Welp, it’s been awhile since I’ve put anything of substance
on here. (By substance I mean worth reading). Especially since my last “post”
was written in the deleriums of sickness and captivity to my room.
But it’s January, the month of new beginnings; a time to
make changes, to set goals, to climb mountains, and swim oceans, at least that’s
what I’m told. So, in the spirit of January, I am going to take the plunge and
attempt, for the umptenth time, to find my muse and update this on a more
regular basis. Ok, ok, it probably won’t last, but hey its the thought that
counts right, I mean my intentions are good…
To business. Recent travels have “allowed” me to discover
Santa Cruz in Kentucky. “Wait Santa Cruz? Kentucky?” Yeah, it’s about as random
as it sounds. Friends + grad school = friends throughtout the country. So I got
to visit Kentucky adding yet another state to my Contenental US collection.
“What is there to do in KY?” I hear you ask in disbalifef.
Well, you can borrow movies from the Library, can’t beat free, go hiking
through beatiful coutry to see awesom rock arches, and play in the snow. Gloveless.
In jeans. At night, when it’s 20 degrees outside with wind. Minus the needles
of pain as your fingers take 20 minutes to defrost it’s great fun. Oh, and eat
at CRACKER BARREL, of course!
When the waitress took our order, I surprised my friend
Emily, (aka the friend I travled Europe with), by ordering okra. I further
surprised her by having eaten it before, at my college dorm of all places. Go
figure. (Random fact, the waitresses take a series of tests about the history
of Craker Barrel. The stars on their aprons are for a combination of how long
they’ve been there and how much they know about the restaurant). The food was
pretty good, but the best part was the awesome parkinglot sinage (see pics).
Some people in this world feel at home anywhere, and some
people find home no matter where they’re at. My friend Emily, I discovered, is currently
the latter. I do not know how she manages to do it, but she has found the most Santa Cruz of places in the South. No joke.
What else can a pizza joint that’s called Mellow Mushroom be? I was teasing her
about this one night as we were going back to her appartment. We walked into
the hall and were instantly hit by the smell of, drumroll please, you guessed
it, that “herb” commonly called weed. The timing was impecable! I busted up.
Lesson’s learned:
1 1)
People are much friendlier in the South, they
actually talk to you. Dad would love it.
2 2)
Booking your connecting flight through Chicago,
in winter, isn’t the brightest idea.
3 3)
My pony-tail is too thick for the body scanners.
It has to be patted down.
4 4)
Being clad in a bright orange beanie, blue
fleece jacket, snow pants, carrying a stuffed light-green back pack, and
walking away from the crowd, toward the lone waiting car, makes you invisable
to high-strung cops at the airport.
5 5)
It doesn’t matter where you go, once you know
what to look for (or avoid), you can always find a little bit of Santa Cruz.
