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.

The Magical Mystery Tour: Day 2 - Escape from Deerland

Wednesday morning I awoke not terribly early and Stephenie made me her gourmet specialty breakfast: toast. (To be fair she did bake the bread and the toast was very good.) There was also a fancy Japanese tea involved. Delicious. I briefed Steph on my plans for the next couple of days, intending to return to Raleigh on Thursday evening.

My first planned stop for today was Appomattox Court House. If you don’t know the significance then you obviously didn’t take a history class in a Georgia public school, you’ve never been to the Laser Show at Stone Mountain, and you are clearly not an American. I’ve never really been an avid Civil War studier (I prefer the romance of the Revolutionary War, though at least with the Civil War half the folks were anti-slavery) but on my 2008 road trip I visited Gettysburg and it was truly amazing---the museum and the actual battlefield tour. I’m fairly certain that no other Civil War site will compare to it, but I’ve become a Civil War tourist, evidently. The course from Raleigh to Appomattox is basically a direct line north, though along the way I was pleased to learn that most of the roads were lesser highways rather than interstates, that way I got to see a little more of the countryside. I was happily scooting along when I unexpectedly came upon a Welcome to Virginia sign (I guess I’ve gotten used to the mileage countdown signs you get on interstates) so I naturally pulled over for some photo documentation. As I’m snapping some shots of the lovely Dogwood and Cardinal welcome sign (and regretting not coating my ankles with bug repellant) my phone begins to ring. It’s Evan, wondering what I’m planning for lunch. I apprised him of my location on the state line. Sadly (though logically), he didn’t offer to meet me in Virginia for a ham sandwich or anything. 

With the exception of a GPS glitch that led me down a tiny road that dead-ended into a pile of cross-ties, a guard rail, and a road maintenance sign seriously in need of it’s own maintenance and crossing over State Road 666 (evil!) rural southern Virginia was quite lovely. Lots of pretty farmland and I even got to drive down Thomas Jefferson Highway. I eventually made it to Appomattox Court House, flashed my National Parks Pass for entry, was gently encouraged to drive a little slower by the Ranger at the gate, saw the movie and the museum, and toured the McLean house (where Grant and Lee actually had their sit down.) I must say the most interesting bit was the gift shop. Typically the gift shop at a National Park type place is just a separate floor or section of the visitor’s center. At Appomattox it’s actually located in one of the other small village buildings. It’s chock full of books and other good souvenir sorts of things (a thimble for Maw Maw included). I chatted for a bit with the lady working there and she told me how last weekend they’d had a Civil War Era baseball game reenactment going on. I was actually rather disappointed that I missed it. 

My favorite history lesson from this visit has to do with Ely Parker. Parker was a Seneca Indian and a friend of Ulysses Grant, who also worked on his staff at the time of the surrender. In fact, Parker (who was trained as both an attorney and an engineer) actually drafted the terms of the Confederate surrender. The display in the museum had the following entry: 

At the surrender meeting, seeing that Parker was a Native American, General Lee remarked to Parker, “ I am glad to see one real American here.” Parker later stated,  “I shook his hand and said, We are all Americans.”

Sidebar: The Appomattox visitor’s center/museum (and possibly many other National Parks and Historical Sites) is doing something to raise money that I thought to be very clever. Many parks or museums of any sort that I’ve visited have a donation bin/bucket/box to help them raise money. This one had a largeish, clear, flat box about 2 by 4 feet in size and it was all divided up into smaller boxes labeled for each state, that way you can donate on behalf of your homeland. And you can see through the boxes so you know how much money each state has given. I love the idea of competitive giving. (Since I’m--as always--a girl on a budget I did not deposit any money. Though I made sure that Georgia had more money than South Carolina and Alabama first.)

I next pointed the Civic north, toward Shenandoah National Park. I made one stop at the Rockfish Gap Country Store (with a name like that I had to pay it a visit.) I finally entered the Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park and began seeing some purple mountains majesty along with some of the fluffiest clouds ever. 

The thing that really made an impression on me in Shenandoah were the deer. Not only were they everywhere, but they were rather brash for deer. At home on The Mountain, and pretty much everywhere else I’ve seen deer, they are extremely skittish. They flee at the slightest sound, and if you see them near a road it’s typically because they are running to or from somewhere and there just happens to be a road along the way. The Shenandoah deer are a whole different animal, if you will. These guys would be nibbling grass on the roadside and I’d stop and try to be superfast and take a quick picture, but my speed was unnecessary because they’d just keep munching. It was quite strange. I was even out walking on one of the trails when I saw another deer nibbling on the foliage along a ferny springbed only about 20 feet away from me. I took a pic, but it wasn’t the best quality so I tried for another, and another --- my camera was having some difficulty with the shady areas. I soon became obsessed with getting a good picture of this animal and ended up full on stalking it for at least 20 minutes. I’m still not happy with my final product, but I was impressed that got to within about 8 feet of the deer --- I might have been able to get in a bit closer but I think I’m a little afraid of them, something I’d never realized before. 

I drove through about two thirds of Shenandoah, including going through the Marys Rock Tunnel. (FYI - Tunnels are cool. I mean you’re driving through a mountain!) After grabbing some sunset pictures (not the best sunset I’ve ever seen, I gotta say) I headed out of the park, trying to find dinner and a rooming establishment as close to the West Virginia border that I could get. Darkness had fallen pretty much just after I got out of the park so this next little bit was probably much creepier than it would have been in the daytime --- the deer continued to come. Obviously wildlife don’t respect the park’s boundaries on a map so all the deer inside the park probably spend a fair amount of time outside of the park. It seemed to me that all of them decided to exit stage left that evening. For the first five or so miles at least every 100 feet I’d see a deer or two standing next to the road. When I say “next to the road” I mean about a foot from the edge of the asphalt. When I say “standing” I don’t mean leisurely nibbling on the mountain grass, I mean standing straight up, as if they were sentries, with there dead, laser beam eyes looking straight at me --- into my soul. Bitches were scary.  Not that I was opposed to deer hunting before, but I’m close to thinking it should be mandatory now. Bambi can suck it.

Eventually I escaped from deerland and spotted what looked to be an adorable mountainside restaurant, where I pulled over in the hopes of having a delectable dining experience. My experience was denied me by the waitress walking out of the door as I was trying to walk in --- it seems that they closed at 9. I was disappointed. Instead I sat in my car, got on my phone and tried to locate a town nearby with a motel and a drive-thru. I found some possibilities in nearby Luray, VA and headed thataway. In Luray, I found a sandwich and started calling around for hotel prices. I found one close to the parking lot I was in, called and the price was good but when I asked the guy about internet he said “yes we have it” but then went on a bit of crazy/mean tear about how they have it but sometimes it doesn’t work, and how I better not get mad about that. That was not the best encouragement to stay there. I found an alternative place in a town about 20 minutes away and headed for it. I was speeding along on a dark, curvy, mountain road (which I thoroughly enjoy), happy to have a place to stay for the night and thinking through a travel plan for tomorrow when---Holy shit a bear!!! (those were my actual words to myself, which I feel was warranted given that a not too small black bear had just run across the road in front of me, very nearly being hit by my car.) It’s funny that the deer are all brave and out-and-about while the bears seem to be a tad fraidy-cattish.

I arrived at the New Market, VA Quality Inn, to find the front desk guy outside smoking. He accompanied me toward the door but before we went inside I noticed that there was a giant-ish statue down the sidewalk a bit. “Is that...Johnny Appleseed?” I wondered aloud. “Yes,” he replied, with no explanation at all. Whatever. When he asked if I was a AAA member, I told him no but said he could still give me the discount. He did. Also, I learned from him that for one person, the room with two queen beds is cheaper than the room with one king. Who knew? Plus, they had complementary (or is it complimentary?)packets of craisins on the desk. Excellent.

Scary deer and one pseudo bear attack aside, it was a good day.

The Magical Mystery Tour: Day 1 - The Adam and Eve Thing.

While I share my love of all things Harry Potter with many friends, over the course of the past few movies there has developed a tradition of me trekking up to North Carolina to take in the latest adventures of the Boy Who Lived with the lovely Stephenie and Roxane (Jason made it up once, too.) With the final installment of this epic film series rolling into theaters this July I knew that I’d be taking the Hogwarts Express north again. Fortunately, Steph is always kind enough to provide shelter and entertainment and this time was even willing to allow me to use her and Evan’s apartment as an Echo Base for exploring the region a bit. This little trip would also have the added benefit of helping Steph with some wedding planning given that she and Evan are recently engaged.

It wouldn’t be movie time until Friday, but I decided to head up on the Tuesday before. That way I could join my Raleigh folks at Drinking Liberally which Steph has been singing the praises of for a while. (Katy and I had planned to start going to the Atlanta meeting a while back, but we ended up just going out on our own and talking to each other. Frankly, we’re both so interesting and fabulous that we don’t need any crazy liberals bringing us down.) My plan was to leave around 8 am, but of course that didn’t work out. In addition to the numerous Harry Potter buttons that I had to mail out to get to people in time for the movie (I was also taking a huge bundle to NC with me), I also had to mail a last minute purchase from my Esty shop. (A Dale Murphy painting headed up Dacula way, if you’re interested.) I also needed to pop into the Best Buy to get a new iPod-to-car-stereo-adapter, my last one having not survived Brooke & Carrie’s March to the Sea (the account of that journey will be delayed slightly, but is forthcoming.) Then, of course, there is my genetic predisposition for lateness. I ended up leaving Atlanta around 10am. Realistically, it could have been a lot worse.

The results of my HP obsession and going mad with the power of the button maker.

With only the minor diversions of gassing up (sadly I had to do so in South Carolina) and obtaining a much needed caffeinated beverage (these new McFrappes or whatever you call them are quite tasty for a McDonald’s product --- but it was no Moolatte) it was smooth sailing all the way up to the Raleigh metropolitan area as I listened to the first half of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows audiobook so as to get psyched for our movie watching. I made it to Steph’s shortly after 5, and we immediately headed over to a neighborhood watering hole to drink in a liberal manner. I started the evening with a locally brewed beer called Green Man, which I only selected because of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, but it was still good. (The North Carolina barbecue that I had for dinner was not the best, however. What can I say? I was raised on Hudson’s and it’ll be Hudson’s till I die --- with occasional visits to Fox Brothers. I mean, they do have a bar there; a girl can only drink so much sweet tea.)

Conversation was pleasant and lively covering politics, reality television, and swordplay (yep, actual swordplay.) But the most interesting part of my Drinking Liberally experience came from a new visitor to the group. She was nice enough, and an avid conversationalist (read: loud), but there was something a little off. She supports a cigarette tax because smoking is bad but she is opposed to an alcohol tax because if people want to do something bad for them they should be able to. (Closely following this declaration she claimed that her middle name was “Consistency” - no lie.) She believes that being gay is a choice, but I’ll admit that she seemed to turn around on that quickly. And she doesn’t believe in Evolution --- she believes in the “Adam and Eve Thing.” It actually took a while for us to determine if she was really anti-evolution or if she was being sarcastic; there were some awkward moments. (I’m tempted to go on a harangue about how frustrating it is when people act as if you either believe in God or you believe in Evolution, as if those are the only two options. I’ll skip it though.) Anyway, back to new girl, I think she was well received by the DL group, which is nice. And while encountering such opinions out in the world (especially in Georgia) I did find it amusing that Steph brought me to “Drinking Liberally,” where I met an anti-tax, gay-is-a-choice, the-Earth-is-only-6000-years-old kinda person. New girl did have a positive effect on me; she, as an exuberant Phillies fan (I was flipped off multiple times for being a lover of the Braves) has finally cemented me as a hater of the Phillies. As an Atlanta fan I should already hate them, but I’d always resisted. Resistance over! (I mean really, the Philadelphia Phillies? Can you think of a less original name?)

We made our way home. I made a tentative travel plan for the next two days (Virginia and West Virginia) and went to sleep.

Uninteresting Detail: Raleigh, while still rather hot, was soooo much less humid than Atlanta. Though I suppose that’s like telling someone that they’re less insane than Glenn Beck. Anyways, it felt nice up there.

Unburdening my soul...

Those who know me well might say that I have a somewhat casual relationship with the truth. While I don’t think of myself as a dishonest person by any means, I’m not shy about “writing fiction with my mouth” when there’s a need to jazz up a story, avoid an awkward situation, or even just for sport. And while I do think I have some skill, I’m very much of the use-your-power-for-good-not-evil school of thought. I won’t lie in regard to any serious matters, nor do I have any oppressively large or convoluted lies that I have to keep a handle on. Except one. And given that I’ve decided to do this whole blog-my-thoughts thing I’m going to attempt to kick things off with a declaration of honesty; until 4:51 am on August 15, 2011 I had never read To Kill A Mockingbird.

Now, even accounting for the fact that I’m a somewhat avid reader, it’s not really a big deal that I haven’t read any particular book, even one so universally read as this one. (Though the fact that I’m not only from the southland (Georgia not Alabama) and that I’m a lawyer does make me feel like quite the fraud. I’ve always hoped that the significant amount of Matlock episodes that I have absorbed would make up for this.) I’m still uncertain as to what sort of reception I would meet were I to walk into a room full of members of the Georgia Bar and announce my unfamiliarity with Atticus Finch. Putting aside the oddity of making literary confessions at a Continuing Legal Education seminar, I’m fairly certain it would elicit some strange looks, and possibly the revocation of my license to practice law. 

My dishonesty regarding To Kill A Mockingbird stretches back well beyond even my applications to law school, though I’m not entirely sure where it began. At some point it just became a socially accepted given that everyone had read To Kill A Mockingbird or at the very least, seen the movie (I still haven’t done that by the way.) I don’t recall ever actually telling anyone “yes, I’ve read that book” or anything so direct. It was more like nodding along in conversations about it. Making a reference to it here or there. I even discussed a business venture with a former coworker involving us opening a bar in Athens called Tequila Mockingbird (you know you love it) where our signature drink would be the Boo Radley (made up primarily of bourbon --- recipe’s still in the works.) The conversations would go on for a bit, but I’d gradually change the subject --- not too quick though, because that’s a dead giveaway that you’re hiding something. Over the years my secret, unimportant though it was, just grew increasingly overwhelming. I kept thinking that I had to read it, but I didn’t want to leave a “paper trail” so I couldn’t borrow it from anyone, and I didn’t want to buy it or check it out of the library because, of course, I should already own it and who wants to deal with the public shaming that would come when the lady at the Borders straight up asks me if I’ve read it before?

Thankfully, a series of recent events led me to actually run the gauntlet and read this book, releasing me from my cage of lies: my friend Jason pushing me to read The Hunger Games series, my new daily log project, and my soon-to-be cousin Harper’s forthcoming birth. 

Jason and The Hunger Games were kind of the spark for me. I won’t go into too much detail but in the books there are birds called mockingjays which are spawned from mockingbirds, and of course if you hear/read the word “mockingbird” and you’ve been living under an oppressive cloud of literary guilt you think To Kill A Mockingbird.

My log project (as in log book, not log cabin) is a really simple thing, but it seems to have had a profound effect on me. I saw somewhere online where this person had a bunch of index cards in a file, one for each day of the year, and on each card you write one thing that you did that day, but the twist is you cycle back through the cards year after year so eventually you have a card that says “August 15 2011 - Finished reading To Kill A Mockingbird. 2012 - Went to Sweetwater Creek State Park. 2013 - Defended the Earth from alien invaders." And so on. So in addition to just keeping track of your daily goings on, after you get the first year done, you’ll get a little blast from the past each year following. I’ve never been able to keep a journal for more than a few days, but this ‘one thing a day’ deal seemed much more manageable to me so I thought I’d try it, though I’ve gone with a journal instead of index cards. The way this fits in with To Kill A Mockingbird is that keeping track of what you do every day, even the mundane stuff, makes me want to do something at least moderately interesting. It’s been a real boost to my activities (I’m actually cleaning! A little.) And I decided that I should take advantage of my new found go-getterness and read this damn book.

My forthcoming cousin, Harper, is so named by her parents after Harper Lee herself. Also, I just think Harper is a pretty cool little name --- both cute and respectable for when she’s older and dominating in whatever career she so chooses. My Baby Harper related reasons are two fold. For one, I can’t meet this little girl and not have read her pseudo-namesake book --- I’d feel like a fraud all over again. And two, there are the future gifts I plan to bestow on her. I’m not going to drown the kid in Harper Lee related paraphernalia but of course there will be some nods to her (btw, her big brother is Henry David so he gets a bit of Thoreau love.) My current lack of employment/winning lottery ticket coupled with my genuine preference for making gifts means Harper’s likely to be getting some of my handiwork. I’m a fan of a good quote, particularly when rendered in some artsy-crafty way, but I don’t love pulling a blind quote out of context when you’re unfamiliar with the source. (To clarify, I love it when Jon Stewart does it, but that’s a whole different barrel of monkeys.) I needed to read the book so that I’d know what to make for Harper. 

Now, for the actual reading. Going in, I knew I was going to love the book. Yes, it’s a classic, but that doesn’t always result in you liking it. (I mean, have you read Ethan Frome?) Sometimes you just know that you’re going to bond with a book or a movie or even a city before you’ve ever laid eyes on it. I was not disappointed. 

Since everyone else in the world has read To Kill A Mockingbird I’ll skip a review of the story. (Though are there book reviews newly written for old books? I think it’d be a nice touch to slip those in among the stuff coming out today.) I will say that I was consistently charmed by Scout telling the story but her frequently not understanding what was going on. Also, I’m amazed that I hadn’t been spoiler-ed into knowing the major events of the book, the fates of Misters Robinson and Radley in particular. Also, I love the brother-sister dynamics between Scout and Jem. It only fuels my life-long desire for a brother. It also makes me glad that little Harper is going to have her big brother Henry to look out for her and aggravate her to pieces.

PS - Shortly after I finished writing the above I find myself watching Now and Then, a movie I have seen countless times, and I’m realizing now how very like Mockingbird the plot of the movie is. I’m probably going to start seeing it everywhere now.

My now read copy of Mockingbird, complete with post-it notations.