Tuesday, September 25, 2007

I just got back from Kentucky yesterday. Dan, his sister and her husband and myself went to Mammoth Cave for the weekend and camped. The cave was great, the tacky tourist area around it was better. It was truly reminiscent of my childhood when my mom, grandma and I would drive down to visit our family in Tennessee and stop at every imaginable dilapidated tourist trap in between. Kentucky was like being in some sort of twilight zone. We stopped at one gift shop that had a sign on a shed next to the building that said "Big Mike's Mystery House." We laid down the $1 admission, despite fears of being raped anally and never found. It was a series of rooms of glow in the dark paint, peeling AstroTurf and psychedelic art from the 70s.

Then there was the diner we went to. Well, we went to two... the first, the waitress came to the table and just said to me, "Pancakes." I just looked at her, confused, and she said, "Pancakes. We only serve pancakes for breakfast." We left of course and went to another diner, the entrance of which was littered with garbage and children's toys. Our waitress was an older woman who had bright green shiny eye shadow. We waited an hour for our food, but I got the requisite fried okra so I was happy. Fried okra redeems the south.

On our way back, Dan and I stopped at a winery in southern Indiana near Bordon. It was absolutely beautiful. I forget sometimes that not all of Indiana is flat. The winery ended up being part of a pumpkin patch and farmers market and there were people everywhere riding on haywagons and eating ice cream. We bought a bottle of dry, oaky white wine--I didn't like any of their reds. It went nicely with the shrimp teriyaki skewers we grilled last night, but today I'm a little hung over. And back to work. Blah.