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September 08, 2003
Road Trip, Last Leg
Final summary of the road trip, Part Three
Oklahoma City is a disconcerting mix of liberalism and conservatism. On one side they have the largest ranches and conservative colleges, on the other side they have a large gay community (populated by the closeted college boys). The strange mix must be the result of the frequent tornadoes. My dad
is doing one of his construction jobs there, and I tried on cowboy hats and got advice on the brand tattoo (he’s horrified, but hides it well). He is going to research my grandfather’s cattle brand, see if it looks less goofy. Had a wonderful dinner with my dad and Jan, even though the restaurant was on the tacky Garth Brooks Avenue. They might as well have named it “Chronic weight seesaw, no talent marketing hack song destroyer” Avenue, but I guess that wouldn’t fit on the signs. It was a typical redneck restaurant with my family being the only one with a horizontal family tree and all their teeth, but they also had the magical ability to fry anything edible. Mock rednecks if you want, but their creativity lies in their ability to deep fat fry. Until some guy created the giant barrel method, who had thought to fry a whole turkey for Thanksgiving? Want something healthy? Fine, but you have to fry it. This restaurant’s claim to fame was deep fat fried peaches. Take a fresh peach, chock full of raw goodness, batter it and fry it until all those pesky vitamins are lubed with grease. They were crunchy from some kind of cinnamon sugar batter on the outside, sweet in the middle. They came with a sour cream dip, and they tasted heavenly.
Next stop was St. Louis, which apparently is one of the best places to live in the U.S. I love the arch, and they have a great urban renewal program. My friends Don and Bob agree, as they bought a cool house years ago. I love the house, as it used to be a mortuary with all sorts of strange features. Don is the ultimate veteran seventh grade teacher who somehow also happens to find time to work out. As my body turns into the hairy version of the Pillsbury Doughboy, I can only wonder how he does it. I have no idea. Bob’s genius is revealed in his uncanny knowledge of all things of the eighties. Being a child of the eighties and an egotistical master of trivia, I rose to his challenge. He basically took a trivia hatchet to my legs, cutting me down to pathetic Shetland pony size. I’m now indentured to him, forced to build an eighties shrine of parachute pants and skinny ties, sacrificing Betamax tapes at midnight. For the final slap, he let me watch Chicago on DVD, just to show he is also a master of the present. I really liked the film, and I really want to see it on stage, but not while the mistress of weird is center stage.
After that, I just took the northern route back to NYC. The Ohio River valley is such a strange place, especially crossing through the northern part of West Virginia. The mountains are claustrophobically constrictive, with this huge river gouging through the valley. More rednecks, more good food. Columbus was fun, although the evil woman at the hotel could have mentioned that my room was right next to a set of train tracks. The first time the vibrations woke me up, I thought I was back in Samarkand in an earthquake. The second time, I wished the woman was back in Samarkand in an earthquake. Also, the GPS system in the Mercedes kept giving me bitchy instructions to turn around, because it didn’t know a major highway was closed down. I think it knew I didn’t own the car, much less afford it. I know the car is the automobile equivalent of a porn star, as it ruined me for anything else.
Final thoughts. I think I went through nearly my entire iPod on this trip, an event that is akin to watching an odometer cross over to 100, 000. I bought 24 cans of Hatch green chiles, 3 cases of Shiner Bock, and spent 100 bucks at Walmart.
Posted by G at September 8, 2003 10:15 PM
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Comments
Glenn,
Just so you know, they are illuminating the arch again at night now that they are certain you have left the city limits. All is well at the house - still no ghosts. And if you ever feel confident enough to once again try to battle my useless mastery of 80's one-hit wonders, I will put down my Sony Walkman, take off my Ray-Bans, turn up the collar on my Izod and let you take a crack at it. Now, let's try this one more time - What singer told us "We don't have to take our clothes off to have a good time?"...
Posted by: Bob at September 10, 2003 03:35 AM