KayeKillA

Field of Dreams and Trees

2012-01-29T18:55:00.001-06:00

Time for another headshrinker drawing insight.

Before:

And through my eyes (and pen):

2012-01-24T23:40:00.004-06:00

This post contains a Starbucks rant so you shoukd probably just go watch this instead of reading further.

I consider myself an expert in just about any field of employment I have ever worked in (and some additional fields like medicine and demolition derby racing because I have been to the doctors a lot and I have attended many a county fair figure-8) and it doesn't matter the length of time. I was a waitress for two hours and a hot roller girl at Glamour Shots for a month so do not talk to me about good service or good hair!

I've had many fun work experiences, but only one stands out as the one I feel the need to reference the most and that was my three months as a Starbucks Barista. This was when we actually "pulled" shots of espresso, we didn't just push a button on a coffee robot with one hand while sexting on cell phones with the other like they do nowadays!

I know, you may be thinking, "You don't actually tell people every time you go into Starbucks that you were a barista, do you?" Well, actually I do. But it is only because there is ALWAYS a situation that calls for it. I find that in old age, this is all you have - your mature face that makes people believe you when you say you "used to do" something.

But really, there is always a situation where I NEED to tell people that I was a barista. Maybe I am waiting with a bunch of people that are getting impatient about their drinks and I need to show solidarity, I need to be the goodwill ambassador, the barista-turned-civilian that can let people know, "your drink really is on its way, I know because I was a barista for three months. I probably made over seventy caramel macchiatos." Maybe I need to laugh with other baristas when someone mispronounces "grande" or roll my eyes when someone orders a fattachino. Maybe someone gets a flat tire in the parking lot, maybe a new customer is having trouble with a drink choice. Whatever the scenario, I usually need to let people know.

So a few days ago I was at Bucky's (baristas sometimes call it that) and I ordered a grande iced coffee with not sh*t in it. I know, as a former barista, that the cashier can just turn around, grab the coffee out of the fridge, fill up the cup,toss in some ice, and hand it over. It doesn't have to go in the drink assembly line. The cashier did just that - she grabbed the iced coffee from the fridge and filled up the cup and..... set it in the long drink line. I asked her if I could just grab my drink and she looked at me and said, "no, your drink is in line, we have to give the drinks out in order." She said this while holding her hand over my iced coffee.

I looked over at the peope waiting for their six-shot whatevers and back at the teen-ager that had just spent more time scolding me than it would have taken her to just hand over my freaking cup, and whispered, "but....I was a barista..." and then even quieter, "we never did that."

I knew then it was time to retire. I may not be able to keep up my Starbucks boycott that I vowed to myself that day, but I will no longer let people know that I was a barista there and that is really going to hit them where it counts. Right in their push-button souls.

2012-01-18T21:46:00.005-06:00

I have been staring a this before and after page for a week now. Not a week straight, but like I kept the tab on my internet browser up so I could go back and soak in all the floral brooches and try to figure out which column was supposed to be the "before" and which one was the "after". I find the facial pallor of real people photographed under florescent lighting at business seminars to be intoxicating.

I suggest you do it too. Meditate on what it means to improve your image. Does it mean putting a shirt on as opposed to just wearing a bra, like the woman in about the 45th set of pictures down? Or maybe it means putting that tie on? Like the gentleman in pictures 14,17, and 22? Or maybe it means donning the female equivalent of the tie: The Flower Pin, like the women in pictures 1, 13, 23, 25, 27, 28, 29, 31, and oh, most of the rest of them.

I like to imagine a makeover seminar led by a woman dressed like Mary Poppins who has a magical, bottomless bag of floral pins. At the end of the seminar, the whole audience lines up to be saved from their plain tops and blazer lapels. Even though the line is long and her bag so small, she blesses them all, one by one, with a flower brooch from her bag. People cry. They get their picture taken next to a beige room divider. They feel different.

This world is full of magic. I bet that is happening somewhere right now.

(picture numbers are estimates)

Playing the World’s Largest Violin

2012-01-11T12:43:00.001-06:00

A simple completion photo this week.

Before:

After:

Books and Looks

2012-01-09T21:49:00.001-06:00

Receiving Highlights

2012-01-04T15:55:00.001-06:00

Christmas is for children. Any gift we receive as grown-ups should be greatly appreciated, should be seen as icing on the cake of this already huge gift of life, and of course, should be displayed on a blog post.

I was happy enough to just be able to surprise the living daylights out of my sister who was home in Michigan on leave from the Army, so it was a big bonus that I got some radical presents. Check out some of the highlights:

New sneaks! New flash-bounce mirror thingy! (It works very well.)

A Nancy Reagan paper doll book!

I just love that Adolfo inaugural suit.

Look for a rejuvenated face next time you meet me for hoagies because someone got me a Clairsonic:

And my mom gave me my grandpa’s old Kodak Master Photoguide book (it even had his name handwritten in it):

Thank you one and all.

Crabby Times

2012-01-03T10:08:00.001-06:00

The first completion picture of 2012 is numbered #12. I was especially inspired by this picture because it is in fact, my zodiac sign.

Before:

After:

Happy New Year!

2012-01-02T11:19:00.001-06:00

I forgot to eat black-eyed peas but, B brought me back a new Rosa’s calendar from Tucson so that evens out my luck for the year.

Away!

2011-12-24T15:37:00.001-06:00

It's been a crazy couple of weeks. The only thing that is the same is that I ALWAYS get the window seat. Even if I have to move sleeping children or trick elderly passengers into thinking that they read their ticket wrong.

Kidding. Merry Christmas to all!

Note. Pads.

2011-12-16T10:02:00.001-06:00

I love when you are required to take a “creativity class” for work. This happens, it happens a lot and I can speak from experience that most of the time the lesson has no impact on anyone other than annoying the already creative people with great tips like: “Brush your teeth with your non-dominant hand” and “Carry around a note book for ideas.”

Idea-to-paper isn’t a learned thing. Either you are someone that is compelled, by narcissism or brain chemistry or emotional insecurity or short term memory loss, to record your thoughts and observations, or you aren’t. Maybe you journaled for a week after seeing a guest on Oprah (or taking a creativity seminar). Maybe if you are a CEO and you caught a case of cancer and are paying a biographer to write the story of your life, maybe you have started to carry around a notebook to record thoughts and memories for him/her. Maybe you have started to carry around your secretary. Whatever your temporary situation, you don’t have any claim over the notebook debate.

I have the compulsion to record all the time (probably due to a mix of the above mentioned reasons) and unlike one of my favorite bloggers Summer Pierre, I am not that particular about what I write in or on. I like her post even though I totally disagree (but she is the drawing type so that could make a difference) and in fact love when people get me journals as gifts, even if they are totally crazy, like when my grandma gets ones from church craft sales covered in seashells attached with Elmer's glue, because I find them all sentimental and inspiring.

You can’t carry seashell journals around easily though. Elmer’s is not purse-transport approved. My favorite ones to carry around are the little teeny steno-style flip ones, preferably covered with wildlife photos. These are the notebooks of private investigators (minus the chihuahua photos) and electricians. My personal glory days of the mini flip were back when I lived in K-Town, LA near a Korean dollar store. These would come in packs of three. I got one pack that had three different St. Bernards. I think I have one mostly blank one of these left – I am obviously saving it for a very serious investigation:

I do have a preference when it comes to TCB-ing. For the plotting and the scamming, I love notepads. Note. Pads. The top-tear kind you would use in court and/or the USA networks show “Suits”. To prove my point, here is the stack of notepads I have filled this year:

Like a crazy person on trial representing herself, these notebooks are filled with counter points and closing arguments.

You never know.

A Seger Collage Montage

2011-12-12T10:37:00.001-06:00

I needed some old time rock and roll to get me back on track with more regular updates and you know what? I got it at the FedEx Forum this past Saturday night :

Bob Seger releases special Nostalgiaendorphines in people born in Michigan.

Alto Reed must be the inspiration for Sexy Sax Man – well, and the inspiration for many many other things.

In other news, I just installed a bunch of holiday fonts on my computer thanks to this site. All business letters for the rest of the month will look like elves and candy canes.

Murder Bathroom Update

2011-12-06T09:31:00.001-06:00

For those of you wondering about crime stats in the “Murder Bathroom” neighborhood (read about the Murder Bathroom here), I am sad to report that on a walk-through yesterday I found evidence of murder:

Explain this:

As far as everyone knows the doors were intact that morning so that means someone (probably female, dressed in “BizCas” clothing) in the office park was smashed to death (and then most likely flushed) between 9am and 2pm.

We are closing our office, in fact I turned in my keys yesterday so I won’t be able to continue my investigation or be able to experience the thrill of using the murder bathroom.

I will continue my quest to expose things that creep me out – check out my recent find at the thrift store for proof.

Slogging

2011-12-03T13:33:00.001-06:00

Slogging: Slacking on blogging.

Decorwaiting: Lazy Christmas light application usually found in the form of one or two strands of lights thrown on bottom branches of trees, waiting for another day (or the next holiday season) to fix it.

Heavy Baggage

2011-11-27T11:26:00.001-06:00

When we picked up my bag at the Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport the main handle was hanging on by an elastic thread. It came all the way off the second I touched it. I’m always a little sad when I have to retire a piece of luggage, especially when it has been with me through some good trips, and especially when we have been lost and reunited three times - thousands of miles from home. The handle from this ol feller had one strip of country-fair style ribbon, a leather luggage tag (lost), and no less than a dozen different little elastic loops where I had attached a handwritten tag on according to which airline I was flying.

You know those paper tags always get torn off (but the elastic stays behind with a little bit of paper that you never bother to remove) so I imagine that my phone number and name are flying around random parts of The Great 48 like accidental calling cards for another neurotic traveler.

If I have to wait too long in the baggage drop line I start to think that if US Airways sees my Delta tag they will not properly process it so I grab one of those US Airways paper tags out of their inviting tag bucket and fill it out while the people behind me get extreme line anxiety at the site of someone using a paper and pen (My god! What IS that device? An inkpen? This could take HOURS!!).

Because I worked in a small parts factory where we glued credit cards to credit card offers I have the habit of wondering about the 6am-2pm shift of workers that might have put my daily junk together, I always wonder who loops the elastic through those tiny loops. Do they wear special gloves to prevent chaffing from the elastic? Do they hit each other with the elastic bands? Do they have to punch their own holes? Is there the one guy that drinks in the bathroom on break? Is everyone afraid of the manager? Do they sit around and ask, “Who the hell fills these dumb tags out out any more?”

Thanks

2011-11-25T20:59:00.001-06:00

Before:

After:

(Aside from the ol ‘friends and fam) I’m thankful for:

Years spent working in service and retail so I know to be extra thankful for not having to work on or near the holidays, high definition television, Christmas lights, having a place to go on Thanksgiving, nail polish, books, pictures, movies, sparkling water & sparkling wine, sparkling personalities, postage stamps, pencils, my car - aka: Great White, roads, rest stops and information centers, wide open vistas, un-crowded movie theaters, workout DVDs, digital cameras, pizza, apples, the zoo, and my health.

New Additions to the Postcard Map Collection

2011-11-20T19:16:00.001-06:00

I am pretty sure these aren’t repeats, I was just in California a year ago but they take their postcard map output very seriously. Just look at how serious the last two examples are. They aren’t even trying to make it cute. They are just like: Here is a postcard map of the place you are vacationing, the map is indeed functional up to AAA specs so if you need to send a plea to be rescued from a small highway in Death Valley, the recipient of this postcard will only need a decent vehicle, water, and this postcard.

That is what the last card said to me anyway.

The Road is The Same: A Stand Still Story

2011-11-17T12:31:00.001-06:00

The I-40 that stretches east-west across mid America (it is actually at some points a similar route to old Route 66) belongs to big business-hauling rigs, wide-load 18-wheelers, and big, tweaked-out truckers, especially, it seems in the section running from Memphis to Little Rock. That part in particular features shrunken lanes with crumbling edges, cracked overpass bridges, and not a single light. So with the recent time change, by the time I get out of class it is as dark as a Yucatan highway.

I know I’m just a little speck of tin on four wheels and a guest of these truckers when I drive my weekly route to Forrest City, but I am an ungrateful guest, especially after last night.

My first mistake was that I stopped at my pre-class stopping point again after class so my brain was on auto-pilot when I got on the highway because, ok, I was on the phone with my sister. I spent a good thirty five minutes rapping with her and even made a comment about passing the well know XXX Adult Truck Stop place a couple exits from Forrest City.

Everything was rolling along smoothly until I came to a stand still in the middle of nowhere, stuck in between giant semi-trucks, and lost cell reception. I’m used to it dropping here and there since Arkansas is spotty in certain country areas so I tried to just wait it out. After fifteen minutes I realized we were on a overpass and I could feel the road underneath swaying and shaking with the idling rigs and the cars passing under. Because I had no other entertainment I made up stories about the bridges collapsing and me getting out of my car in time to jump on top of a truck cab to ride it safely past all of the other vehicles smashing into the concrete after a 100 foot fall. I had another scenario where the bridge cracked right beneath my vehicle and the semi in front and behind me smashed me into the road and/or alligator pit below.

When thinking about my death was no longer entertaining I turned to self pity; I couldn’t help but think how unjust it is to get caught in a nighttime traffic jam after coming home from a twelve hour work day. We started moving forty minutes later before I could start texting people these thoughts. We were down to one lane, sure, but we were moving. I drove for another oh I don’t know? Thirty minutes before I noticed something on a highway sign that said: Little Rock 35 Miles

I had totally and completely been driving, not just driving but suffering, in the opposite direction of home.

Little Rock is a two hour drive from Memphis and it was almost 9:30pm and I hadn’t had but a touch of gross falafel from Kwik Check at lunch. The highway exits off the 40 in daylight aren’t places where you want to hang out at, let alone after 9pm when everything around, except the XXX shops and the truck wash places, is shutting down southern style and you’re in a mentally imbalanced hypoglycemic road raged state. I knew I had to toughen up and just get some gas, get some chemically-based fast food, and get on the road. I decided that I would pee my pants instead of stopping at any trucker-shower Valero to risk an attack in the women’s bathroom.

Once the car was turned around in the direction of Memphis I felt less frustration and more blame. I studied the road for landmarks and signs that would prove I was a total idiot and had to have known I was going the wrong way for miles! But all I noticed was the road is dark and the road is the same. The reason I thought I saw the XXX Adult Booty Palace marker was because there was another XXX Adult Booty Palace looking place going the other way. Same curves in the road, same lack of orienting signs like “Hey you are on I-40 WEST!!”, same delta casino advertisements, same Motel 6 signs, same some-times-marked lanes, same trucks riding my ass. I was riding the lost highway.

On my way back I was able to see the people heading west stuck in the traffic jam I had been in. Watching it from the other side I was pissed that the traffic flow seemed to be going much smoother than when I was stuck in it. I don’t know why I had to suffer and the worst thing that happened to those drivers was they had to break their cruise control.

But it is a metaphor, see? When you turn around and pass back over your memories of pain and despair it looks different, it looks like something you can handle. Something you did handle. And you are happy to continue even on the dark, semi-truck-clogged narrow road ahead, because you are just happy to be moving.

A Good Reception

2011-11-12T01:21:00.001-06:00

My lands! I haven't had decent cell or internet for days. The central coast is connected to nature and livestock and wine and not cell phone towers. I wouldn't have been able to call anyone anyway since I had laryngitis and y'all would have just hung up on me when all you could hear is raspy breathing.

But I'm back in Los Angeles with my voice and a bunch of photos of Hearst Castle (here's one below - I'll post more when I have my computer). The best part about taking that tour was hearing all the old ladies gasp and "oh my" when the tour guide said either how old something was or how much it cost.

The castle was full of old dusty gothy stuff that I didn't care much for (except the theater) but the swimming pools were the bees knees! I don't know why some place in Vegas hasn't recreated the Roman Pool. Many mysteries of life remain I suppose.

Sunset over my Voice

2011-11-08T00:46:00.001-06:00

Update: Made it to Los Angeles. I'm on the mend but in the voiceless phase of recovery. The dust storm has made its move into my voicebox. It is maddening to be involuntarily softspoken and I vow to never take a vow of silence.

Good thing my voice can be heard here.

It is good to be at the edge of America.

Dust Storm in My Head

2011-11-06T13:25:00.001-06:00

I strongly dislike the android blogger app because it smushes my great photos into lowpixeloblivion, but I have a few minutes to update and no proper computer around.

The take away lesson from this post will be: never underestimate an Arizonian Dust Storm. We got into Phoenix early Friday and putzed around for a bit before heading out to Tucson even though we heard some panicked parental warnings about a deadly dust storm heading our way.

It wasn't that bad to drive through - in fact we were treated to a beautiful sight of a lone wild horse doing its mustanging thing and kicking up dust in the dusty middle of nowhere - and that was after seeing a newcaster and newcasty truck broadcasting from an especially dusty highway exit which is a beautiful sight in its own special ridiculous way. Because we made it without anything happening to the car I figured everything was good. That was until my throat and face started to freeze up with poisonous dust mucous within a couple hours. It kind of had a sandman effect too, because my whole respiratory system had been injected with sleep dust! Let me tell you that business did not go well with my wedding attendee outfit.

It is almost two days later and I'm just now recovering but I'm really rethinking dust-mask fashion. Why wouldn't I have thrown one on as soon as I got to the desert? I mean knowing how dangerous this place is? If only the cacti knew how much I loved them, this wouldn't happen.

I wonder how the newslady is doing.

Busting Out of Here

2011-11-03T11:01:00.001-05:00

Just for a little while. I am headed west for a week and some change. I’ll probably be posting pics on my tumblr so check it!

In the Mirror

2011-10-31T12:30:00.001-05:00

And my interpretation:

Appropriate, no?

Happy Halloween!

A Beer & Burger Joint, An Ol Brothel

2011-10-27T11:14:00.001-05:00

B and I went to Earnestine & Hazel’s after the show last night. It is ranked #40 of 57 things you must do in Memphis. So you can see why I lived here for a couple years before finally making it to the upstairs. I had to get through the first 46 things.

Animals At Night

2011-10-23T11:53:00.001-05:00

I made B go with me to the Zoo Boo last night, for research of course. I just had to see what the place looked like after hours. It was packed with kids in costumes, the cutest being a little toddler boy dressed up like a cowboy (classic). Pushing these kids around in strollers and by hand were plenty of adults in costume. Sexy Dorothy above is just a mom in white tights, not a hired hand of the Zoo Boo. We also saw a sexy mom teenage mutant ninja turtle (think green metallic spandex) and a sexy pac-woman mom. But hey, if you can’t unleash your sexy beast at the zoo, where are you going to do it?

More Delta Driving

2011-10-18T11:38:00.001-05:00

On the road to Helena-West Helena, AR

More Mich

2011-10-18T11:13:00.001-05:00

Spicer Orchard in Hartland, MI

Seasons Change With the Scenery

2011-10-14T18:08:00.001-05:00

Traveling and season changes are key ingredients for two disastrous things in my life: losing sh*t and getting migraines.

Somehow in my packing and unpacking I lost a couple things that have nothing to do with my trip:

A cute and colorful zippered pouch holding a couple business cards, a band-aid wrapper, and two flash drives that have extremely valuable documents on them.
A stack of index cards with all of my script scenes – you can imagine how valuable those are as well. Millions?

I found the flash drives but I can’t confirm that someone didn’t take them overnight, copy all my files, and then submit them to The New York Times or The Paris Review or something. We will know soon enough.

As far as the index cards I can only imagine the places one could misplace a stack of index cards because index cards are only used for one of three things:

Recipes, Recipe boxes
Hopeless GRE vocabulary practice
Screenplay scenes for people that don’t like Final Draft or the Index Card ipad app.

I’m no technophobe but I like a mix of hard copy items mixed up with my digital stuff, unfortunately you can see that me losing index cards AND flash drives proves that you can be equally screwed.

As for the other thing, the migraines, I won’t elaborate because sometimes migraine stories are like other-peoples-dream stories and sometimes they are incriminating. This one is a splash of one and a dash of the other, so I’ll leave it out for today.

But speaking of incriminating, on my way to work the other day I got caught behind two cop cars having a red-light steering wheel dance off. Their windows were down and they were blasting some kind of music (from their cop radios?) and they were definitely bobbing their heads and waving their hands all about like they just didn’t care. I couldn’t believe my eyes but there they were – cops dancing like bacon in a frying pan, I mean like popcorn over a hot fire, like corks on waves, like no one was watching. They even kept it going for quite a while after the light turned green but what was I going to do? Honk my horn and remind them that my tags are due for renewal?

I grabbed my camera when it was a bit too late, but here they are, the dancing policeman – if you get pulled by ‘em just see if you can groove your way out of it:

Out For A Bit

2011-10-06T23:32:00.001-05:00

Posting will be sparse for a week. I’m gone.

Tools of the Mind

2011-10-04T09:21:00.001-05:00

I was looking through my book of completion pics and I saw that I had skipped a photo! Somewhere between a boat and a beach walk, there was this pair of pliers. You can analyze my “forgetfulness” after you analyze this:

Original:

And my interpretation:

Ok before you get too excited you should know that this is a very literal interpretation because I have actually removed a broken corkscrew from a bottle of wine (the last bottle of wine in the house on a Sunday – in Tennessee that means you are S.O.L unless you know how to 1)use pliers or 2)use a machete) with a pair of pliers. Just know that pliers are a symbol of victory for me.

Too Late For Us, Too Late for the Tigers

2011-10-01T10:01:00.001-05:00

I had to mail a package yesterday and I stepped up to the counter and said, “I’d like to send this package priority with delivery confirmation…” and the clerk sighed, SIGHED with the wind of a million annoyances. I said, “I’m sorry? Is that not possible?” She was wiping her forehead and said, “Oh no you’re fine….whew…you have no idea what I am going through right now.” And even though I gathered she was having some kind of hot flash, she was right, I had no real idea – well until she said, “Don’t ever get old.” I was like, “Too late. It is happening to everyone.” And then she rang me up after selling me endangered species tiger stamps (they were better than the Gregory Peck ones).

2011-09-30T21:42:00.003-05:00

Re-do and Three Cherry Pickers

2011-09-28T14:51:00.001-05:00

I posted the Waffle House picture from yesterday using a Blogger app for the ipad and it looked awful. I don’t know why an app would smash and pixelate a perfectly good photo, but I guess they say there is an app for everything.

On the drive into work I saw a triple-cherry-picker situation. I mean I have never seen one before:

And you probably can’t see it too well either. As much as I try and try, no matter how much risk to my life, my shooting and driving skills still have room for improvement.

Maybe this will help:

Good Day For A Delta Drive (and a waffle)

2011-09-27T23:42:00.001-05:00

Today there was an ambulance and a cop car in the Waffle House parking lot off Highway 61 in Tunica. I imagine a waffle-butter-induced heart attack. Not necessarily a bad way to go.

I also read that the fella that invented Doritos recently passed away and will have the glorious orange-powdered snack chips sprinkled on his grave.

We will be judged not by the foods we eat in life, but by those we take with us.

Don’t Mess With My Henson

2011-09-26T12:40:00.001-05:00

Did y’all notice the Google search page this weekend? It was to celebrate Jim Henson’s birthday. He would have been 75. That is not so old - it is a shame because he really could have had a least another decade of puppet-making.

In true form, I can‘t help but relate everything I encounter online or in my daily routine, to my travels in Mississippi. Mississippi applies to everything, everyone, and every situation and maybe that is the direction this blog will take in the future.

Seeing all of the Henson stuff reminded me of B and I stopping at the Jim Henson Delta Boyhood Exhibit in his hometown of Leland, Mississippi. You can imagine how much traffic they get (not much), so when we showed up on hot, late summer day the woman working the information counter/sign-in book/tour guide stand was stoked to see us. So stoked she told us about her son and his girlfriend who might make a good wife but she wasn’t sure but they are so in love and he is in the army and they see each other on Tuesdays and Fridays and and and oh my lands! It was so distracting that we didn’t notice another older woman lurking near the original Kermit replica. So when the museum woman finally got around to showing us the actual museum, we were startled when the older gal started heckling her.

“Now this is the original puppet that Mr. Henson…..”

“THAT’S not the original O-R-I-G-I-N-A-L, I have a picture of one from the Smithsonian…”

“Well technically there are several….”

“Not this one.”

“We -

“Nope.”

And so on and so on – you got the feeling that this was either a mother and daughter situation or an old Leland rivalry between the two gals up for the one Jim Henson Museum job because the woman trying to show us around was clearly trying to ignore the heckler and since there was only four people in the room it was quite, uh – uncomfortable.

I think if Jim would have been there he would have made a couple puppet characters based on the ladies. Kind of like a cross between Janice, Miss Piggy, and those movie critic dudes – called Museum Rivals. It was that bizzaro.

Visual of the Week: The Baggie Connection

2011-09-23T14:23:00.001-05:00

Subway is the only food service establishment in my entire office park and everyone from the polo shirt and khaki pants set is there from 11:30 am – 1:30 pm. I like it because when you drive down the winding shrub-lined office-park-y road there is a parade of doughy men dressed in three-button shirts and florescent-light weary women wearing ill-fitting business casual, walking like four years olds in their mother’s high heels, all carrying those clear subway bags full of torpedo-shaped loaves swinging back and forth near their sides. It reminds me so much of seeing people walking in Central Park or Runyon Canyon running with their dogs holding flailing bags of dog doo in their hands. I call it The March of the Footlongs because the women always get the footlong so they can “save the other half for later”.

Manhunt

2011-09-20T16:21:00.001-05:00

Completion drawing numero diez:

And my interpretation:

Thank you.

Arkansas Delights

2011-09-16T14:08:00.001-05:00

From my regular pre-class joint:

The Arkansas sky is always falling:

Dear Everyone in Line For Whatever

2011-09-15T13:00:00.001-05:00

Dear Mary — Please make sure all the errands are done before you go on vacation, as I do not want to be bothered with insignificant things. Thank you. J.D. Salinger

Compare the two interpretations of the “casual short” above. One is clearly superior, I’ll let you decide which one.

A couple things: 1) Not since the Umbro craze of the early nineties has an athletic short infected the public domain as much as these disgusting bright-color-on-the-side-swoop things. 2) When you wear athletic clothing in public to do anything other than athletic things you are saying to the world “world – you are my dirty wrestling mat” and you are asking for a fight. 3) Unless you live in Hawaii, just got a pedicure, or are drying off from an intense Mississippi River surfing session, you should refrain from wearing flip-flops or someone could think that you just escaped from a hospital, ESPECIALLY if you are standing in line at a cheap mall clothing store huffing and puffing through your beaky bird nose letting everyone around you know that you have been waiting forever!!!!! Especially if you have the nerve to complain to the manager that you have been waiting forever and can’t they open another register because you only have one item. And people will know for sure that you are completely crazy when you do finally get up to the register and you pay for your one item with a check. A check. 4) If you are under 70 years old and are paying with a check, then maybe you should keep wearing those shitty shorts so we can all keep assuming what is true – you are a thoughtless twerp.

And those, Mr. JD Salinger, are the type of people you would have been bothered with had you ever stepped outside.

(I was looking for a way to tie in my favorite news item of the day with my favorite picture of last week)

Two Boats, One River

2011-09-13T12:13:00.001-05:00

Another completion picture from my teeny book of mind tests.

Here is the original number nine:

The funny thing was that this time I had to do two drawings to clear out the first thing that came to my mind which was:

I feel like a movie reference does not really offer any true psychological insight so I pushed myself to come up with an original interpretation:

And here you can see that I envisioned a tragic leprechaun dock accident. Will the gold fall in the wrong hands? Will the rainbow disappear? Nothing lasts forever.

See?

My 9-11 Post

2011-09-12T12:14:00.001-05:00

I thought about posting something about the tenth anniversary of 9-11 but I figured all of the networks and radio stations and stuff covered it. You don’t need to know what I was doing that morning (tae-bo-ing). You might need to know that I remember thinking how ridiculous it was that against the backdrop of a video loop showing planes crashing into the World Trade Center, all of the newscasters kept repeating as if answering to a CIA mind control directive, “Just like we all remember where we were when Kennedy was shot. We will remember this day forever.” Thank you for the news. What a non-thing to say. Anyway, I caught a few moments of Diane Sawyer forcing the children of 9-11 to talk about their dead parents and I had enough.

Even in all of our boundless memorializing, there was still an underdog. How American is that? Poor Flight 93, your tragic fate ended in a lonely field in Pennsylvania so you could never stack up to skyscrapers in New York City. NYC got the big guy, you got the Vice President.

So that’s it. Ten years and a couple Toby Keith anthems later. The newscasters weren’t wrong, I just don’t need any help in remembering.

If You See Me

2011-09-09T16:29:00.001-05:00

Three years ago around this time I left Los Angeles. Whenever I complain about Memphis I have to answer to “Well if LA was so GREAT why did you leave!!?” I never have an answer for that and I always mean to keep my complaints to myself but that never works out because complaining to yourself leads to depression. SO I slipped again the other night, heard the typical annoyed response but this time I answered, “Because I like to move.”

The night before I moved, my little sister flew out to LA to help me pack up. I had spent the month before selling most of my stuff on Craigslist and was planning only on taking a few things in the move, but I still had a bunch of stuff I had to deal with. So I had a garage sale (at J & B’s house thankyouverymuch) and later my sister helped me pack up what was left to go to the goodwill. We ran out of time and ended up leaving a stack of crap, calling a St Vincet DuPaul truck or something, and leaving the keys behind to set off on a cross-country road trip.

Sure I knew I had made the right choice to sell all of my stuff and not put furniture in storage like some people suggested, but the road trip was haunted by the memory of things I did not mean to leave in the give-away pile. Like, I did not mean to leave behind my vintage crewel tropical sea kit that I spent the lonely Christmas of ‘06 making. But this is now either in a landfill, hanging on someone’s wall, or collecting dust in a Angelview Thrift:

Other things I left behind (and thought about at various points as we retraced route 66) included: Vintage quilt, allergen-proof pillowcase covers, a sack of pens stolen from hotels and restaurants and people, a vacuum cleaner, books, industrial shelves, pots, pans, buckets of paint, handmade sawhorses, and several small framed dried flower thingies.

Business Man Means Business

2011-09-08T11:09:00.001-05:00

Time for more dazzling insights into my mind.

Completion picture #7:

And my interpretation:

A Bridge Post

2011-09-04T17:38:00.001-05:00

My sister-in-law gave me these postcards when I was in Michigan over the Fourth of July. I could not remember where I put them but I just found them (I’m spending most of Labor Day Weekend laboring around with some long-neglected house chores) in an unpacked bag. Yep, sometimes I don’t unpack bags for months. AMERICA!

The Great Lakes and The Manckinac Bridge in particular are some of my favorite favorite postcard topics so I am so stoked she gave these to me and since I thought I lost them it is like the gift has been given all over again.

Here are the backs:

Ghost Riding Mississippi

2011-08-31T09:53:00.001-05:00

A drive through Marks, Mississippi. It’s getting hot again.

The Pleasant Pitcher

2011-08-30T18:41:00.001-05:00

Today’s completion drawing could have went a few ways (I suppose that is the point) including a big brick-wall-busting entry of the Kool Aid Kid., but I think you will find my interpretation a little more craft-table-y, a little more whimsical. It is Tuesday after all.

Original:

And my interpretation:

For sale Easter 2012

Where The Grown Folks Play

2011-08-29T11:19:00.001-05:00

B and I went to Greenwood, Mississippi this weekend. I call it The Grown Folks Playground because they have clubs like Wispers and their local radio station plays lots of R&B music that mentions Hennessey in the lyrics a minimum of five times per song.

We visited the Cottonlandia museum and they had a nice swamp room, a special Robert Johnson exhibit, and the worlds largest (or something like that) collection of trade beads.

There was a friendly couple working the desk at the museum and they gave us a map of RJ- related sites and a map of places where the new movie “The Help” was filmed. I asked them if they had seen the movie and they said they hadn’t but they were going that very night. I also learned that there are no movie theaters in Greenwood but Greneda (home of my favorite pint-sized preacher) and Greenville have them.

You don’t really need a movie theater though – you can make your own entertainment by doing things like looking for gravesites.

Robert Johnson is supposedly buried here:

Our friends recommended dinner at Lusco’s and it did not disappoint. All of the tables are in small stalls sectioned off by floral curtains so you kind of get the feeling that someone is going to come in and either serve you an appetizer or wack you using a gun they found taped to the back of a toilet. The baked potatoes are served in aluminum foil and you have to bring your own wine. The light is greenish inside because it is the most flattering to the curtains and stuffed deer heads, and of course the whole place smells like meat.

The courtyard at our hotel:

The Tallahatchie River and the Yalobusha River meet at Greenwood to form the Yazoo River (I’m not sure which one this bridge is covering):

Two rivers become one in The Grown Folks Playground. Go visit Greenwood and enjoy your baked potato.

The Tire That Broke The Toyota's Back

2011-08-26T15:41:00.001-05:00

Always stuff in the road on Airways Blvd.

I believe this man to be in the middle of a performance piece representing the frustrations of the modern workweek - or more to the point, my workweek this week.

The truck represents my mind: full of potential, mobile/agile, seasoned and most of all; handy. The crap in the back is just a bunch of shit people have been piling on me: dirty tires, random toxic liquids, poles, funnels, trash bags..whatever other useless items (except the funnel – those are very useful) that don’t do anything but rough up a ride you can think of.

I would like to go back to the scene and give him a tarp. Nobody likes seeing such a mess made of nothing.

What is that Racket?

2011-08-24T10:51:00.001-05:00

I can’t remember where I heard it but I know someone or some radio show or some essay told me that one of the most overused story/scene-setting devices in modern literary fiction (or at least the modern literary fiction that gets rejected from writing contests and such) is the mention of the buzzing sounds of cicadas.

Supposedly that means the author is lazy and can’t think of any other sound of the south. I think it says more about the northerners that get to live in peaceful silence. I can’t walk outside without feeling like a gang of bloodthirsty vampires are flying toward me (pick any murder scene from The Lost Boys). I’m not just coming up with the vampire thing out of nowhere, some of these buggers have red googley eyes.

I also heard the other day a tale about how the clicks can tell you how hot it is going to be so that would explain why the bugs around here are clicking at cacophonous 150 times a second, because it is that hot.

And now that I am done complaining about the heat and the noise around here, I am going to retreat until I can come up with another topic.

It won’t be too long, school is back in session and my first class is tonight. I’m looking at the class list and the middle names alone have more buzz than six trees full of cicadas.

The Driver

2011-08-23T11:47:00.001-05:00

I saw preview for the new Goss’ movie, Driver. It reminded me that I have another completion photo for y’all.

Here is my psychological interpretation:

A Couple Cards Short of a Deck

2011-08-17T11:15:00.001-05:00

Completion picture four in the head-shrinker handbook.

My interpretation:

The drawing of someone still not recovered from a bout of Deadwood addiction.

Placeholders

2011-08-15T15:03:00.001-05:00

Yep. Still busy. But look at this giant moth that was on our door Friday night:

AND check out this vanity plate I saw on my way to work:

At first I thought it said second nun, but then I really got it: 2ND2NUN

Second to NONE! Number one bumper-banged Lexus.

Don’t Talk to The One-Armed Frog

2011-08-11T10:10:00.001-05:00

I didn’t like this completion drawing and I have to admit that my first instinct was to draw a crown on his head, but then I saw my true vision:

The one-shoe sportsfan frog.

Backing In, Backing Out

2011-08-08T11:30:00.001-05:00

I’ve been working on some other writing-and-thought-heavy (hey, thinking takes time – and whey protein) things and this blog has been suffering a bit. I will continue to bring you photos and special drawings at least a couple times a week until I can get back full force.

This week my photos are of cars that have been backed in to take up one and a quarter parking spaces. Enjoy:

Serving Up Another Psychological Insight

2011-08-05T09:08:00.001-05:00

It is time for the second “completion picture”. Above you have the original and below is my interpretation:

I believe that this means I feel as if I could perform better with a net and that I have a deep resentment towards my BF that we don’t have any pets.

This is NOT a Craft Blog

2011-08-04T11:07:00.001-05:00

However, this is kind of an American Restoration tale, right? A thrift find turned home art masterpiece? I found this at the Elvis Presley Blvd AmVets and had to have it because I love vacations. It’s just my thing.

The instructions were easy: you remove the photos of the thin white people frolicking on the beach and “Use with your own photographs to create the look.” Notice they don’t say much about what the look means. You are supposed to know what that is code for, you are supposed to know that VACATION means BEACH and BEACHBODIES.

When I took the frame apart I found out why it was only a dollar – it was cracked out in one corner. But I used wood glue and medical tape to fix that right up. (it’s waterproof)

I got to work and one-by-one, replaced all those beach scenes with my own look. A look I call Southern Megafauna Explorer.

Waaa-Lah! Here you have my interpretation of The Look. You can’t see it all but that is because I am protecting the privacy of the first A. Notice the second “A” is a picture of the original badass American flag we saw at Fort Sumter.

American Vacation.

This is NOT a Food Blog

2011-08-03T10:00:00.001-05:00

However, I feel the need to preach about Makeda’s butter cookies – the Airways Blvd location near my work. The big sign outside actually says Makeda’s “Butter” Cookies which makes me think that maybe they aren’t really butter or that maybe Makeda is giving me the wink that there is a crapload of butter in these cookies, or maybe quotation marks mean something different here on Airways Blvd. Who knows.

I get the peanut butter cookies because they are thin, chewy, and buttery (surprise) and a really good peanut butter cookie is a very hard thing to make yourself so you should leave it to the professionals, even better - leave it to Makeda.

The cookies come wrapped in plastic and then put in a little paper sleeve that barely fits the cookie so it takes a long time for the lady to actually hand over the cookie. It is part of the theatrics of cookie service so instead of saying “oh I don’t need a sleeve…” I just let it happen. You should let these cookies happen to you. As the little white sleeves says, they are “The Best Cookies You Ever Ate.”

At Abe’s BBQ In Clarksdale, MS

2011-08-01T18:28:00.001-05:00

Who would have thought to pair the Steelers frame with the Yosemite Sam airbrushed - not a print - T-Shirt? Only Abe.

Deelicious.

Badge of Honor

2011-07-31T12:07:00.001-05:00

You may notice a little something new over there ---->

For the past couple months I have been channeling my zoo obsession into a project. How obnoxo is the word project? Pretty bad but if you say documentary or film too early – it tends to freak people out. Anyway, it is finally starting to take shape and one of the first stages is to gather interest at the zoo lovers (or haters) level so be a dove and go ahead and “like” our page.

In case you need a good book, I highly recommend Zoo Story: Life in the Garden of Captives.

YaYa at the Memphis Zoo

Door to My Mind

2011-07-27T15:57:00.001-05:00

Unlike the Ziggy treasure box I left behind, I brought this WAIS-R Picture Completion Head-Shrinker tool back from a recent trip to Oxford, MS. It is a flip book of pictures that are meant to be completed by troubled souls looking to put their mental health in the hands of someone that went to Ole Miss.

I’m not sure how to use these but who needs to worry about directions when it comes to insights of the mind? Today, I will start with page one:

Imagine how you would complete this picture. Well I guess I would make a bad therapist because I shouldn’t even insinuate that the picture needs completion, who knows – maybe it needs subtraction? Maybe we need to take the hinges away from that damned door! Maybe it is a symbol of the barriers blocking my success as a commercial airline pilot!

Assuming it needs to be completed, I drew up the first scenario in my head:

I’d go and research what this means but I don’t want to ruin the fun yet. Let’s just say that these are the doodles of someone who has sworn to free the cheetahs at the zoo, someone who appreciates luxury and luck, and someone who has an obsession with Nancy Reagan, and now, the USA Network show, Suits.

(ps – there are 20 pictures in all)

The Family Jewels

2011-07-25T11:52:00.001-05:00

This is the family that founded the Crater of Diamonds State Park (well they didn’t make it a state park but they were the first miners that found some diamonds). Dad is on the left, mom is on the right.

My treasure hunting friend and I went to the opening of Pink Palace’s Diamonds exhibit on Friday. We had planned on robbing the place of all the diamonds but a bunch of kids were huddled around a giant plexiglas, alarmed-up container holding the really valuable stuff so instead we took a few plastic cups filled with some chardonnay aka: Liquid diamond.

Yet another similarity between diamonds and white wine:

We decide that the next time we went to Crater of Diamonds we were going to use a new “kiss dirt” method to find our diamonds!

Diamond, by the way, is a word that originates from the ancient Greek word, adamas which means INVICIBLE.

Yoopers!

2011-07-20T08:08:00.001-05:00

Oh my lands! Molly asked me for my address last week and I thought for sure I was going to get a visit or a saxogram or something but instead I got the postcard map of my dreams!! A upper-penninsula-revisionist Michigan postcard map! Love it.

Information on the back tells me:

Michigan: The Great Lake State Water Wonderland of the U.S.
More than 3,000 MIles of beautiful Great Lakes shoreline
Entered Union Jan 26, 1837 (26th State)
State Bird: Robin
State Animal: Wolverine
State Flower: Apple Blossom

Only a truly mystical and magical state could have their state animal be the Wolverine.

Animal of My Spirit

2011-07-19T11:33:00.001-05:00

I visit these beauts often. We are plotting an escape. I’m a little worried once I break them free they will run off. I need a run-like-a-cheetah training program so I can keep up.

Head Gear

2011-07-18T16:16:00.001-05:00

I’ve been trying for a while to get a good snapshot of the washcloth-on-head fashion sported around Memphis in the summer. I’ll have to settle for this look: the hand-towel-on-your head. Not to be confused with a turban or other full-towel-on-your-head looks..

A washcloth makes more sense to me but both are absorbent and unisex. I like either one better than a straw fedora.

The Many Uses of a Mattress

2011-07-16T12:10:00.001-05:00

(driving year 20 of 20)

My last post had a bittersweet tone of regret so it is fitting that I continue with another tale of what might have been.

I have wanted to go to the Kiss My Grits Diner ever since I started my job. I usually am annoyed by people that say they have been wanting to do something forever especially if that something is a restaurant and only one mile away, but just forgive me for not going – I just couldn’t do it.

You see I have a friend that works in a nearby office and we were supposed to met there for lunch one day, but the night before the body of a woman had been found in the boxspring of one of the beds in the hotel rooms. Kiss My Grits Diner is one of those hotel restaurants – apparently this woman had been left there for a couple days. People even stayed in the room and slept on top of her without knowing.

So, we just never got the nerve or motivation to go back.

I was driving by yesterday when I saw this mattress sign announcing the closure. Very interesting use of mattress really. It’s not like you are gonna find poster board or anything that wouldn’t fly away in the wind that is big enough to distract from the Kiss My Grits Sign. I imagine the restaurant collaborated with the hotel got the mattress for cheap since anyone getting a room there now probably prefers to sleep on the floor.

So Long URL

2011-07-14T16:32:00.001-05:00

I let my biggestbutte url expire this week (who even needs a URL anymore though really). Maybe only a few of you remember my attempt at a wild and crazy travel website. Most people stumbled on it when they were searching for big butts so there is a lot to say for a clever but clear name. I had the clever part down.

The Biggest Butte was supposed to make you think of the magic of driving over a long stretch of desert highway and seeing a bold, lone butte on the horizon. It was about the ever changing vistas of a road trip and the wonder of geological majesty. It was about America!

But I let it expire.

Onto other buttes!

(scene from the four-corners area of the US, year 15 of 20 of driving)

2/36

2011-07-11T10:43:00.001-05:00

Best Birthday ever.

That looks like a brown cake. Well it IS a brown cake but it is a special caramel cake (a southern delicacy).

The night before my birthday I dreamt of grizzly and polar bears so I made sure I took a walk through the zoo the next day (despite the heat warning) to look for omens. I was walking in the panda exhibit when a giant bird flew over my head and ran smack into the glass window of the panda house. It fell to the ground and starting waving it’s little orange webbed feet. I screamed “Oh my!” I actually screamed oh my – I think I was trying to be sensitive to the families around even though no one seemed to notice. I didn’t know what to do so --

I took a picture:

…and then I reported it to the woman working the panda gift shop. She assured me that the duck was probably just stunned. I assured her I was stunned. Then I went to see if the polar bears were out in this heat. They weren’t. They are obviously hiding in my dreams.

Bears and suicidal ducks. What does it mean?

Meatballs.

2011-07-08T09:46:00.001-05:00

I’m not a plane chatter. I consider those people that like to small talk with strangers during their flight, travel amateurs. I bring lots of stuff to make it look like I am mute and disinterested: literary magazines, ipod, cats cradle, really whatever it takes to not have to hear about someone’s business. Sure some people are interesting but many are not. When I was younger, before I knew any better, I got caught in a one-sided conversation with an aspiring motivational speaker and I’ve been trying to avoid people ever since. Plus, the things that people read depress me. Oh I would have to add that I find those people that get on planes without any reading material or sleeping pills really, really depressing. I’ll take a screaming baby any day over some guy face-forward with his hands on his thighs staring at the cover of the Skymall catalog for five hours. I shiver just thinking about it.

However, on my flight home the other day I was in a section amongst several young guys shipping (flying) off to Air Force basic training and the kid next to me was so young and earnest I had to oblige in a little small talk. He probably regretted it because he told me he was going into the Air Force to be a Fire Fighter, and my dramatic interpretation of that was that he said Fighter Pilot, so when the flight attendant came to ask us if we were willing to perform the duties of being in an exit row I said, “Are you kidding? This guy is about to be a fighter pilot and save the assess of the whole United States of America. I think he will be able to open that door should we decided to have an emergency landing near Lake Erie.” (the last part might have been exaggerated for this blog)

He was polite enough to later correct me by casually mentioning FIRE FIGHTER in his conversation. I learned he was super good at identifying planes (thanks to a long wait on the runway) and was from a small Michigan town called Dundee and I resisted saying “Oh yeah, Michigan Militia!”

There were two other dudes nearby that were also on their way to basic and I couldn’t help eavesdropping. The conversations were so typical of nervous 18-year-olds that just met each other: what do you like to eat, specifically what do you get on your sandwichs from Subway. Jalapenos, I like those man, I get the footlong and it’s only five bucks. American cheese. Do you like american cheese? One of the guys was talking at auctioner speed, shaking his legs, and looking up and down and at the rows behind hind him. The guy next to him was cool as an Alaskan morning, just interjecting with a I like ham and a mustard is good comment here and there.

After exhausting the subway menu, the conversation switched to spaghetti. The chill guy said he liked meatballs and the nervous guy was like Ha! That sounds kinda gay. You like meatballs. The chill guy was like Yeah they are delicious. Meatballs and spaghetti. The nervous guy leans over and calls out the Dundee kids name and says “Hey soandso, chillguy says he likes meatballs – isn’t that GAY?” Dundee gave him a charity laugh and a small shrug then left them to their conversation.

It went on for a few more sentences before chill guy said, “Hey, you are talking a lot.” And then silence.

I becha HE is one of America’s future fighter pilots. Less talk. More meatballs.

Septaquintaquinquecentennial

2011-07-07T17:14:00.001-05:00

Ralph Fowler looks a little worried but he shouldn’t be – the little village he founded is still going strong after 175 years. He’d actually be smiling if he knew a former resident was destined to have a super interesting blog like this!

I was looking forward to being in Michigan for the Fourth of July so the fact that my little hometown was celebrating its Septaquintaquinquecentential was just a bonus.

I spent the first couple days of my trip touring Detroit and the Detroit metro area visiting my friends and their little babies. It’s so hard to squeeze in every one you want to see so I made a rule that I only visit people that have 1)Tigers or Lugnuts tickets 2)BBQ & Pool Parties or 3) My nephew & a Septaquintaquinquecentential celebration. Fireworks are always expected.

Anyway, so after getting all those visits over with I headed to The ‘Ville. My mom is the one who is responsible for me being a museum and tourist activity enthusiast so it was fitting that as soon as I got there we went to the new town “museum” which was a couple tables of stuff set up in an antique shop. They are hoping to get a permanent home for the historical collection and I hope they do. I will donate my Fowlerville Fair purple ribbon and my senior picture (one of the poses that best shows my Lee press-on nails of course).

Speaking of senior pictures – the museum included a book that had composite photos of every graduating class of Fowlerville High School. There was blank space underneath all the photos for comments. No one had written anything and I kind of regret not filling out my extended opinion of the classes of the late 80s and early 90s. But I did draw mustaches on a few people. Kidding. That would have been pointless since half of the classes back then had those ridiculous mustaches anyway.

They had all kinds of old village business stuff and info about Fowlerville’s most famous resident:

And we overheard word of a historical walking tour and talked the whole fam into going the next day. It was great because there were people on the tour that were lifelong residents (multi-generational) and added stuff like “I remember taking tap dancing lessons in that basement in the 50s!”

We learned that one of the houses on Grand River was an original Sears Craftsman house so for the rest of my visit every time we drove by we would say “Did you know that is an original Sears Craftsman House?” Gol darn it is fun to learn new things about your old teeny town.

Before the walking tour I went with my mom to the breakfast at the senior center. They had little kids singing patriotic songs and a quilt being raffled off. I fully expect to win.

Oh and some church kids decorated the placemats:

AND they had an awesome Ronald Reagan calendar by our table:

If all of that sounds like heaven I have one last magical story to tell you about my visit.

We stopped at the IGA where I used to work (well it is no longer an IGA but a re-done independent grocery store with the same owners) and I saw some of my old grocery store people and mentioned that I was bummed because they didn’t have any sprinkle cake donuts that I know and love. I barely finished my complaint when my old friend went behind the deli to get to work on crafting up some sprinkle cake donuts. “Vanilla or chocolate icing?” Small town service.

CUSTOM CAKE Ds:

I might move back and give ghost tours of the cemetery or maybe a walking tour of all the houses we used to TP or all the trees and cornfields that were markers for keggers. Lots of history in that lil village there – even more than tap dancing in basements, craftsman houses, and famous baseball players. Oh if these donuts could talk…

*the top photos were ripped from the Village of Fowlerville brochure about the Septaquintaquinquecentential. The rest were taken by me. The donuts were mostly eaten by me.

The Works

2011-07-06T16:41:00.001-05:00

I do love the Fourth of July and there’s no better place to celebrate it than the north. Our town fireworks started at 10:15 and it was barely dark.

I was home for five days and got to see two baseball games (one major, one minor; our team won both times), three babies (different fams), one historical walking tour, one senior citizen breakfast, one parade, one pool party, one Stars and Stripes festival, and three big fireworks displays. T’was a good time.

Have a Seat

2011-07-05T23:12:00.001-05:00

I’m back home. The fireworks (of blog posts) are about to start.

Monumental

2011-06-29T12:15:00.001-05:00

I’m headed out of town for nearly a week so I’m going to have to take this road reminiscing well, on the road. Since I am headed to the homeland (Michigan) maybe I can dig up some pictures of one of my old Escorts or maybe interview my parents to see if they ever knew that I would sneak out at night and even take one of the cars (plural because there were four driver-aged people in the house at the time) by holding in the clutch until it rolled out of the driveway and into the road where I would then start the car and blast away to meet my boyfriend, Joe Sixpack.

The above driving photo is from one of my favorite road trips: Monument Valley.

Ride On Sweet Steeds of Glory

2011-06-27T23:10:00.001-05:00

You can’t celebrate 20 Years of Driving without a look back at the machines that made it all happen.

My Car History:

1985 Ford EXP, White
1984 Ford Escort, Burgundy
1990.5 Ford Escort Pony, White W/California
Graphics
1993 Dodge Shadow, White W/Orange Heartbeat
1996 VW Golf, Champagne
2004 Ford Escape, Silver (company car)
2008 Jeep Liberty, Black (company car)
1995 Mercedes C280, White

(it is written somewhere that owners of white cars are vain, and look I just wrote it here)

Other People’s Cars I Remember Most:

Tracey M’s Toasted Marshmallow Escort
Tracet’s H’s Red Dodge Daytona
Old boyfriend’s 68 Cutlass
Kristina J’s Party Wagon
Cari’s Blue Cavalier
Brandy C’s Parent’s Grand National
My older brother’s Nissan Truck
…and his 73 Cadillac – it had to have been a Fleetwood – it was so big it barely fit in my parent’s garage.
Sarah’s Blue Buick (aka: Bewy)
A small wood paneled ford escort wagon I had to share with my brother.

Funny how the cars everybody drives now just aren’t that memorable. I’m sure they are much safer. I think three of the four drivers listed above now drive Audi’s. I really really prefer older cars and I don’t even know what I would buy if I fell into a pile of money and that pile of money said “you can only spend me on a new car” maybe I would just buy a Hummer to teach that pile of money a lesson. And once that pile of money was taught a lesson I would paint my Hummer zebra stripe and start a Benihana and Rendezvous shuttle service and I would use the proceeds to buy THIS or one of THESE.

Ok. Enough. Those are the lists. Stay tuned for the stories.

Road Theme

2011-06-26T23:55:00.001-05:00

The above map was made in late 2009 to show my estimate of all the places I have driven (excluding Mexico and France – those are separate maps). I’ve decided to forget celebrating my “36th birthday” (coming up real soon – I have an Amazon Wishlist) and instead celebrate 20 Years of Driving because it is my favorite thing about being alive anyway. So for starters I have updated the map:

…and I plan on recounting some road stories, road rules, and other road reminiscences right here in the coming weeks.

Out the Car Window

2011-06-23T00:11:00.001-05:00

This PT Cruiser was COVERED in Skull Stickers from the roof to the boof. The dwarf guy from Lord of the Rings was driving.

The latest craze in child activism! It’s what the anti-immunization movement used to be.

I bet skull guy doesn’t think that is funny.

Just another Friday afternoon in Tunica, Mississippi. Trust me it was too hot to be pulled over and standing next to your car, let alone having some furry K-9 rubbing his business in your glovebox. Yaknowwhatimean?

Right after I saw this mess, I stopped at a gas station where I witnessed a guy purchase beer for some minors. Well maybe they weren’t minors. Maybe they were just some hardworking young folk that forgot their id’s at home. All five of them in a red Nissan, just wanting to pick up a few brewsers for their grandpappy and get home to the fam.

It looked like the buyer dude had a partner and they were running some kind of drive-through beer-assistance operation at the BP. How much money can you make doing that? I can’t remember how much we used to pay “Smiley” (the thirty-something-year-old town buyer, who drove a dark blue pick-up and was always around the cruising strip) but it couldn’t have been more than a few bucks. I would never trust a teenager to do anything responsible so my fee for buying alcohol for a minor would be so high they would be better off starting a proper drug habit.

And that is my humblebrag about my high morals!!

Truths & Observations for Creative Success

2011-06-22T23:52:00.001-05:00

Alt Publishing

If starting a hip women’s magazine, in order to be opposite of the usual Cosmo/Glamour style fluff, be sure to photograph, refer to, and interview the following five women as if they were the five elements that make up air:

Kim Gordon (nitrogen)
Miranda July (carbon)
Chloe Sevingy (argon)
Tina Fey (oxygen)
Zoe Deschanel (small traces of other stuff)

Don’t worry about finding other successful women, the pool is very small and some of the others are fat and unfashionable.

Movies

Assuming we can’t all make a superhero movie…

No matter what your story, it is best if you can use banjo music over any kind of slow motion. If you have to show something violent use some kind of female vocals/tribal moaning or chanting and of course, slow motion.

Poor people are interesting. Poor people in the south are Oscar material.

Girls in underwear are sure box office draws. Unshapely girls in underwear are brave and artistic.

Music

I’m no expert but it seems like there is one easy formula for success: Scrap original songwriting and just sing a Slayer song in a new folksy arrangement.

Literature

If you aren’t writing a sweeping historical novel you better hope you are working on something that includes a PowerPoint!

That’s all I have for now. Let me know how it goes.

Sights Captured While Driving Or Where Camera’s Were Not Welcome

2011-06-20T09:12:00.001-05:00

I figure as long as I am not texting and driving it is totally cool swerve across lanes while photographing something interesting.

Tiny ponies in the back of a truck along a Louisiana Highway:

Trees in water along a Louisiana Highway:

The shop clerk may have objected to me taking a picture if I attempted to try this on. A mini-zookeeper outfit I almost bought for my nephew (what does that key unlock?):

I am even more reckless when it comes taking pictures while driving on the lonely boulevard that connects one beige building to another in the depressing industrial park where I give up many of my waking hours:

It’s like I don’t care if I run into the WahteverTECH sign, I WILL capture a photo of that Arkansas plate that says PIGSOOE! Breaking my wrists on the steering wheel and getting out of the office for a couple days is a small price to pay.

Happy Father’s Day (from the Blog)

2011-06-19T12:39:00.001-05:00

I already posted this picture on my tumblr but I didn’t have a chance to really comment on this. Target (and god knows who else) has a full line of father’s day cards from the pets. Assuming these are for the use of grown people, I …well, I don’t know. Maybe I don’t have anything to add. I poop, you scoop.

My dad deserves more than a card but that is what I got him (of course he does have the special gift of knowing I am coming to visit soon). It is not easy to pick out a father’s day card because they ALL have a Grilling/Bar-B-Q or Farting or Remote Control or Beer theme. I don’t know about yours, but my dad is a complex man, I mean sure when I called him today he was about to go golfing (which, I suppose, would have qualified him for a decent 35% of the cards) but it’s all too reductive. But, he’s not my mom so he’d be a little confused by a homemade card and terrified by one of those sensitive feelings cards. Not much to do put choose the most fitting Far Side card and move on.

Pajamagrams next year.

Happy Father’s Day to all!

I Picked the Wrong Tour Guide

2011-06-15T15:42:00.001-05:00

This woman heckled our tour guide while she was waiting for her own tour group to show up.

I saw her later entertaining everyone from underneath a giant groovy umbrella.

Two Major Things and One Minor

2011-06-13T12:02:00.001-05:00

ONE: Toilet Grabbers

Maybe I am the only person on earth who is repulsed and confused when I see barfing scenes on television and in movies. The actors are always (ALWAYS) holding the toilet seat and the sides of the toilet and resting their head near the toilet. I don’t do this when I am puking, do you? Do you really wrap your arms around the side of a toilet and rest your chin on the seat? Rub your cheeks all over the rim?

Not only does it pull me out of the story (I’m thinking: That is obviously a prop toilet, Leonardo would never risk an ecoli infection…) it is just plain foul! I would rather watch a sixteen hour loop of all the nail clipper and cuticle mutilation scenes from Black Swan.

This would make for a great film studies analysis: The barfing scenes that take place after someone sees a dead body or has just killed a person – those characters never wait for a toilet, they just puke on the sidewalk or out the car window.

TWO: Sweepers

I’m not talking about sweepstakes addicts, I am fine with that, I support a variety of low-risk gambling activities. I am talking about when I’m eating at a dining establishment and the waitress or whoever stars vacuuming or sweeping the floor right next to me. Sometimes they even ask me to pick my feet up so they can get underneath my table. Tells you what kind of places I frequent, it’s not like they have Dyson’s or anything fancy like that. Nope, they have the same zipper-back dusty bag number my mom had in 1977.

I know there are duties to be done but I’d rather sit on top of a mound of fallen food than have someone run a vacuum cleaner near me. Why isn’t this a problem for anyone else? Waitstaff are required to wear suntan hosiery and discouraged from wearing nail polish but it is fine to create an in-house dust devil next to paying customers. Bogus.

MINOR ISSUE/SERIOUS REQUEST:

Please retire the term: I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

It’s Real

2011-06-10T13:06:00.001-05:00

At the Audubon Zoo in New Orleans, LA

So Long

2011-06-08T01:23:00.001-05:00

This might be longest stretch of time I've gone without a proper post. I have an excuse: HAIL. It is most common in warm weather thunderstorms and I’ve been caught in it twice down here in New Orleans in less than two days. I’ve yet to inspect the company car for serious dents. My nerves however seem to be dented up a bit. I’m hoping the suffocating southern humidity will steam them out back to normal.

While I was dining at Joey K’s, I saw three young folks wearing badges on chains and carrying pistols in side holsters. I thought they were all on break from what must be the new 21 Jump Street set or something. Two guys, one tattooed all up and down his scrawny arms, and one chick, young and ambiguously ethnic. What else was I supposed to think?

So in additional to hail, guns are the travel theme this week. I stopped to see a pal on the way into the city. She stays in a lil Louisiana country town and when she found out I was going to be running around New Orleans by myself she let me know that any woman traveling alone is sure to be raped, robbed, and maimed. I told her where I was staying and she said “Yep, girl was raped and beaten right there. Saw it on the news.” Then she offered to loan me her pistol and said I could mail it back. She said that like there are pistol drop boxes throughout the swamplands that would make this both legal and convenient. I imagined big blue catfish shaped steel depositories with signs hand painted in red paint: Pistol Return.

Needless to say after our visit (aka:the unwelcome travel consultation) and the long drive and the hail storm, I was a little road weary, a little rattled, I was starting to believe my time was up and I was not long for this world. I’d had a nice life and a good lunch at Cracker Barrel, things that should be comforting, but they weren’t. I decided to have an anxiety attack in time to drive across a giant lake. I’d had to pull over three times due to torrential downpours but it was starting to get dark and I was either going to take the gun and sleep in my car next to an alligator-wrestling road side attraction or cross over the 25mile causeway across Lake Ponchatrain and pray that the deadly crosswinds and swarming black clouds would not release their fury on my teeeeny vehicle. And pray that I could get to my hotel in time before the murders and rapists came out (which everyone knows is approximately 25 minutes after sundown).

It is a good thing the causeway has its own radio station (AM 1700*) that I listened to THE WHOLE WAY ACROSS 25 MILES for no reason other than I thought they were going to break in with news about how I was going to die. ( *Remind me to write something sometime about the voices of attraction-specific AM weather and travel alerts.) The drive across was uneventful, except by the time I got to the other side I had the emergency vehicle information memorized: Pull over to one side and walk to the rear of your vehicle and flag oncoming traffic…"

I made it to my hotel and there were at least a half dozen robbers and rapists waiting for me. Some looked like happy retired couples walking to dinner in the Lower Garden District but I knew better. When I checked in I discovered that I had made a huge mistake and booked what might be considered a B&B. The woman told me to walk one block to the house and I had my choice of three rooms. The place was a huge white mansion that looked all spooky in the shadows of giant spanish-moss-covered-trees, and I guesstimated from the amount of lights and movement coming from the place, there might have been two dead people and sixteen vampires about ready to wake up for their nightly bloodletting.

I wouldn’t know – there was no lobby – just a long hallway with a bunch of old rugs. She had given me keys to rooms on each of the three floors and when I was checking out the rooms I didn’t see a soul. By the time I got to the third floor I was sure I was going to pass out from irrational fear. The room I remember was probably quite gorgeous by B&B standards but there was no way I was going to stay in a room with a vampire balcony if no one else was in the whole house, I had opted out of the loaner pistol so I was not equipped to stay in such a place. I went back to the lady at the front desk and said “You tricked me. That is a B&B!” and I nearly starting to cry because there is nothing more horrifying than knowing a stranger may talk to you at breakfast. She was nice enough and said, “I understand, you want to feel like you are a part of something.” I was like you know me.

And then I realized she was talking about a more populated regular hotel. She put me in a room near a bamboo courtyard that looks like a place I have dreamed about before. A smallish old room with lace curtains and a wardrobe, not a closet. An arm chair, a nice desk, and an alarm clock. Exactly the place, as I told my friend, I had always envisioned living out my later years while writing plays and long angry letters to old friend while smoking opium. So, in fact, this trip did bring me to my end. I shall start to live as if I am 66 right now…. maybe I will have more time to post here or more time to mail a letter to you.

Oh..you know what I found out though? Here in New Orleans it is hot – real hot – but you can get an ice cream shake that has booze in it and then just walk around drinking it and make bad shopping decisions.

Born in Kentucky

2011-05-31T17:42:00.001-05:00

Lincoln & Bourbon

B bought me that Lincoln pencil sharpener on our trip, I bought the Lincoln Cabin postcard (coming soon to my parent’s mailbox). I stuck my finger in that vat of yeasty fermenting alcohol and nearly passed out when I tasted it. It was 90 Kentucky degrees outside and we were too close to the steam heat and still left-over-sick from a greasy spoon breakfast in Bardstown, KY. I would do it again just to have the right to be able to walk up to someone ordering a Maker’s Mark and say, “You like that? I had my finger in that six years ago.”

Some of the best scenery on the trip was what I call the Whiskey Prisons. Because the big ol moldy barrel aging warehouses look a lot like the medium security penitentiary where I teach. I also have it on good authority that there is fermenting, aging booze in both places.

Lock Me Up in a Bourbon Bunker. That’s the title of my new hit song. More tunes to follow. Bourbon is a singer’s drink.

For those of you confused about the aforementioned MOLD: All distilleries “inspire” this kind of black mold around the site – the buildings and surrounding fences and trees turn black. It is quite lovely looking and the tour guides try to tell you that it is harmless – although I had just read THIS article in wired and I was a little skeptical. I wasn’t about to run off the property before the tasting though.

Been Busy With The Colonel

2011-05-28T22:49:00.000-05:00

Bourbon sampling is very hard work. It's not for mambypambies.

TTYL (check the tumblr whilst I'm away)

Connected by MOTOBLUR™ on T-Mobile

An Old Roll

2011-05-22T18:17:00.001-05:00

Got these pics back a few days ago from a couple rolls that were quite old – one came back with nearly all blank frames. I especially like the ones from the quad camera. I could color correct them but that would be a shame. I prefer everything to look like it is in the desert, even if it’s my sister practicing her fast-pitch in the back yard of a Michigan small town home. (Other photos are from the Salton Sea)

Things I Tried to Fix With Krazy Glue

2011-05-20T08:21:00.001-05:00

Worked:

Didn’t work:

I need to know where to get colored cellophane and duct tape. I can’t afford a car repair until the 1th of next month.

Five Stars

2011-05-18T20:14:00.001-05:00

We are back. I got sick but not before getting ill! Really, I’ve been out of commission for two whole days, drowning in my own sickness and having sweaty daydreams of the weekend blur. Did I really see a greasy German in a blue speedo try to pick up a perfect stranger by eating an apple six inches from her face? No words. Just fruit: the international language of sexy time.

My cab driver to the airport told me a story about how his ex-girlfriend was from Detroit, well actually Bloomfield but she acted like she was from the center of the damned city – she had a lot of ghetto in her. Well anyway this chick had a run of bad luck: a drive-by that wrecked her car and gave her a closed head injury, year of migraines, a lost job, a sister who committed suicide…she took it all out on him until one day he lost it and that’s when she called the cops and Nevada doesn’t take domestic shit lightly so he lost his job at the Wynn and had to drive a cab. This was just two weeks ago and ever since he has been driving the 12 to 12 shift (that is midnight to noon). Most of his runs are from the strip clubs which is crazy because he has to hear all kinds of stories about the stuff that goes on there. It is always guys coming out of the clubs really late and really mad that they got taken for all kinds of money. “But she bought me drinks and gave me her phone number!” The cabbie shook his head, “They don’t know these girls are smiling at them cuz it’s their job! And a lot of them [the guys] are from NEW YORK… I just don’t understand.” Why? I think that explains everything.

Headed Back.....

2011-05-16T15:56:00.000-05:00

Listening to two fellas behind me discuss their hopes for Palin in 2012.

I'm obviously headed back to the south.

Connected by MOTOBLUR™ on T-Mobile

And I'm Off (again)

2011-05-13T09:20:00.000-05:00

I'm heading out with the early morning party crew to Las Vegas. Expect nearly zero updates.

Connected by MOTOBLUR™ on T-Mobile

Tone Deaf Records is now a reality

2011-05-09T22:20:00.001-05:00

I’ve recovered from jetlag sure - who wouldn’t after a week being back in the office (and I am known – or want to be known - for not unpacking or recovering from trips for days, weeks, months and even years), but it took a few days longer than anticipated to recover from what I call the Sephora Lip-plumper Tester Incident. A terrible event that left my mouth attractively pouty (swollen) on the outside and burning with the fire juice of a thousand bhut jolokias on the inside - for days. Days!! I tried everything from vitamin E caps to transmission fluid to counteract the irritation. I would have rather had on of those in-office blow-torch treatments you can get in the OC.

I am here though, really back in Memphis. Not out west. I’m surrounded by enough water to put out any kind of accidental lip-plumping fire, but we (here in midtown) are not exactly under water. The national news is making it sound like the entire city is tippy-toed on rooftops, breathing through straws while crafting rafts from twigs.

Although I should be out helping fill sandbags…maybe it is the flooding river to blame for me reading lots of Twain and suffering from severe River Phoenix nostalgia, I watched The Thing Called Love last night and I believe River could have been the rich man’s Leonardo DiCaprio.

The chickflick 90s fest will continue as long as B is out of town. I’m now watching Less Than Zero which reminds me of the short-lived
Lipstick Jungle series starring Brooke Shields and Andrew McCarthy. I have only a few regrets in this life and one of them is not lobbying NBC to keep that show on the air! It all comes back to lipstick, no?

Teens-in-shoulderpads is such a I-borrowed-this-from-my-mom-for-the-recital look. It is aspirational and yet embarrassing. That is why Less Than Zero is so successful. It is all about young people performing borrowed-mature-lifestyles. What was entertainment in the past is now just a sad reality now. Sigh.

Have I even mentioned that I had a great trip to San Francisco? Have I mentioned how many people recommended The Slanted Door as THE place to eat? At least a dozen. Is there a conspiracy? Has no one ever had just regular good ol’ mom and pop Vietnamese food? I was expecting an actual private jet (made of cool lettuce and vermicelli noodles) to Vietnam and I just got some bland bean cakes served by a tall woman with an unappetizingly masculine haircut who let us know she disapproved of our order by saying, “sounds a little light.” Save your money and take the boat to Alcatraz.

I Painter Banana Spring

2011-05-07T12:39:00.001-05:00

Finally went through my 2010 receipts (i like to do my taxes when I feel like it). I found 30 lottery tickets, half as many tickets to baseball games, and some fortunes.

The real message was on the backs of the little slips: Plenty lettuce store. I painter banana spring.

On My Way Home

2011-05-03T19:45:00.001-05:00

Tonight: Side of the highway in Arkansas coming back from my last class this semester. Water (from the flooding riv’) everywhere!

The other night/morning: Los Angeles at 2am. Lights (from the flooding people) everywhere!

I’ll be back after I finish grading some papes.

Blow me away, outta here

2011-04-26T15:33:00.001-05:00

Round here, we have been doing a dress rehearsal for the storms and whatnot mentioned in the book of Revelations.

I was supposed to be in San Francisco by now but my flight has been pushed back because apparently pilots and ground crew need to rest between lifting up and landing in funnel clouds and hail.

It’s ok. Let them rest. I have obviously been resting from this blog. Would you believe it if I said I too have been landing in funnel clouds? Well funnel cakes are more like it, nevertheless very distracting.

Check my tumblr often while I am out west. I hope to report more soon.

Happy trails to me and to the storm chasers.

Eaves-ing

2011-04-22T16:31:00.001-05:00

Overheard at my work:

(conversation about unfit mother or something)
"...it's like if you didn't want your baby, you shoulda taken her to the fire department."

Overheard at Shell gas station in Forrest City:

“Yeah mang, I got all my sh*t taken care of. I know how to get in their heads. I get on Facebook and mess with their emotions. Yeah mang, I know how to do.”

Overheard at hair salon:

“I just saw Country Strong”

“Yeah? How was it”

“I looooved it. It was really good.”

“Oh was it? You probably saw yourself…you were just wishing that was your life.”

“I just liked watching it cuz I wish I could wear my hair that big all the time. Haha. Oh but Gwyenth is so good in it.”

“God she is good. She’s just so…belieeeeevable.”

Mid-Sized SUVs & Baby Sheep

2011-04-21T23:11:00.001-05:00

One time when I was just a young college gal, I had to borrow my parents SUV to move something large and I stopped to get gas and smokes or something and when we (I never traveled in SUVs alone – I had a BF with me) got out of the car, some crunchy touch-of-gray-deadheads/trustafarians started to “baaaaaah, baaaaah” like we were sheep because we were in an SUV. It was the 90s – the economy was good so people focused their hatred on SUVs and third world banking. Remember when the ecoterrorists used to blow up SUVs? I probably escaped a crazy hippy bomb homicide that day. I wonder where they are now. Babylon?

But I confess – this week I got caught up in the herd. I let work take up all my time and I didn’t have a chance to blog about the following fascinating topics:

The lifespan of my umbrella
Driving with tornados
Cylcoramas
Boss talk (more complaining about office stuff)
My unique eyesight ailment/disability that makes it impossible for me to read spreadsheets
NBA Playoffs
New computers
First Quarter Documentary Round-Up … ok I wasn’t THAT busy – I recently watched The Bridge (suicide/landmarks), Winnebago Man (misunderstood person/found footage/stuff white people like), Last Train Home (factory work/claustrophobic journey), and A Man Named Pearl (folk art/topiary inspiration, crazy eyebrows)
Getting my first “unescorted” badge at the priz and forgetting to shut a giant gate. (That topic is vague because I’m thinking about expanding in a special, actual blog post)
Sally Hansen Salon Effects

A Little Civil Tourism

2011-04-16T21:13:00.001-05:00

Where it all began. And here we (me and B) are 149 years, 361 days later.

It as awesome.

Alabama Reality

2011-04-12T23:18:00.001-05:00

(bottom map not guaranteed for accuracy)

I’ve been collecting state postcard maps for some time and I gotta say, this recent trip through Alabama produced some of my favorite examples of designy-y egogeography.

Back From the Palmetto State

2011-04-11T21:08:00.001-05:00

My postcard map collection continues to grow. The bottom one is inaccurate, I found no sand dollars. Tomorrow: Alabama. The day after that: Maybe a proper update.

Whilst

2011-04-04T22:58:00.001-05:00

I’m away you can view some photos of our trip here.

Into the Wild

2011-03-31T20:11:00.001-05:00

Grizzlies at the Memphis Zoo

Saw these dudes the other day. Easy zoo living is making them soft!

Kick A

2011-03-31T18:58:00.001-05:00

My ol Los Angeles chum, Heidi sent me a postcard from Thailand! I feel that the photo represents the kickassness of a good adventure.

Speaking of adventures – as of 4:45pm today I am officially on vacation (from the land of florescent lights, not so much from this blog). Destination : the grand strand, the low country, and the Atlanta Cyclorama.