across the room. (The same cannot be said for certain cell phones and remote controls from my past.) 

Financial factors have prevented me from replacing my marginally functioning printer, but that has turned out to be kind of a nice thing.  I had no idea that I had become so printer dependent. I really think of my self as more of a pencil on paper person. I even rebelled, to a degree, in law school. I started out in my 1L year toting my laptop to every class like all of those around me. (Seriously, that scene in Legally Blonde where Reese Witherspoon is surrounded by classmates hunched behind their little screens is completely accurate.) 

By my second semester I had turned away from that approach. Along with my natural inclination to take notes in a very free-form, arrows and circles and diagrams kind of way (and my tendency to doodle) I was completely incapable of not checking my email or googling whatever random topic came to mind when I should have been learning about the rule against perpetuities. I became the girl who took notes by hand, and I think it was a good choice --- I managed to graduate anyway. And I would have thought that would put me squarely in the analog column when it comes to putting ink to paper. It turns out I have been lulled into believing such a thing. The Matrix has me.

When it comes to birthday cards and other little “hand made” gift type things I have become overly reliant on my printing capabilities. With the loss of said capabilities I have been forced to resort to that most ancient of technologies; my hands. And it has been great.

It started with my friend Stephenie’s birthday. I’ve done a few cards in the past where I use old photos or web images, and maybe a little Photoshop magic to create a delightfully charming (or delightfully inappropriate) little birthday treat. Coming up on Steph’s birthday knowing that I would have to resort to other options drove me to the markers and colored pencils section of my bedroom. I mulled over my options and decided to go for an acrostic. I doubt I’ve made an acrostic since I was in elementary school, so I guess I was due. After some brainstorming, a first draft mock up, and a good 45 minutes of good old fashioned coloring I had created a cleverly personalized something I was sure Steph would enjoy.

As a thank you for recommending the book The Perks of Being a Wallflower to me, I was inspired to whip up a mixed CD for my cousin Sarah. If you’ve read the book you know it should really be a mixed tape, but we live in a modern age so I went CD with it. 

Putting together the actual CD was no more difficult than whipping up a playlist in iTunes. Where the fun part came in was the song list. If I were working with a printer I’d probably have just typed up a list of songs and artists on one side of a paper and maybe have grabbed some book or movie (they’re making a Wallflower movie) related image from the web for the other side. Instead, I was going to have to hand write the list, and come up with a cover too. The nostalgic vibe of the book made me think of all the doodling that I (and everyone else I know) did on notebooks in school. So I basically doodled the song names and artists, drew a picture of an old tape for the cover, and sewed the pages together. I very nearly kept it for myself.

All that being said, I’m buying a new printer this week.

The Magical Mystery Tour: Day 8 - If Vegas and PCB Had a Baby

Ahh, good morning Tennessee! I awoke in my motel room in one of those towns that isn’t really a town. With a reasonably early start, I headed for points south. First Stop: Sevierville, to pay homage to that wonder of wonders, Dolly Parton. Sevierville being Dolly’s hometown and all, they have placed a statue of her on the Courthouse Square. In addition to just appreciating the fact that there’s a Dolly Parton statue, I especially like that the statue is of a young, barefoot, “mountain” Dolly rather than glitzy glam Dolly. I love them both, but given that this is where she started out I like that the statue reflects her down home roots. After snapping my pics of the divine Ms. Parton I walked around “downtown” Sevierville a bit, in search of a coffee shop (I was struggling a bit as a result of my Mello-Yello induced, semi-sleepless night) but I had no luck in my caffeine hunt, so I headed on down the highway to Pigeon Forge. 

I hadn’t planned to stop in Pigeon Forge (intending to make a return visit sometime in the not too distant future to pay Dollywood a visit) and while I didn’t pause there, I was sorely tempted. There was all kinds of magnificence around me. A huge replica of the Titanic, a Hatfields and McCoys dinner theater of some sort, and a Hill Billy Village --- which I should probably be offended by, but no, I don’t want to protest I want to buy a ticket. I even happened to see a random person going down the (very busy) highway on horseback. It was as if I was driving through the awesome, redneck progeny of Panama City Beach and Las Vegas.

I bypassed Gatlinburg and headed straight into Great Smoky Mountain National Park. This was probably the first National Park that I ever visited, and certainly it’s the one I’ve been to the most but it has been ages since I’ve really explored it. I was not alone in my exploration. The park was chock full of visitors. There were tons of people everywhere, including a fair few tooling around in old-timey cars. Also, loads of motorcycles. I’ve since learned that Great Smoky Mountain is the most visited of all the national parks. Given that the traffic levels were bordering on congestion, I am unsurprised by that fact. While I didn’t get to do an in depth tour (there’s this thing with synchronized lightning bugs that I missed out on, plus not a salamander in sight) I did make it up to Clingman’s Dome, along many a winding road. The whole trek through the park was just lovely. There were babbling brooks, mountain laurel, and even a tunnel or two!

I exited the Park at Cherokee, NC a place that is much cooler in my memories than it is in reality. I contemplated staying until sunset to see Unto These Hills (outdoor drama telling the story of the Trail of Tears) but I decided to be responsible and try to make it all the way home tonight. I didn’t take a direct route back to Douglasville, however. Instead I took a leisurely drive down the very twisty Mountain Waters Scenic Byway (which I didn’t even know existed until today) and saw many a lovely waterfall. I even got to walk behind one and see the other side of water.

Eventually I made it back into Georgia and shortly after crossing the state line I stopped at a little scenic overlook to take in the view of the North Georgia Mountains (totally prettier than any of the surrounding states) and as I was taking off from there I happened to spot a Bartram Trail sign.

Digression: The Bartram Trail approximates the trek that naturalist William Bartram took through what is now the Southeastern US in the late 18th century. Basically he walked all over, wrote about things in nature, drew pictures of various flora and fauna, and confabed with some of the native tribes in the area. In my opinion, way cooler than Audubon, but there’s this whole back story in my family that makes me partial to Bartram, which I will spare you for now. In any case, I’ve always kind of wanted to retrace at least part of the Bartram Trail. While that may never happen, I was pleased that I spotted the sign.

I soon started looking for a gas station, as the Civic had dipped below a quarter of a tank. I very nearly broke my neck when I did a double take to see the gas price on the sign of one lonely station that I passed. I think I actually yelled out loud “Gas for $2.85!!!” but my joy was fleeting, as I soon realized that the sign was attached to a gas station that had clearly ceased operations some time ago. I finally gassed up, and continued heading southward, but soon regretted not getting a bottle of water at my earlier stop. By now I was in a fairly well populated area so I pulled off at a generic convenience store, and made my way inside to procure a tasty Dasani. The guy at the counter hit me with some basic banter about how I was old enough to buy water, he guessed. But then as I left, he walked out too. It had just started to rain and he was asking me some sort of chemistry related question about rain and oxidization, the specifics of which I can’t recall. He also kept talking away, as I’m trying to walk through the rain to my car. I may have been a little rude, but my rudeness was nothing compared to his strangeness. That’s North Georgia I suppose.

I zipped down I-85, making it into the city before dark. I tried to snag a nice end-of-the-trip picture of the city at dusk, but I couldn’t manage a good one from the car and I was too tired to make a special stop for it. 

Finally, I was home and in bed. Magic over. :(

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The Magical Mystery Tour: Day 7 - I Don't Mind the Gap

Today, I will be saying goodbye to Raleigh. After a brief morning visit with Steph I headed out. Before I was too far outside of Raleigh I found myself desirous of some elevensies and I spotted a sign for a Sheetz convenience store. I’m always on the lookout for a cool new roadside stop. After WaWa’s of the Mid-Atlantic and the amazing Buc-ee’s in Texas, I kinda feel like I’m developing a sense for these things. I’d never been to a Sheetz before, but I got good vibes. And I liked the font on their sign --- it had a retro feel to it. Unfortunately, it was not a great experience. Their road snack selection was subpar and the clerk was pretty rude. No gusto.

My first official stop for the day was going to be in Mount Airy, NC which is the home town of Andy Griffith. That basically means that I was going to Mayberry itself, and I was excited. I made my way to downtown “Mayberry” and did a fair amount of walking around. I heard the chimes from the big town clock as well as hearing the show’s theme song coming out of every other store front I passed. (Official title is The Fishin’ Hole, if you’re interested.) I popped into the Snappy Lunch (boy, was that place hoppin’) for a soda pop. I had been contemplating getting a haircut at Floyd’s Barber Shop, but the line for that was out the door, and if it’s not the real Floyd doing the cutting really, what’s the point? Instead I ambled down to a gift shop to pick up the standard bits you’d pick up at such a place. My favorite of all my souvenir purchases was actually one for me. It’s a bullet. Now this may seem an out of place purchase for me, given that I’m not exactly an NRA member, but I can explain. It’s all about Barney Fife. For anyone who grew up with TBS --- or more specifically, anyone who has experienced a rain delay during a Braves game --- you’ve likely seen an episode of The Andy Griffith Show where you learn that Deputy Fife isn’t permitted to carry a loaded gun. Andy makes Barney keep his one bullet in his shirt pocket so no ‘major incidents’ occur. Well, the lovely little gift shop that I visited had a “Barney’s Bullet” keychain available and I snapped it up.

Digression: Back on Day 1 of my little tour, while sitting around drinking at DL, Evan started examining my key ring. Me being a girl and all, it’s pretty heavily populated with various key chains, along with actual keys. He talked me into tossing some of the ballast overboard. In all honesty I have no need for the CVS card that I never use or the key to condo in Midtown, the inhabitants of which I no longer know. So I let him conduct a mini-purge of my keyring. Evan suggested that I ditch all the superfluous keybits and get a bottle opener on there, but I just can’t get rid of Superman. I’ve had him with me for well over a decade. Now he has the bullet to keep him company.

In addition to the small town charm that abounds in Mount Airy, I was very pleased to see that this real world Mayberry appeared to be very multicultural. On-screen Mayberry is pretty much as white as baby powder, so seeing any non-Aryan types around was very nice. Another interesting bit I noticed about the Mount Airy area, lots of places seemed to be named with quickness in mind. There was, of course, The Snappy Lunch which was a featured establishment on the show, but I also saw The Speedy Chef and ASAP Restaurant. Not to be all City Mouse about things, but Mount Airy did not seem like the type of place that is especially bustling so I’m a bit stymied as to what the big food hurry is. Though, as I was on my way out of town I guess I picked up the speediness vibe because I was driving a little faster than the posted limit (which is to say, I was driving as I normally drive) as I passed a local law enforcement officer. Fortunately he didn’t budge, but it almost would have been worth it to get a ticket in Mayberry.

I was planning to end my day at Cumberland Gap National Park which meant I was basically going to be driving west along Virginia’s southern border. I decided --- with the help of Roadside America --- to make a stop in Bristol, which is right on the Virginia-Tennessee line, and is the official Birthplace of Country Music. When I first saw that such a place existed I was thrilled. While I don’t often tune in to the Country music of today (honestly, most of it seems like poppish crap to me) I love the “mountain music” of old. I was less than thrilled when I saw that the museum honoring said birthplace was in a mall. As underwhelming as that was to hear, it was on my way, and I do love those cute little random museums (though I typically prefer them in quaint downtown buildings or somewhat dilapidated structures in the country) so I decided to pay it a visit. 

While the Bristol mall may house a treasure trove of Country Music Memorabilia, it’s somewhat lacking in retail appeal. Perhaps I’ve been spoiled by the glitz and glamor of Douglasville’s Mall at Arbor Place? I did eventually make it into the museum itself. While it was a little small, it did have some very cool bits of history in there. I was really hoping that they’d have a copy of Mother Maybelle’s Cookbook available for sale. There was one on display in the Carter Family section of the museum, but no go on obtaining my own. It’s a shame. I bet that’d be a good seller for the museum. I settled for picking up a Maybelle CD, which was especially appropriate given that I was next heading for the Carter Family Fold. (The internet tells me that there is a fancy new Birthplace of Country Music Center in the works, complete with assistance from the Smithsonian. I wish them well, and would be delighted to visit the new place when it’s all done.)

Sidebar: If you think you’re unfamiliar with the musical stylings and influences of the Carter Family, you’re wrong. Seriously, hit up Wikipedia and you’ll see. In addition to being a significant part of the foundation of both Country and Folk music, June Carter happened to marry a gentleman named Johnny Cash. Him you’ve heard of.

The Carter Family Fold, is a music venue situated in Hiltons, VA (read: middle of nowhere) which is the original home of the Carter family. It’s situated on A.P. Carter Highway, which is part of The Crooked Road (Virginia’s Heritage Music Trail). I actually didn’t know The Crooked Road was a thing until I was driving down it, but they have the cutest little signs with banjos on them. It was pretty country to drive through, too, except for the heebie jeebies I got from this truck that was following me. It was really ridiculous. Granted, I was on a lonely mountain road, surrounded my ramshackle dwellings, and being followed by a spooky truck, but there was no need for some of the driving antics I performed. I’ll spare you the details and just say that I finally landed at the Carter Fold, took my pictures, and was off again. (There are various old buildings and a little museum, but sadly they are only open on the weekends. I’d definitely consider making a trek back up to hear some music.)

I had a decent amount of ground to cover between Hiltons and Cumberland Gap, but it was a lovely drive. I will say that the highlight was one of those message signs in front of a church. I’m incredibly judgmental of churches based on what their signs say. Somewhat ironically, the church signs that anger me the most are the judgmental ones. I’m also not a fan of those quoting God, without actually quoting scripture; “Don’t make me come down there. - God.” You’ll also see a lot of these in billboard form, too. First off, that whole threaten-someone-into-believing thing is just not what it’s all about, in my opinion. Secondly, isn’t part of the whole religion thing respecting the word of God and revering him and such? Seems a little questionable to put words in God’s mouth. Anyway, the sign I saw somewhere in western Virginia read as such: SIGN MAN LAZY SO JUST COME TO CHURCH. That is simply excellent.

Eventually I reached the Cumberland Gap. The Park’s entrance is actually on the west side of the Gap so to get there I had to drive through the tunnel that runs beneath the Gap. That was just super cool (and a much easier way to travel than Daniel Boone probably had.) I got to the park after the visitor’s center had closed, but it was still daylight and I headed up to the Pinnacle Overlook. That was one exceptionally winding road. The views were very nice, and I got to do that thing where I stood with each foot in different states so I was technically in two places at once, but even with all that, driving through the tunnel was way cooler.

I departed the park on the Kentucky side and was feeling a bit peckish. I considered just waiting to eat until I reached whatever hotel I’d end up at that night, but then I realized, if you’re in Kentucky, you need to get some Kentucky Fried Chicken. Fortunately, there was one just up on the left so I purchased some tenders and looked into where I’d be sleeping tonight. I considered staying in Kentucky; I was just a stone’s throw from Harlan, after all. But the desire to maximize my stop-and-sees for tomorrow coupled with the reluctant realization that Raylan and Boyd would probably not be around drove me to select a rooming establishment in Tennessee. (BTW, that Raylan and Boyd thing is a reference to the show Justified, which is just darn good. It’s based on an Elmore Leonard story and stars the scrumtrillescent Timothy Olyphant as well as Douglasville’s own Walton Goggins [who I like more and more.] I suggest you check it out.)

Fun Fact: The first Kentucky Fried Chicken location was not in Kentucky at all. It was in Utah.

I soon landed at a nice and cheap Days Inn, complete with a super sweet desk clerk guy. After a stop at the vending machine, I made it to my room where I finished off my KFC and a can of soda. Foolishly, the soda I had selected was Mello Yello, which I had forgotten is super caffeinated. I was up a few hours later than I would have liked, but it did give me some time to plan for tomorrow, the final day of my Magical Mystery Tour. 

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The Magical Mystery Tour: Day 6 - Dracula Has No Thrall

Sunday was a gloriously lazy day. I loosely planned my course home for the next couple of days. We watched a little Arrested Development (which always makes me want a chocolate dipped frozen banana) and Stephenie made a delicious dinner --- using my coal mining sauce on the chicken which worked out well. After dining we went to watch the night’s episode of True Blood with Roxane and Jerimee. With the exception of some minor exposition for Evan and Steph, who’d never watched the show before (I may have coined the term “rehymenated”) the night was pretty uneventful. For that reason this is about to turn into a post on fictional vampires (as opposed to the nonfiction ones.)

Given the seeming ubiquity of vampires in the world today I’m feeling a little introspective about my own vampire experiences. I wouldn’t say that they’ve had a significant role in my life, and I’m quite glad that I had an adolescence that lacked a “Vampire” section of the book store. Even still, I can’t ignore the presence that these bloodsuckers have had in my little corner of society.

The earliest memory I have of a good vampire movie is The Lost Boys, and who could deny it’s awesomeness? You get all that undead action, plus the Coreys. I think Kiefer Sutherland was especially effective as a bad guy vampire (and I love that Dad came along a few years later to train up a Slayer) but I never really loved him until he was Jack Bauer. Evidently I only appreciate torture and violence when it’s done in the name of national security.

I watched Bram Stoker’s Dracula (that’s the early 90s Coppola version) an inordinate number of times, and I still think it’s a good movie, but I have my qualms. The most significant limit, in my mind, is Gary Oldman himself. Don’t get me wrong, amazing actor. He totally makes me weak in the knees in True Romance and The Professional. And Sirius Black comes in a close second to Professor Snape in my lovable wizards list. But I feel absolutely no thrall from him as Dracula, even as the young and supposedly attractive Dracula. Nothing at all. Call me crazy, but Dracula should be chock full of smoldering magnetism and there was none here. In truth, I’ve never met a Dracula that lived up to my expectations. You do, at least, get to see Tom Waits as Renfield here.

By the time I hit ninth grade the entire school (read: the 12 or so people I sat with in the corner of  the courtyard at lunch) was aflame with Anne Rice-itis. I was no different. Books were read. Interview was seen at the theater. And the school was abuzz with the hotness of Louis and Armand.  But probably my favorite vampire cinema experience is From Dusk Till Dawn. Robert Rodriguez is excellent. Plus you get Quentin Tarantino. This is also the movie that made me love George Clooney. A lot. And I must give some major credit to Salma Hayek for being a ridiculously hot lady vampire (until she actually turns into a vampire, then not so much.)

When Buffy the Vampire Slayer in its television form came about, I scoffed. I liked the campiness of the movie, such as it was (hello, Paul Reubens’ death scene alone!), but didn’t see how that would work on tv so I didn’t bother. Then, my first year of college my friend Nina and I were sharing a crush on our British Lit professor when she commented that he reminded her of Giles. Who is Giles? I asked. She was quite surprised that I wasn’t a Buffy viewer, saying that I “seemed” like one. (In retrospect, I know that she was calling me a nerd, but I’m cool with that. I am one, and proud. She was too.) I consulted with Stephenie, already an avid fan, and joined the ranks myself. Years later, I am a total Whedon acolyte. While my heart belongs to Giles (Nina was so right) Angel and Spike are the principal vampires in this little world. With Angel you get tall beautifulness, but with a fair amount of whining --- unless he’s evil and in leather pants, which is a whole different story. With Spike you get comic relief in the form of a blonde, accent having, bad-guy-with-a-heart-of-gold which is one of my favorites. 

The next wave of vampirey stuff I was aware of came in the form of the True Blood/Twilight surge of 2008. I got swept up in both. With Twilight, before I really knew what I was getting into I had read all the books. I felt kinda used and dirty afterward. With True Blood I skipped the books, but am sufficiently hooked on the show. I find almost everyone incredibly irritating (I could kick Tara in the face) but I’m a total sucker for Eric, another of those blonde, accent having, bad-guys-with-a-heart-of-gold.

*Inclusion of a vampire does not constitute endorsement of said vampire.

All said, these bloody vampires have been with me for a while. If there really are vampires in the world, they are doing an excellent job at infiltrating the media in order lull us into feelings of security and familiarity for when they decide to mainstream. I just wish I had a clear memory of The Count from Sesame Street giving me a numbers lesson. Then I’d feel complete.

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The Magical Mystery Tour: Day 5 - Honey Badger Don't Care

Saturday morning I awoke from a very intense dream, in which I was driving through Shenandoah National Park and the mountains were volcanoes and they were erupting all over the flippin’ place. That seemed like a rather odd dream to have, especially given that the only negative issues that I had in Shenandoah were those creepy deer. It did have the benefit of putting me on edge enough in my sleep that when I woke up I was wide awake. I always appreciate that, so long as it doesn’t happen in the middle of the night. (Later on I realized what had triggered my dream. Among her Mad Science gear, Stephenie had a small model volcano sitting on the floor of the computer/guest room. I assume I spotted it, even if I didn’t realize it, and subconsciously absorbed it into my dream. The brain is a funny thing. Volcanoes, on the other hand, are not funny. You never laugh at a volcano.)

We had no major plans today, until a game night this evening, so Steph and I proceeded to enjoy a very leisurely Saturday (alas, Evan had to do some work to make up for the time he missed seeing to his not-a-wedding the previous day.) There was a little wedding planning talk, and when we got around to the subject of dresses I mentioned the infinity dress (I think there are a variety of names, but essentially it’s a dress that can be worn in a variety of configurations.) After some Googling for pictures Stephenie seemed interested and she went to find her fabric stash. In it we found some sheer black fabric with a red glitter design all over it and some old green curtains --- we were about to go a little Gone With The Wind with things. 

Steph and I are both fairly resourceful when it comes to the making of something (I mean, have you seen our Christmas stocking work?) but we were kind of working without a net on this one. While we had a decent tutorial to go from, we lacked an actual pattern, and the tutorial did not give us any direction as to how to make the circle skirt portion of the dress. There was much fabric folding and measuring (with a string, not a tape measure) and we did a couple of practice runs with a piece of paper so we finally got it figured out, cut the fabric, and Steph began sewing the skirt pieces together. (It would have been really handy if we’d had a giant compass.) Once that portion was assembled, Steph slipped it on, but it was slightly big --- as in we needed to cut out more than one fourth of the entire skirt. Still not sure how me messed that up, but better it be cut too big than too small. We attached the two long strips that make up the top of the dress and began playing around with wrap-and-tie options. I think there were a few glitches in our very quickly made prototype which were minor hindrances, but in general we got the idea. Even if it’s not a good design for a wedding/bridesmaid dress, it’d be good for an everyday one. The major downside of this whole production --- the red glitter fabric left it’s little glitter babies all over the damn apartment, and us. We were noticing the shimmery bits on each other when Stephenie told me that Evan’s dad calls glitter the herpes of the craft world. Never were truer words spoken. 

(*No pictures of the dress are included because (1) there are still some kinks to work out and (2) the whole bottom half was made of sheer material and there’s no need to be lewd on the internet, now is there.)

Craft time being over, we settled in on the couch for an educating exploration into one of modern America’s most intriguing anthropological studies --- Beauty and the Geek. (And yes, I mean the reality show where the hot girls and the dorky guys are teamed up in a battle royale for semi-generous cash prizes. And no, it’s not still on the air --- we were watching season one, which Steph has on her hard drive.) Evan did not join us for this portion of the afternoon, though eventually he did emerge from the computer/guest room to insist that we get out of the house (in a “let’s go do something” way not in a “get the hell out, bitches” way.) We made our way to Evan’s car (the doors of which I always slam, for some reason) and decided to head out for frosty beverages. While imbibing we got into a discussion about names, and I may have named Steph & Evan’s future child --- rest assured it is not “Carrie.”

We made a beer run and returned home to ready ourselves for game night. Stephenie has been talking about playing The Settlers of Catan for the past couple years, really giving me the hard sell on its greatness. While my board game comfort zone is generally in the realm of Trivial Pursuit, I was expecting to be developing a society on the island of Catan this evening. Things took a slightly different path. Sean, a friend of The Gang’s (how have I not started referring to Stephenie, Roxane, Evan, and Jerimee as The Gang from Raleigh already? It’s so adorable.) brought over a game called Trumpet, which is evidently one of those games that board game playing connoisseur’s enjoy. Trumpet is both a board game and a card game, and I was told that the principles are similar to Hearts or Spades. The problem there is that I’ve never played Hearts or Spades, so I failed to grasp some of the basics, for example how to not “cheat” in the very first round/hand/whatever. (I still maintain that it’s not really cheating if you don’t know that you’re cheating. Others disagreed, so I threw some mens rea at them (lawyered) and we moved on. My cheating didn’t help me anyway.) By the second round through Jerimee had gone outside to play with some kids, Roxane saying that he just did that because he didn’t like the game. I contemplated joining him, but decided to stay the course. Even after several hands I’m still not really getting it, but I have managed to avoid any further “cheating” scandals. I am having a hard time not referring to the Club suit as “clovers” or “shamrocks” --- they are green, after all. The game is coming to a close, and some how I’m in the equivalent of second place (truly I have no idea how that happened) but Stephenie wins it all. No offense to Sean or the game’s creators but my entire self worth has been shaken by my inability to understand this damn game. I could try to blame it on my being an only child and having limited card game playing experience (aside from Solitaire and playing poker with my grandfather during my formative years) but I’m actually wondering if my being a far cry from a card shark (“card sharp” is also an acceptable term) is why I don’t have a job. (I understand this is an absolutely ridiculous and illogical leap, but you never know.) 

Once we’ve finished up with Trumpet we break out Cranium and bust up into teams. I am anticipating feeling much better about myself during the second half of game night. I may not be awesome at Cranium but I at least understand the basic concepts of blind contour line drawing and trivia questions. Cranium went well, which is to say that the team of Stephenie, Roxane, & Carrie totally dominated. After our win we decided to just keep going with the charades portion, and boy am I glad that we did. I never knew this before, but I’m kind of awesome at charades. Not so much the performing part, but the guessing stuff I got down. One of the Jason’s (I believe there were three there) had to act out Afternoon Delight and I actually guessed it. I was proud. (Right now I kind of feel pathetic about the level of pride I felt, given that we are talking about charades here, but it’s the little things that make life worth living.)

Charades eventually succumbed to entropy (a word I truly love, but rarely get to use) and various peoples returned to their homes, their cars, or the homes or cars of others. A few people lingered, among them “The Gang’s” friend Dave, who asked if I’d ever seen the honey badger video. I had not, but was hesitant to volunteer this information due to the number of times I’ve been psychologically scarred by someone ambushing me with an unsettling YouTube video. I owned up to my unfamiliarity and the computer’s web browser was directed to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4r7wHMg5Yjg . Do yourself a favor and watch this if you haven’t already. You will not regret it, unless you’re like Steph and have a nightmare about snakes later. (BTW, I just rewatched the honey badger video and it’s still good even when it’s not 3 am.)

Bed.

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My Experience as a Wallflower

Dear friend,

The package was delivered around 6 pm. I started reading around 11 pm. I finished the book around 2:45 am. By 3 I was playing The Smiths and typing. 

Now to explain a little. A couple of weeks ago my cousin Sarah suggested that I read The Perks of Being a Wallflower, saying “it was just...high school.” I’d heard of the book, never giving it much thought, but welcomed her recommendation as I trust her taste in most things and added it to my mental to-read list, with no real immediacy. A few days later I actually saw an image of the cover of the book and some sort of spell fell over me. Maybe it was the minimalist cover art or the greenieish green but something about actually seeing it gave me some sort of laser-focus on obtaining the book and reading it soon. 

My much annotated copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

I consulted my local public library system. No go. In an effort to attempt to save money that I don’t have to spend in the first place I visited a local used book store. No go there either. I even asked the kind proprietor and she hadn’t even heard of the book. (This doesn’t exactly speak well of her literary street-cred in my opinion. Sure, she shouldn’t be expected to know all the books, ever, but this one is somewhat established. It’s at least 10 years old. And the movie’s coming out next year. In retrospect I should have known better. This is one of those used book stores that doesn’t have an Existentialist Fiction section. They have a John Grisham section.) Ultimately, Amazon took care of business --- though I was disappointed that my copy’s clean, green cover was besmirched by a circle of blue touting the upcoming “major motion picture.” (Very reminiscent of The Catcher in the Rye’s cover, now that I’m thinking about it, but I’m guessing that’s what they were going for.) I’m sure young Ms. Watson will be fabulous, and I’m glad to see that the author is also the screenwriter and director, but I could have done with out the plug. (Also, whoever’s in charge of the soundtrack had better do the job right.)

From the second paragraph (honestly, the second paragraph) I was enthralled. Not because there’s some great mystery to figure out. Or some big denouement you see coming down the road. It was just lovely to read. I was also radiating thoughts pretty much the entire time I was reading --- not in a distracted way but in a......I don’t know exactly, just in a good way. Said thought radiation did make me go through half a stack of post-its and move directly from reading mode to writing mode as soon as I finished up on page 213. And even though there’s a fair amount of darkness in it, the whole “Wallflower experience” was...comforting...I guess? Except when I ran out of Kleenex on page 90.

Like Sarah said, it was high school. While I wouldn’t say the book “brought back memories” exactly, it did make me remember myself, or my mindset, or my mood(s) a little better I suppose. (Wow, I really did cry a lot. Sorry friends that had to clean me up, and what not.) It was more like I was reminded of that blissful freedom you would feel when you escaped the school parking lot with plans to spend your afternoon in Little Five rather than Ms. Yates’ class. Or how I still have buried in my closet a small box of mixtapes from different people that probably wouldn’t play on my stereo even if I still had a functioning tape player on it, but are treasured commodities nonetheless. Or how I really didn’t think that other people thought things about me, until I did.

Another thing that it jogged in my memory is a recent trip to the grocery store. I think I was buying wine and the cashier made a crack to the guy bagging the groceries that I’d brought them a present. Amusing for two reasons: One - the cashier was clearly under 21. Two - give my wine away? You kidding me? I said something along the lines of “I would if I could” (a lie). She said something about being able to buy her own when she’s legal, and I replied with a “yeah it’s much better on the other side of 21” which she agreed with but then her next line threw me: “But then when you get into your twenties everybody just wishes they were back in high school.” I was rather thrown. At this point we were at the “have a good night” stage of the check out process, so I gave no real response, but I was really surprised by what she said. 

I appreciate nostalgia and shared stories of old but I don’t think I’ve ever really had that feeling. Sure, I might like to go back and NOT fall down during that fire drill that one time, but a full-on wish-you-were-back-then thing I have not felt. But Miss Teen Grocery Store now has me wondering if that’s a common thing. I didn’t hate high school but my twenties kick the shit out of my time at AHS. And if I weren’t currently into what I think I’ll refer to as my “George Costanza Period” (no job, living with mom --- but not bald, at least) I’d say my thirties were off to a good start. Really, unless I can work out some sort of put-right-what-once-went-wrong thing, I don’t want to even touch my time in high school. Too much crying, too many chemicals, and poor bathroom options. (I do really miss my first car though.)

Me, approximately midway through high school.

All that being said, the sweet sadness that The Perks of Being a Wallflower gave me, combined with me actually contemplating and rejecting the idea of returning to high school have put me, oddly, into a nostalgic mood, which I think will lead to a handful of nostalgic post. I’m not talking about “this one time I found a pumpkin seatbelted into the passenger’s seat in my car” or “do you remember that time we got kicked out of the Taco Bell because of that story about the tampon” --- both highly entertaining instances, but not what I’m feeling right now. Though, who knows? That might change. 

Love always,

Carrie

The Magical Mystery Tour: Day 4 - No, she's not pregnant.

When you visit Stephenie and Evan you sleep in the computer room (they have lots in the way of computers.) Given my late arrival last night I slept a little late Friday morning. A tap on the door woke me up, with Evan requesting the use of his computer (um, what am I gonna say? No? It is his house.) and Stephenie asking me if I wanted to go to the court house to see them get married (I love the nonchalance of her invitation, but again, what am I gonna say? No? I would kick me out for such insolence.) For some background - Steph and Evan got engaged in early June and are planning a wedding for September 2012 (and, pending a small fee to a somewhat reputable website, I’m officiating, thus avoiding the wearing of any sort of taffeta or tulle.) That plan is still on, and that will be their real wedding, but given the practicalities of health insurance and the like, we’d all be paying a visit to the local magistrate today. This was to simply be a formality, a not-a-wedding if you will. I did insist that Stephenie adhere to the old-new-borrowed-blue tradition to avoid tempting the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing. If you’re interested she had an old (but cute) purple dress, new bangs, borrowed shoes, and blue on her necklace. I was satisfied.

We cleaned out my car (read: moved all the trash, clothes, and thimbles from the front into the trunk) and headed over to pick up Roxane. We waited in the parking lot for Ms. Kolar to make her appearance, which she shortly did --- wearing basically the same purple dress as Steph. Hilarious. Evan was going to have to be careful to marry the right girl or things could get a bit awkward. We made our way downtown, parked on the street, and headed to the first of two stops, to pick up the marriage license. To pick up said license you evidently need to know where your parents were born. Evan was unsure about where his dad was born, so he called his mom but had to leave a message. Next we headed over to the court house for the main event, me continually laughing at the matching purple dresses thing. (I was reminded of the How I Met Your Mother when Marshall and Lily decide to get married in Atlantic City and Robin has to get the tshirt with the giant boobs airbrushed on it to wear over her outfit because Lily thinks Robin looks cuter and you’re not allowed to look cuter than the bride. Stephenie was not so demanding.)

Digression: I recognize how impressive it is that future Ted on How I Met Your Mother can remember events not only with such accuracy but also with such dependable chronology. It occurred to me recently that this is probably due to everyone alive right now updating their Facebook pages so regularly. (Yes, I understand that How I Met Your Mother is a scripted television show and that Ted isn’t a real person, remembering his younger years and telling his kids about it. I’m just very comfortable with a willing suspension of disbelief.) The Facebook world we now live in will now possibly lead to all the little spawn of my contemporaries being privy to how their parents started their lives together. I think this is kinda nice, though also potentially awkward, gross, and psychologically scarring if folks don’t self-police some of their postings.

We eventually found the courtroom where they do the not-a-wedding ceremonies, with only about 25 minutes to spare before the two hour lunch break (we really needed to get this done soon because Evan still needed to go to work this afternoon, plus we didn’t put a ton of money on the meter and my car could potentially be ticketed, booted, and/or towed.) There were three or four groups gathered outside the courtroom, all ahead of us, so we took a seat and waited. During our wait Evan’s mom called him back, and  that’s when he told her they were getting not-married. Poor Evan’s Mom. Also, FYI, Evan’s dad was born in Hickory, but I’m pretty sure it’s pronounced “Hick-ry.” 

We passed the time as best we could while waiting for the other not-weddings to take place. Someone said something about the judge “pussy footing” around in there and that’s why things were taking so long. I felt that I should advise everyone that on Day One of law school they teach you not to say “pussy footing” in a courtroom. True fact. Evan took a wedding picture for one of the other couples. That was nice. One other couple had a full-on, multiple camera having, photographer in tow. That seemed like overkill to me. I took a pic of Steph and Evan waiting for their turn but that hallway had some of the worst lighting ever. It should not make it into the wedding album. It was finally our turn but it was after the official, posted time frame. Thankfully Judge Rowland didn’t balk, and said he’d just need a couple of minutes to get the paper work in order, and he stepped into the next room. While we were waiting alone in the courtroom Evan contemplated having a seat in the Judge’s chair and kicking his feet up on the bench. I advised against it --- they cover that on Day Two of law school.

The ceremony commenced, with me taking pictures and Roxane videoing it on her phone. Now, this is just a civil ceremony, so I at least was expecting few bells or whistles. While Judge Rowland did keep it short, he did go rather heavy on the “God.” I actually think I might have been to a church ceremony with fewer mentions of The Big Guy/George Burns/Alanis Morrisette. Roxane and I were both amused, given Stephenie and Evan’s, shall we say, disinterest in religion. Vows were exchanged (though I do not remember what they said --- I know there was no “obey” included) and Roxane and I did our part and signed off as witnesses. Yay not-a-wedding!

We departed, heading to my hopefully un-booted car, and then on to a delicious lunch/not-a-wedding reception. (The pear sangria was especially good.) The only song I remember us hearing in the car was Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas, so I guess that’s their not-a-wedding song, and now that I think about it, it should really be on the playlist for the real wedding. Roxane also made a brief stop at the store next to the restaurant and picked up a cute new gothic/little-house-on-the-prairie dress and some kickin’ pink sunglasses. We returned to the apartment where Evan departed for work, and we played with Harry Potter buttons for a while. 

Eventually Steph had to go do some work for Jerimee, so Roxane and I had our own playtime. I’d given her a Lisa Frank stationary set for her birthday so we played with it a bit (some of the little kitten erasers seemed to have permanently bonded to the stencil-ruler) and we considered using the enclosed form to join the Lisa Frank fan club. We explored Lisa Frank’s Facebook page, where there are some quite avid Lisa Frank fans; some of them even do their own Lisa Frank inspired works of art and post them. Do yourself a favor and check it out. This did make us a bit curious about whether Lisa Frank was even a real person so we headed over to Wikipedia. It turns out she is, and she met with early success. I was also telling Roxane about the random Johnny Appleseed statue that I saw in Virginia, so naturally we looked up Johnny Appleseed. Among other things it appears he was a missionary for the Swedenborgian Church. What is the Swedenborgian Church, you’re wondering? Well, so were we so we looked that up. It had nothing to do with Star Trek, like I was suspecting. But it was started by Emanuel Swedenborg, who believed he could commune with other planets, but not Uranus. (Insert “Uranus” joke here.) (And insert “insert Uranus” joke here.) We were highly entertained by it all.

Stephenie finally made it back with the makings for mimosas which we brewed up and poured into our very lady like plastic cups for a stroll down to The Rose Garden, a potential wedding location. Wedding planning is delicious, even if I can’t walk and take a drink at the same time. There was talk of various weddingish things --- the ceremony is likely to occur right in front of the koi pond/fountain which means I’m probably going to fall into the koi pond/fountain, so that’s worth your price of admission right there. We also talked about table decor, and I mentioned that one time I’d seen lemons used as place cards, when Stephenie said something along the lines of “what do you do with all the leftover lemons” and I had the opportunity to reply “Stephenie, when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.” It made me laugh, anyway.

We got back home, where Jerimee shortly joined us, and Steph gave us a rundown of her reception song list. Let’s just say that it’s chock full of 80’s goodness. But no Poison. Evan has put his foot down on that one. Next, out for pizza, followed by......Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2!!! We were going to the same theater that we saw part 1 in, and mostly I was just hoping that none of our fellow moviegoers would vomit, like last time. FYI, we were at the theater that serves beer, and some people just can’t hold their magic. I was delighted to see that the concessioneers had put out a “Dumbledore’s Army” tip jar. If I’d had any cash I would have contributed. The movie got going, no vomit detected, and I was happily sucked right in. Nothing really broke my concentration until I realized that the lady next to me had unfurled a blanket, fallen asleep, and was snoring. Falling asleep in a movie is one thing, but on opening night?

Even though I’d forgotten my wand and my Marauder’s Map, we all had buttons and a lovely movie experience. All was well.

The Magical Mystery Tour: Day 3 - The Case of the Greenbrier Ghost

First off, in regards to yesterday’s visit to Shenandoah, a phone call to my mother revealed to me that I’ve been there before, even though I didn’t know it. It appears Maw Maw (who tracks me, and possibly you, on Facebook) saw my check-in at Shenandoah and conveyed to me, through mom, that we’d taken a trip there when I was young. With a somewhat regular frequency Paw Paw would take us on random and rambling trips with no specific destination in mind. Of course experiencing this a number of times in my youth, I knew that fact, but until now it had never registered that that is probably where I get my crazy, wandering-star, travel bug from. I really can’t put into words how much I love that. (Sarah, you should take note as well. It’s amazing what genetics can explain.)

Sidebar: Though I was not present for this (my mother was about 9 years old I think, so I was a whole person that can vote away from even being alive) one of my favorite family stories has to do with another of Paw Paw’s road trips. He, Maw Maw and all 4 kids went camping pretty often, typically with some of the other families in the family (an odd phrasing but you get my meaning) and I believe they were headed to some campground in North Georgia. It was raining and it was a curvy, dirt, mountain road. The Cole Family station wagon (or if you’d prefer, The Family Truckster) met another car in the curve and apparently there wasn’t enough room, so the station wagon---and half my family tree---went tumbling down the mountainside. Yep, went tumbling down the mountainside! As I understand it, the roof was pretty banged up, the windshield was obliterated, but no one was hurt (which is especially good, because if something had happened to my mom the world would be short one Carrie Michelle Myers and I don’t know what the devil you people would do without me.) Now, this is the best part of the story --- since the car landed right-side-up and no serious injuries were sustained Paw Paw decided they’d just keep going toward the camp ground! And stay a week!! After falling down a mountain!!! The whole “no windshield” issue was solved by somehow attaching a tarp to the front of the car and cutting a hole out of it so Paw Paw could see to drive. We are a committed bunch of travelers.

Now, back to our regular programming. I awoke at the Johnny Appleseed hotel, checked out and programmed the GPS for West Virginia, specifically New River Gorge National River (I’m not sure why it’s not a National Park, or what distinguishes the two. I’m guessing it has something to do with private property ownership still being permitted in a National River or a National Forest for that matter, but that’s a question for a different day.) I had no super special reason for going to New River Gorge, other than it is in West Virginia, and West Virginia is a state I’ve had a bit of a crush on for quite a while. My third or fourth (or possibly fifth?) year of college I took a class from one of the sweetest professors the GSU Political Science Department had to offer; Dr. Thomas. I don’t recall if he was from West Virginia but in one of the classes I had him for he had us read The Buffalo Creek Disaster (a really good read about the dangers of coal mines from an outside the mine perspective, as well as an informative trip through civil procedure [if you’re into that sort of thing]) and May God Have Mercy (a very emotional true story of a murder and death penalty case, set in West Virginia) both of which I thoroughly enjoyed.  I think that was what started me to loving West Virginia, so I’ve always wanted to go to see if we’d get along in person. 

8:10 am - Email Steph to tell her I’ll probably arrive back in Raleigh between 5 and 6 tonight.

I had a bit of territory in Virginia to cover before I crossed over into the West (Most of it in the George Washington National Forest where I saw not one cherry tree?) and along the way I decided I needed to stop for some caffeine and a map. Normally on my treks I borrow Maw Maw’s extra-super-terrific trucker’s atlas (Maw Maw’s not a trucker, she just plays one on TV) but this time it just slipped my mind. I picked up a perfectly serviceable one for a very good price. While in the parking lot of that particular establishment I took it upon myself to whip up a CD for my Country Roads traveling for the day. I went seriously country with it and it was awesome. I was, however, surprised by how much Alabama I went for (the band not the state). I’d forgotten how much I liked them.

A few minutes later I was cruising into West Virginia whose tagline (or whatever) is “Wild, Wonderful.” (I guess that explains the name of that new reality show.) The first stop I made was in Lewisburg, an adorable little town which was very proudly displaying banners and signs identifying it as “The Coolest Small Town in America - 2011.” There was no indication as to the judging process --- I’m going to give them the benefit of the doubt and believe that it wasn’t the Lewisburg City Council making the decisions. While there I saw loads of art galleries, a state Representative, and I went into a knitting supply shop that was also a hair salon (no separation between them at all, plus the knitting shop appeared to be selling all sorts of cool, witchy things like crystals and such.) From Lewisburg I was bound for the New River Gorge, but there was much of West Virginia to cross. I was on a major highway for quite a while, and as I was closing in on an exit at Sam Black Church (which is the name of the town, I think --- no idea as to its origins) I saw a bridge passing over the highway that looked very like a mid-century style coffee table. Bridges are just so cool! I exited at Sam Black Church and remembered that some preliminary research the night before had mentioned an historical marker. It happened to be located right off the exit so I pulled over. The marker commemorates The Greenbrier Ghost and reads:

“Interred in nearby cemetery is Zona Heaster Shue. Her death in 1897 was presumed natural until her spirit appeared to her mother to describe how she was killed by her husband Edward. Autopsy on the exhumed body verified the apparition’s account. Edward, found guilty of murder, was sentenced to the state prison. Only known case in which testimony from ghost helped convict a murderer.”

I don’t know if that’s a completely accurate historical marker, but it’s certainly a good story. Though if that happened on Law & Order or the like I’d say the mother was the killer.

After a brief visit with the Greenbrier Ghost, I continued along my GPS’s projected course. Typically the GPS sticks to pretty major roads, unless of course your destination  is rather back woods, but even then you only get to the tiny roads once you’re closing in on your arrival. Well, for the next 30 minutes or so, mine had me traveling down a one lane (probably two lanes technically, but that’s being very generous) road, winding in and out of hollows (really it’s “hollers”---come on, this is West Virginia) and among various farms and such. It was an absolutely beautiful drive and probably would have gone much quicker if I hadn’t constantly been stopping to take pictures. As I was approaching my next turn, expecting it to be onto a much more “developed” road I noticed something that would normally send me flying into a rage---I was back at the original exit for Sam Black Church, complete with my Greenbrier Ghost marker and everything. I didn’t get back on the same road but my new path was right there at the exit. That 30 minutes of beautiful countryside I had just experienced was totally unnecessary, even if I did enjoy it. Perhaps that old Greenbrier Ghost was having some fun with me. Lucky for her I don’t mind a lovely detour when I’m not crunched for time, otherwise I’d have been calling Buffy, or Dr. Venkman, or the Winchester Brothers or something. I shook it off and drove on.

The next stretch of road took me through several small towns, one of which I stopped off at to mail a post card. I am, as ever, on the look out for murals when I travel and I was not surprised to spot a Coca~Cola one on the side of a building in one little hamlet. (In particular I enjoy spotting old, product related murals probably because they so effectively evoke a sense of americana, but this also strikes me as a bit odd since they are essentially advertisements. I guess if I can enjoy a clever commercial or an amusing jingle then there’s no reason to not appreciate an aesthetically pleasing mural on the side of a small town store.) In addition to the Coca~Cola mural on the side of this building I noticed something else; a large Pepsi vending machine on the front. While I question the establishment’s brand loyalty, I do appreciate the humor, be it intentional or not.

I finally made it to New River Gorge, where I toured the visitor’s center, took in the view from the observation deck, and watched the 20 minute film on the history/ecology of the area. I then headed out onto the tiny, winding road that takes you down into the gorge, under the bridge (which I believe is one of the world’s longest single arch steel span bridges, and one of the highest bridges in the US.) I’ve pretty much admitted and accepted that I have a growing love and appreciation for bridges, and I must say this one didn’t let me down at all. I was thoroughly impressed. I was also strongly reminded of the bridge scene in Stand By Me, even if this one carries cars not trains. I really must learn more about bridges. Also, the park area around the bridge and the gorge was lovely too. There’s a little waterfall, tons of folks rafting and fishing. I’d definitely like to come back here and spend more time.

Fun Fact: Every year West Virginia has Bridge Day (in October I believe) where there’s a big festival and you can, among other things, jump off the bridge---or rather base jump off the bridge. An image of the bridge is also on West Virginia’s quarter.

4:58 pm - Text Steph to tell her that somehow I’ve gotten off track and now I’ll be arriving around 11pm.

My next stop, the one that I was most excited about (though I’ll be honest, after the excellence of the New River Gorge, West Virginia had already done a good job for the day) was Beckley, WV where there is a coal mine that you can tour. A big part of my growing love for WV over the past several years has had to do with the coal industry---both the political aspects having to do with labor, the environmental having to do with the use of coal as a fuel as well as the mining practices, and just the geological (I do like rocks.) The opportunity to actually get down in the innards of a mine---even if it is a glorified tourist trap---was sure to be the crown jewel of my West Virginia experience. I was not disappointed. 

At the former Slab Fork Coal Company there was a nice museum-y area in the company store building where you buy your ticket for the mine tour---though it was a bit light on the labor relations part of the mining life. The gift shop did offer up a thimble for Maw Maw---complete with a piece of coal, some coal earrings for me, and the lady working there highly recommended this sauce that was locally made so I picked up a jar for Steph and Evan. You get on the mine car on the backside of the company store so I walked on back there a few minutes before the tour was set to start. Inside a little mine car building I found two gentlemen, one of whom was going to be driving the car on the tour. Since I was the first to arrive he was very concerned with me being comfortable with the two of us going down into the mine alone. I was fine. In addition to me being not all that skittish, this gentleman---Roger---looked like one of the nicest guys you could meet. I assured him it was fine, though we ended up having a couple join us, along with one lady who worked there (she just wanted to take a ride down to cool off which I thought was a nice fringe benefit of working at the coal mine.) Roger began telling us the this’s and that’s of what we’d be seeing, and reminded us not to stand up or “we’d be coming back from the mine a good bit shorter”---I quickly developed an old man crush on Roger. We headed down the tracks into the mine (which was gloriously cool) and learned about the various methods of mining and advancements through the years. Roger told us about the most common dangers and the steps that were taken to prevent them. We heard about the wages that early miner made (scandalous!) and how much more coal could be moved nowadays. We even heard about how miners kept their coworkers out of their water pails by storing their false teeth in them. Roger even had props to demonstrate this to us. All in all my time in the mine was awesome.

I departed coal country, headed toward Raleigh, but there was still one more stop I wanted to make---actually it was back in the New River Gorge National River area, but down at the south end. Sandstone Falls, which is supposed to be quite pretty, was right on my way back. I made my way there, though given that the day was quickly getting away from me I decided to skip the hiking and just drove to the overlook. The view of the falls was lovely---way better than my pictures will give it credit for---and the trees around the overlook were particularly nice too. I was also quite pleased when I didn’t go tumbling down the mountainside when I decided I needed to go over on the other side of the little half-wall that is clearly there to show people where NOT to go. When I want a good view I will not be denied. Pictures were taken and I moved on.

According to the mileage signs I was seeing on the road I was very near to saying goodbye to West Virginia, which made me a little sad. I decided to stretch out our time together as much as I could by looking for a restaurant since it was dinner time and all. When I saw the sign for Granny’s House Restaurant (that’s what the sign said, not Granny’s House or Granny’s Restaurant but Granny’s House Restaurant which seems a little redundant to me) I knew I’d found my place. I entered Granny’s and seated myself, shortly requesting a sweet tea from the waitress. Oddly, they didn’t have any on hand. I don’t know if there had been an earlier run on sweet tea or what but for any restaurant in the southland---particularly one with “granny” in the name---to not have gallons of sugary, brewed goodness on hand was suspect. Still, I stayed the course. I perused the menu and the description of the fried chicken caught my eye---it was described as “honey sweet” which is undeniably mouth watering, but I really don’t care for chicken on the bone so I went for the roast beef. It was not the best, but the fried green tomatoes were good---a decidedly different type of batter on them than I am used to; more corn mealy than floury. I was munching away on my dinner, and I overheard the gentleman at the next table talking to the waitress about how amazingly delicious his chicken was. I immediately regretted my dinner selection. Always go with your first instinct kids. Eventually the chicken guy started talking to me. I learned that he was a trucker, an owner operator trucker (which is evidently the kind you want to be --- but hello, I knew that already. I’ve seen Over The Top like, a lot.) I learned much more about truck driving, and the issues related to it. For instance an oil change costs around $200. And I believe he said a texting while driving fine is around $1300---I don’t know but it was some crazy high amount, and really it should be. This is one reason that my truck driving dream will never come to fruition---I just can’t not play with my phone in the car. (If you’re wondering about my truck driving dream I’m pretty sure it’s the direct result of the brilliance of Ted Turner, who gave us TBS and put Smokey and The Bandit on the air for a good 20 percent of my childhood tv viewing time. And Over the Top didn’t hurt either.) I departed Granny’s hoping that aside from a bathroom break, I wouldn’t have to stop until I got back to Raleigh. I pretty much kept to that, with the exception of a caffeination that just had to occur.

9:07 pm - Call to Steph to tell her that it’s looking more like 1 or 1:30 for an arrival time and to just leave a key under the mat.

Even though this is much abbreviated road trip, really not a road trip at all, I was pleased most of the afternoon that I hadn’t had any major under-the-car trouble. There was the Cooperstown, NY stick debacle of 2008, then the duct tape resistant plastic under-carriage guard coming off in Oklahoma this past February, followed by a cardboard box stuck under my car in central New Mexico on the same trip. I was pleased with the absence of any such issue on this voyage. Well, we all know what a jinx is. I’m cruisin’ down the Virginia highway, very nearly into North Carolina, when I see something in the middle of the road ahead. It appeared to be a dead opossum or raccoon or something else of similar size so, rather than swerving into the other lane or off the road, I positioned my car to straddle it, as I have done a thousand times before. It wasn’t until about two seconds before I got to it that I realized “hey, that’s not a possum, that’s a dead deer.” It was too late to swerve so over it I went. Ka-klunk, ka-klunk. It was so not a good sound. My poor Civic. (And also, yes, poor deer. But given my previous day’s experience with deer I wasn’t exactly broken up about it.) I kept driving, though I slowed a little, rolled down the window, and listened to see if I could hear any deer parts dragging along the road, stuck under my car. I didn’t, but to be fair, I’m not sure what mangled deer bits would sound like. What I was reminded of was when my friend Carmen hit a deer and part of the leg got wedged under her car and the chivalrous Brad had to remove it. Gross. (BTW, I still haven’t looked under my car to check, but I’ve noticed no smell and I figure I would have by now---though I do have a particularly powerful, pina colada flavored air freshener currently at work in the Civic so that could be masking any odor.)

I finally made it back to Steph and Evan’s around 2 am, very nearly crawling to my bed, and just as I was drifting off to sleep I realized that I had only sunblocked one of my arms that day and unfortunately it was not the one that I’d had hanging out the window all over the Virginias. Ouch.