Symbology.

Well, it's been a while and there's probably lots I should/could update you on, but there's only one topic that has come up recently and announced itself as the post I needed to write.

Symbology.  It's a made up word, but its meaning is loaded with significance.  Let me explain.  It all started a while ago when I asked my counterpart to stop thinking literally and start thinking symbolically.  A native concrete thinker, this was quite a charge.  It was akin to asking me to calculate the square root of a three-digit number in my head.  Ugly.  Nonetheless, he persevered and really tried to understand how something so simple could have so much "meaning" to me.  Perhaps this sounds abstract, but over the preceding months, we had countless discussions about things that I thought had meaning but he thought were just empty gestures. In this regard, "symbology" really means that it's my (and arguably many women's) study of minutia in order to make sense of the male world or our relationship with specific men.  It is the practice of decoding, of sorting, of analyzing in hopes to understand why they don't notice the snazzy new nail polish color you're wearing, why they need to play hours of video games, or why they do or don't do whatever it is we've let seep into our consciousness and derail the highly wonderful intellectual thoughts we're capable of having every day.  In short, symbology is an ovary-derived royal pain in the ass.


Now, "symbology" is the term we use to discuss this disconnect, the seemingly large gap in our communication skills, the study of things that is clearly so subjective that it shouldn't have a science-y suffix like "ology."  Two weeks ago, for example, we had another minor 'sode.  Our episodes are never serious, but always stem from some form of gap--in expectations, in interpretation, in our moods--and are always resolved when we break apart the symbols to see where we went wrong.  The 'sode came after a great afternoon and evening together.  En route home, my counterpart realized that he needed my help carrying stuff up to his apartment.  A few months ago, this would never have been an issue.  However, he moved into a new apartment and has totally avoided letting me see it.  Seriously avoided it.  In his defense, when he realized that this was bothering me, he invited me over, but only to quell my bratty whining about it.  So, when he realized he needed me to help him carry stuff up to his apartment, I couldn't help but to unleash more bratty behavior.  Yes, I know I'm too old for such things. And you know I'm too old for such things (even if you don't know how old I am, if I'm old enough for a blog, I'm old enough to know better!). 

Anyway, we had a minor skirmish in the parking lot of the Stop & Shop all about the symbology of seeing his apartment.  Try as he might, he was unable to understand why it was important for me to see the new place.  And my efforts to explain my feelings were also useless.  So I simply helped him carry stuff in and that was that. Sort of.  The next day while driving back from a quick trip to Boston, I went back to that fins/lashes moment and something clicked.  In his last apartment, he never really felt settled in.  Pictures never made it to the walls.  The bookcases were never really filled.  And even the hamper I gave him to avoid the piles that drive me crazy was never really used. As a result, we agreed that the new place would be different in all of these ways.  And apparently, the delay in seeing the apartment was the result of my counterpart's desire to impress me with his domesticity.  That's right: he wanted to put everything together so that I could be proud of his domestic side. Mind boggling, no?  Seconds after putting this all together, I realized that his thinking was exactly the opposite of mine.  When I prepared to move months earlier, I made him walk through the apartment with me to help me sort everything out.  In addition to choosing where essential items like the TV should go, I needed him to help me sort out which colors I wanted and how to arrange the furniture.  Could I have done this by myself? Of course, but I wanted his input; I wanted his help as I imagined what my new space/life would be like. And he obliged. He helped me pick each color (even when he couldn't see the difference between the hues and found the names utterly inane) and helped me strategize about how to handle the new place's oddities. Surely he wanted my help in the same way, right? Wrong. He wanted to show me how well he could do all of these things on his own.  And sure enough, when I walked into the still unfinished apartment, the effort was clear.  A few framed pictures were up, throw rugs had been carefully placed, and he quickly demonstrated that he had all sorts of plans for the space.  While the nutty side of me wanted to feel unneeded or some other counter-productive emotion, my sane self was thoroughly impressed by his efforts to settle in.

It's a Start

Somehow something as simple as carrying stuff up to his apartment had led to a pure fins & lashes moment.  Since then, we've talked through how different our expectations were and I think we understand how we ended up in a parking lot squabble about something so very silly. And since then, we've even spent time buying all sorts of frames and other trimmings for his new home.  He even bought coasters and candles last week while we were at the state fair.  Don't believe me? Check out Exhibit A on the right.    Sure, it's a beer bottle that's been turned into a candle, but it's a start. And he bought two of them. And loves lighting them.  Of course I secretly wished they smelled like lavender, but I'll take what I can and right now that's my counterpart's desire to decorate! Next up: fresh flowers in a vase that was once a Jagermeister bottle!!

Last Call: SLC

It was rather easy to leave LV.  While I definitely found lots of things troubling about the city, I knew I would return. In fact, as soon as we arrived, I knew I would return to see the city again.


The drive back to SLC was a great one.  We made good time, enjoyed the scenery, and even saw more weird things to add to our ever-growing list of oddities in the mountain states. En route to the baseball game in Orem, we passed several super long trucks carrying what looked like flag poles on steroids.  Our tagline for the trip had been "everything's bigger in the mountain states" because we thought that maps didn't do justice to how far apart things are. However, we quickly learned that this tagline could be applied to many things, especially in the world of trucks and the things they carry.  In particular, we were amazed by how many multi-hitched trucks we saw throughout the region.  But these lethal weapons were nothing compared to the flag pole things.  Transported on trucks with extended beds, the 4 or 5 of these long, pointy poles were rather scary. On our final drive back to SLC we saw another over-sized creation that made us wonder what the hell is going on in Utah.This time we saw tires that were bigger than life (see picture below).

   We couldn't imagine what on earth these tires could transport, but being good science fiction/conspiracy theory fans, we came up with a couple of ideas. 

The Brady Bunch Biker Gang?

Finally back in the safety of SLC, we decided to go out for a late dinner and a couple of drinks at a local place we couldn't fit in the first time we were there.  The backstory to this anecdote is that when we were first in SLC, my counterpart was a little weirded out by the number of cyclists present in the city.  Since SLC is really trendy on a couple of fronts, I dismissed his observation as part of the city's culture.  That is until our last night in the city. En route to the restaurant, we encountered what we can only describe as the Brady Bunch Biker Gang.  Who were they? A group of 30+ teens on bikes merrily peddling on the sidewalks of the city.  We think there was two gangs, but it's hard to tell because it was late at night and they were spread out as they marked their turf.  When we first past them, my counterpart observed that the girl at the end of the group was smiling madly. Since I was driving, I couldn't get a good look at her... until we got closer.  And what do you know! She was smiling madly. As was the dude in front of her... and all of the others in this biker gang!  It was like something from the Brady Bunch or the Partridge Family and all we could think of was what music should be playing.  I would like to say that seeing these kids biking along happily should feel warm and fuzzy... but it was scary.  Like Stepford teens scary.  It was 10:30 at night and these kids were roaming the streets on their bikes.  Weird wholesome fun, I suppose. Call me old-fashioned, but I'd prefer to have my teens half naked and with spray paint.

The Bayou

 Somehow we survived our encounter with the bikers and made it safely to our destination: The Bayou.  A beer bar with over 240 types of beer and great Cajun food,  we were very excited for our dinner.  We opened the door and were transported to a land far, far away from SLC.  There was a four-piece jazz band heating things up in a corner, the bar was overrun with enthusiastic patrons, and almost all of the tables had people in fully enjoying the great beer list.  And to complete the fact that his place doesn't belong in Mormon Country as we have imagined it, there were some of the funkiest people I've ever seen in this place.  The waitresses were dressed in all sorts of indie rocker clothes and covered in tattoos.... Maybe this is why the Brady Bikers were circling outside, to protect us from the sinners that were filling up the Bayou!

The Bayou was worth the wait. My counterpart was particularly pleased by the fact that the menu was an actual book complete with the many varieties of beer sorted into categories.  To complete the ridiculousness of this menu, they had beers that were actually $40 each. And I don't mean for a big bottle.  Nope, the $40 prices were for pint servings.  Worry not, we are reasonable folks and didn't buy anything that fancy. In fact, I was rather lame and enjoyed an organic hard cider that was very yummy.  I'd recount what my counterpart enjoyed, but that would require me to have paid attention to details that all sound the same.  He enjoyed some Mikkeller experiment.  Apparently, a true connoisseur would drink the series of beer and it would demonstrate some brewing nuances.  I guess this is how he feels when I ask him to choose between two shades of purple nail polish.  Nonetheless, the food, drinks, and atmosphere were awesome and we can now add yet another place we love to our list.  

After dinner, we were fully sated and totally giddy. The bikers were still milling about, but somehow we made it safely back to the hotel. It was a long day, but filled with good food and good cheer.  What a nice way to finish our trip!

 

The Better Side of Vegas!

Vegas is a trying place. But we saw, did, and ate some amazing things. Here's a medley of the our time in this odd yet appealing city.

TV Heaven (just as good as purple)

A few months ago, my counterpart discovered that when he wanted to avoid something we were discussing, he could simply distract me by talking about something purple.  Now, I know that sounds insane and doesn't present either of us in a particularly flattering light, but when a man who never notices things like fresh flowers or when my shirt is on backwards (that story is forthcoming, I promise) starts to notice and mention your favorite color, it is very distracting.  The first time he used this technique it bought him an hour or so until I realized what he'd done.  And like a smooth criminal, he only used the technique every now and again, so it continued to work for about a month.  Fast forward to Vegas. Casino living is hardly in my normal wheelhouse; however, my counterpart and I decided to wander through a couple of his favorites places.

Our first stop was the MGM Grand where he would spend a couple of hours playing poker while I explored solo.  Unfortunately, the lion that is kept on premises was no where to be found. But who comes to Vegas to see live animals anyway!?  As he guided me through the casino, I was quickly growing exhausted and could feel my patience evaporating yet again.  That is, until he played his magic card and brought me over to the Sport Book. What's a Sport Book? Well, I would call it TV Heaven (especially if it mixed a few episodes of Buffy or Gilmore Girls in with the sports programs airing). But 40+ flat screens focusing mostly on baseball and NFL preseason games was close enough. And that was it; I was done. And he knew it, the bugger. He knew when I saw the pretty, shiny screens he could add another hour to his poker time without much protest. So I sat down and finally understood what kids with ADD feel like.  It. Was. Just. Too. Much.  I watched about 30 minutes before deciding to leave while I still could.

Of course, before I left the MGM I encountered a group of waiters dancing on a bar.  At first it was just two women dancing, and I thought, Here we go again with this crazy place's sex-selling culture! But then something weird happened: three men joined them.  And wait, what's this? The women were wearing a lot of clothing.  Color me thoroughly confused! I had to stay to watch.  One man was the lead dancer and the other four people coupled up to accompany him.  The music was a loud, cheesy mix of several pop songs from the past couple of years, and I couldn't take my eyes away.  I wasn't enthralled because it was enticing or the people beautiful. In fact, none of them were particularly attractive or skilled. It was simply fun to watch these performers have a good time.  I could feel my attitude about Vegas start to shift.

  

The Morning After

Since my counterpart stayed out playing poker until the wee hours of the morning, we didn't exactly hit the ground running the next day.  By mid-morning, we checked out of our hotel, loaded the car, and set off for quality time together in LV.  What does "quality time" mean?  To me it meant exploring the city together.  Brunch, shopping, maybe a little BINGO! (don't ask).  To him it meant entertaining ourselves in the same place.  Fortunately for him, I didn't really want him to follow me around as I shopped, so I agreed that he could play more poker while I shopped.  So we headed to Caesars Hotel where there's a SWATCH store (I've been very excited about adding to my obscenely large collection) and plenty of distractions for him. But first brunch.

While trying to find a place to eat, we had to negotiate our way around the enthusiastic tourists, early morning gamblers, and obnoxiously wealthy shoppers. And this is when we struck GOLD! Accidentally, I made eye contact with the host of a restaurant and he tried to charm us in with relentless excitement.  Above his head, we saw the tagline "A LOVE AFFAIR WITH CHOCOLATE" and I thought, there's no way I'm ever going to convince my counterpart that we should try this place, so we told the host we'd think about it and proceeded to continue our lap around the mall.  Coming up short (there was only one other restaurant and it was engrossed by at least 50  tourists waiting for the robotic sculptures to come to life for the hourly show), we found ourselves at Max Brenner's. And our lives will never be the same again.  Seriously. In fact, we've talked about this meal no fewer than six times since then... And I just told my counterpart that we're going to the NYC location for every major celebration between now and the end of time.  His response? "That's a lot of celebrations." (He also wanted me to tell all of you that there's a location opening in Boston some time in November.)  So what is this place that has rocked our worlds?

Well, it's by far the most innovative culinary experience we've ever had. And it's all chocolate-based!  And good chocolate. Like the stuff that makes Ghirardelli taste like the generic store brand you'd never buy.  For reals.  It's THAT good.  Of course it helps that I had a mix of PMS and trip exhaustion to fuel my love of the restaurant. It turns out, the host was not the only enthusiastic staff member.  In fact, we had at least four servers checking in on us and the manager even sent a free dessert because our food took "too long."  By talking to all of these people (and as those of you who know me or, god forbid, have traveled with or been on an adventure with me know, one of my favorite things to do is talk to strangers. I love asking them questions about all sorts of stuff.  And I usually learn some cool facts.  At Max Brenner's, we learned that the owner is from Tel Aviv and started the store there a while ago.  Apparently, it started as a small stand. And now there are locations in Singapore, Australia, and the U.S.  Some of the products (like the ice cream) are shipped directly from Tel Aviv. Apparently, it's easier to procure high quality, hormone-free dairy in Tel Aviv, so the only ice cream they use must travel first to NYC then to LV.  The problem with this is that they haven't worked out the kinks yet (the LV restaurant has only been open a couple of weeks) and I was unable to have my first choice in desserts because of the ice cream's second flight was less than good.

So, what did we have? Well, we started with drinks. I had a Swiss hot chocolate with a shot of hazelnut flavoring and my counterpart had a banana split latte (in the coolest Alice in Wonderland cup... more on the ceramics in a minute). 

 

Since it was brunch, we had many options for our meal.  My counterpart chose the Lazy Breakfast which included scrambled eggs made with chorizo and ham, fancy home fries with peppers and a variety of seasonings, and a country biscuit which was sprinkled with a little sugar.  While this may sound like something you'd find at IHOP or any local diner, I left out the key detail: the dipping sauces. That's right, the Lazy Breakfast comes with a ramkin of a creamy melted butter (perhaps also from Tel Aviv? I forgot to ask!) and another filled with a yummy melted milk chocolate.  We think the desire was to have us dip the biscuit in the dreamy liquids, but it's hard to tell in a place that is all about tickling your fancy.  And boy do we love to be tickled!

Unlike my counterpart (and despite his efforts to change this), I'm not a big fan of eggs, so the breakfast offerings were not calling me.  There was a Belgian waffle on the menu, but it didn't inspire me, so I went another direction.  Instead, I chose what I would come to learn is one of the
restaurant's most popular dishes (and every person on the wait staff who stopped by pointed out how much they loved it, too). 

The dish is actually the combination of my three favorite things: chicken, cheddar cheese, and bacon.  But the key is in the combination.  The sinful treats arrived on a long, rectangular glass plate with eight peg holes the size of quarters. In each hole, a small piece of chicken stuffed with cheddar and wrapped in bacon was held together by a toothpick. As if this wasn't enough, the toothpick gently rested the food in a dressing that was somewhere between ranch and bleu cheese.  And the magic detail? The chipoltle and chocolate seasoning that Brenner uses in many of his dishes.  I've never been much of a spicy food eater (in fact, my counterpart thinks I frequently imagine spices in dishes) so I was a little shocked by the fact that these little treats meant I had to toughen up a little.  And toughen up I did! As you can imagine, these chicken-cheddar-bacon balls were not light. In fact, I needed to rest between each of them.  Even with the rest, I could only eat four of them.  But fear not, I will meet these good friends once again.

While we were enjoying our food, our waiter came over to tell us that they were very sorry about how long our meal had taken to prepare. To apologize, they presented us with a riduculous dessert. The treat featured a warm Belgian waffle topped with bananas that were sprinkled with carmelized sugar. Oh, and there was a scoop of the straight-from-Tel-Aviv ice cream on top.  

Free Dessert!!!

And if that wasn't enough, fresh caramel was drizzled over the whole dish. Since I'm not a banana lover and I had my eyes on a ice cream fondue creation for dessert, I let my counterpart enjoy the freebie.  Don't worry, I checked to make sure it wasn't poisonous. And it wasn't. The waffle was bizarrely amazing. I didn't know a waffle could taste so flavorful. Since the most recent shipment of ice cream had suffered in the Vegas heat, I was unable to have the dish that would allow us (read: me. I don't think I would share well on this one.) to dip the sinful ice cream into melted chocolates and chopped hazelnuts, so we went with our waiter's recommendation: the S'MORES SUNDAE!

Again, ridiculous seems to be the most accurate adjective to describe this creation.  Marshmellow coats the bottom of the large sundae dish. Next, the walls of the glass are doused with hot fudge and a rich, grainy peanut butter sauce. On top of the foundation comes the ice cream: two scoops of the Tel Aviv vanilla and two scoops of the best chocolate ice cream I've ever had.  During my years in Austin, I fell in love with Amy's Belgian chocolate because it was uniquely rich and never bitter.  Brenner's chocolate has complicated the very idea of chocolate ice cream.  Not only is it rich, creamy,

SMORES SUNDAE!

and chocolatey, but it also includes chocolate shavings that melt in your mouth faster than the ice cream.  The texture reminds me of the mint chip ice cream at Baskin Robbins, only a hundred times better.  Also mixed into the sundae are chunks of graham crackers. On top of the creation is a gigantic marshmallow that has been lightly toasted. As if all of that is not enough, the sundae comes with two ramkins for dipping. One of white chocolote sauce and the other with whipped cream. And adorning the whole masterpiece are two chocolate covered graham crackers. Other than the white chocolate on the side, this dish was perfection. We're unclear why he would even introduce white chocolate to something already so rich, but it was ultimately of no consequence since we were able to simply ignore it. 

I know I've given you a lot of details about this meal, but it was really that good.  I mean, I've never had a chocolate (or any food, at that rate) make my face flush. The textures, flavors, and layers of sensation were simple yet remarkable.  Part of my fascination with Brenner is the fact that he is so creative.  I consider myself a baker who likes to experiment with all sorts of combinations, but he puts me to shame.  While eating the sundae, my counterpart and I discussed how truly amazing everything was. Humbled by Brenner, I started thinking about what I want to learn from him and we started discussing my baking.  When my counterpart reminded me that I'm also making ice cream now, I was doubly humbled because I couldn't place anything I've ever made in the same category as these creations.  Don't worry, this was like meeting Michael Jordan and vowing to practice more; I'll be back in the kitchen with both my ice cream maker and my own mitts at the ready by the end of the weekend. I promise. 

Earlier I mentioned that I'd say more about Brenner's ceramics.  In addition to creating all of the foods, he also designed all of the dishes. While some of the details of these creations were not as functional as we would like, we loved the ingenuity.  For example, the latte my counterpart had came in a tall Alice in Wonderland ceramic glass and came with a metal straw.  The construction of the cup, while novel, made it hard to get to every last drop of the delectable drink.  Don't worry, he's resourceful and was able to finish, but the novelty of the odd metal straw was lost when it didn't work quite as well as it could have.  Anyway, after our long and luxurious love affair with chocolate, we ventured into the store where we found it rather easy to shop for a variety of gifts we needed.  I didn't buy the huge and beautiful cookbook, but hope I will see it again in the future.

Fallen Hero and No Picture!?!

After our long brunch, we were completely stuffed.  Like the type of stuffed that makes it hard to walk or think or do just about anything.  As we wandered towards our separate destinations for our quality time together, we realized that we might not think about food again for a while.  Somehow I managed to make my way through the fancy stores.  It was like shopping in Barbie land.  But then a sign caught my eye: PETE ROSE SIGNING TODAY!  What? The most controversial baseball player of the past two decades? Signing things here? In the MALL? Quickly, I sent a text to my counterpart in case he wanted to join me but he was already lost in the world of poker. So I headed to the store with my camera at the ready.  What would I say to him? I don't even remember watching him play, so that's out.  Surely I didn't want to bring up the fact that he's been denied entry in to the Hall of Fame.... Nor would I want to point out the irony of him signing in Vegas.... But something happened as soon as I entered the store: I didn't want to remember the moment. Why? For starters, he looked old, unwell, and like he had several bad plastic surgeries.  It was "Pete Rose" but it wasn't a baseball player. He sat at a table with items for sale that he could then sign. But no one was there waiting for him.  In fact, there were people scattered around the store hiding as they stared at him.  It seems no one  wanted to approach him.  It was creepy.  Here's a legendary baseball player and none of us could talk to him. 

I wandered around a bit, pretending to be interested in the many over-priced signed items for sale, and then darted out of the store because there was nothing I could say to this man.  And taking a picture of him as sitting alone at the table would just heighten the depressing image.  At the end of our quality time, my counterpart wanted to see the signing for himself, so we walked back to the mall.  We wandered around and watched how everyone was avoiding Rose.  As we made our way out of the store, we noticed an awkward fan who clearly couldn't stop himself. Instead of escaping, the fan stood before Rose and tried to convince him that one day the fact that he bet on baseball and has been kept out of the Hall would be overturned.  The fan was selling a dream and Rose sat there. Bored. Spent.  Indifferent. I imagine he was hoping the fan would stop talking so he could return to the cell phone call he was on when we entered the store. 

Seeing Pete Rose in a memorabilia store pimping signed copies of his book and baseball was the perfect ending for our trip to Sin City. 

Viva Las Crazies?

I've always thought of myself as liberal and open-minded.  I believe in a woman's right to choose, that marijuana should be legalized, and that the death penalty should be abolished.  Why am I suddenly politicizing this blog? Well, one could argue (as they taught us in grad school) that the personal is political and by even addressing the constructs of gender identity, I am being POLITICAL.  And I agree with this assertion.  However, there's another reason why I feel the need to position myself politically.  Until tonight, I believed that prostitution should also be legalized. I believed that such a shift would keep women safer and provide them with more control over their lives.  And now I don't know what I believe.  I knew coming into the trip that Vegas has all sorts of excessive cultures that might be troubling, but I grossly underestimated the reality of what this would feel like.

Within our first minutes away from the hotel en route to find dinner, we saw two women wipe out.  The first was drunkenly wobbling in one of the inside gardens in the shopping mall.  In spiky gladiator heels, she weebled, wobbled, and fell flat on her face.  Not at all embarrassed, she picked herself up and tried to explain to the security guard who watched it all happen that she didn't mean to fall in the flowers.  He gently reprimanded her and sent her on her way with her beau.  Undoubtedly, part of the training for working in Vegas is knowing how to handle drunk men and women who wipe out or do worse damage.  No more than thirty seconds later, we watched a woman also in super high spiky gladiator sandals wipe out fifteen yards away from the first one.  This time, the beau had been trying with all of his might to keep her up but couldn't. Alas, the combination of high heels and a micro mini dress that clung better than any saran wrap
I've ever bought was too much.  Down she went-- first to her knees, then to her stomach.  Bam. These two incidents may not seem important but I kept thinking about them as I wandered around the Strip tonight.
Everywhere I looked, I saw women dressed like streetwalkers.  I could dance around the language and pretend that there's another way to describe women who cannot keep all of their body in their
clothing, but there isn't.  They look like streetwalkers. Women for hire.  Whores.  Or, more importantly, women who lack self-esteem or a mother who taught them both shame and self-love.  I know I sound judgmental and I guess I am "judging," but it's hard not to.

Every day as a teacher at a boarding school, I find myself telling girls to "keep some secrets" (my euphemism for dressing appropriately).  I do this not because I am old, conservative, and stuffy (though I'm starting to think I'm all three of these things!). I do this because there is another way to be beautiful and sexy... and it includes confidence that you CANNOT have if you're teetering and squirming and trying to walk without showing the fact that you're not wearing unmentionables.  I do this because I fear having a daughter and having to explain to her why these women behave this way.... 

But I digress.  Tonight on the Strip I saw at least 4 attempts to procure sexual contact.  The most disturbing one included a young black girl who looked like she was barely 16 walking into a hotel with a man in his late-40s who looked like the stereotype of a "bubba."  Maybe I have misread this encounter, I thought as they approached me.  That is, until she answered his question of how long she had been standing outside waiting. It was a sad, tragic moment. And I wanted to save her.  And then I realized that the same culture that legalized the sale of her sexual services, and in turn her body, also makes the falling girls feel like they must wear next to nothing in order to be "hot." 

Many years ago, I had a roommate who was my polar opposite in many ways.  A nice girl, but we were different. Very different. The first day I saw her in leopard print kitten heels the difference was confirmed.  Anyway, she was very impractical in her fashion choices and I can recall more than one night waiting for her to deal with her footwear issues.  He mantra was simple: Fashion Over Function.  And somehow it seems appropriate here.  When you constantly put your "image" ahead of your comfort, it's hard to believe your wellness is at the forefront of your mind. 

So it's a sex-filled city. Big deal, right?  It's a place where dreams are pursued. Who am I to stop being from pursuing their dreams?  Maybe I should lighten up. Or maybe Vegas isn't the place for me if I'm going to think about the things I see.  I don't know what I've learned tonight, but I know there's something in these experiences. Something I'm supposed to take from it all.  At the very least, I'm glad I'm from the Bronx. I'm especially thankful that I grew up in NYC because I've seen it all.  There's nothing that even a crazy city like Vegas can do to really startle me. But here's hoping I find something to love about this crazy place because its potential is endless.

That's it for now. And I promise I won't stay this serious for long!

Sin City

Clever Merchandise

I suppose I have a lot to update you on.  After a great deal of technical difficulties, I can now post the entry from Thursday night when we arrived in Vegas where it was over 104-degrees.  

Our day started with a good lunch at a mediocre brewpub (yes, another brewpub). The pub was clever in its beers, but the whole experience left us less than satisfied. Afterward, we drove out to the Great Salt Lake.   Oddly enough, finding things to do at the lake was harder than we expected.  But we had the Lewis & Clark spirit and just drove until we hit water.  And we did. We came across a funky and dilapidated taj mahal looking building in Saltair, UT (about 20 minutes outside SLC).  We entered the building and I discovered that this was yet another place that would creep me out.  While browsing the postcards, I found several troubling magnets and other trinkets with sayings like "ENOUGH CHANGE, I WANT MY COUNTRY BACK!" Nice.  But we were there for the lake and that's what matters... right?  RIGHT! We walked out to the water which was about 200 yards from the real shore. Apparently, the lake is much smaller during the summer months.  So, in order to get to the water, we had to walk through utterly disgusting grey salty sand.  At times the sand was totally solid and at others, we sunk into the nasty muk.  By the time we realized this was the unholiest of waters, we were halfway to the water and it was too late to turn around. Unfortunately, at the actually water there were millions of totally nasty flies so we couldn't even muster the strength to tough the water.  Somehow, there were several kids merrily playing in the water, so I guess we're just big babies.  It was still very cool to see the lake, so we're glad we endured all of the nature and weirdness!

The Great Salt Lake.

After the lake, I explored SLC on my own while my counterpart took a nap.  I found a cool open-air mall, the University, lots of churches, and other things.  I'm not sure how you have an open-air mall in a city with extreme weather, but it was nice, I guess.  One approach for making the mall family friendly was to place a huge sprinkler system in one of the areas in the mall.  So, while trying to navigate the crazy mall that is unbearably hot, you also have to endure squealing masses of kids running about in their bathing suits. Talk about exhausting. After my afternoon explorations, it was time for baseball!

Last night we journeyed outside of SLC to Orem, Utah to see the Orem Owlz Triple-A baseball team.  Part of the LA Angels of Anaheim's farm system, this was something I was very excited to do.  About 40 miles south of SLC, the drive demonstrated that 1) there are more people in Utah than we realized; 2) Utah drivers are scary; and 3) rush hour sucks even more in a foreign town.  We eventually found the stadium.  The game was already underway by the time we found the entrance and bought our tickets. What's so hard about navigating a semi-pro baseball stadium? For staters, the Owlz play at the Utah Valley University's ballpark which means finding our way around a campus.... And to make matters worse, there was a ton of construction, no signs guiding guests, and only a few people at the game so we couldn't even follow the crowd. But we bought our $4 tickets, found some food that resembled ballpark food, and found seats in the shade. 

As some of you know, I've spent a lot of time watching baseball.  And attending games is one of my favorite things to do.  Well, this was the first time that I was the ONLY black person in the stands.  There were 3-4 black players, one black man working the grill, and an ambiguously brown teen working behind the counter at the food stand.... But I was the only black patron.  It wasn't weird until we were standing in line for Sub Zero ice cream.  Baseball fiend that I am, I already had my ice cream helmet (and it's soooo cool to have a minor league helmet!!!) but my counterpart was very excited for the Sub Zero ice cream.  What is it? Well, it's ice cream made using nitrogen.  The server literally pours the cream into a bowl, adds your choice of toppings, and then adds the nitrogen and you get to watch the cream freeze right before your eyes.  It's pretty cool.  And when I became obsessed with ice cream making earlier this summer, my counterpart described this process in detail.  Apparently, at the end of a chemistry class in college, all of the TAs demonstrated this trick that is proving to be very profitable for the Sub Zero folks.  Anyway, while standing in line, I couldn't help notice a boy of 7-8 years just staring at me.  And I mean STARING. Like alien invasion staring.  Now, usually a smile or some sort of gesture is all it takes for such kids to chill out, but no such luck.  In fact, the boy was staring so intensely that the father started talking to us.  To his credit, I think the father understood what was going on and wanted to teach his son that I wasn't an alien?  He even got his daughters to engage with us directly as well.  The potentially troubling moment was saved by an aware dad.  And I was grateful.

The rest of the game was fine.  Some decent baseball, but mostly just good people watching.  when we go to baseball games, half of the fun is to watch the local color.  Overall, Orem was entertaining but not thrilling. 

En route to Vegas, we discovered the BEST diner ever.  High concept restaurants usually don't work well for either of us, but as we were making our way out of Utah on a seemingly endless I-15, we discovered one of the coolest ideas ever.  It's a small regional chain called ONE MAN BAND DINER and it's just that: one dude running an entire diner.  You seat yourself and then jot down your order on the notepads already at your table. Then, when the whole party is ready, one person picks up the red phone at the table

One Man Band Diner!

and places the order.  The "one man" in this system receives your order and then starts to prepare it.  When the food is ready, you pick it up at the counter and pay for it in one step.  The drinks and trimmings are all self-serve.  It's important to note that the directions are very explicit. They explain every detail so perfectly that even the most clueless should be able to navigate the procedure.  Not only was the food awesome, but the whole enterprise was impressive.  There were five or six other tables of people (each group with 3+ people) and the one man show didn't skip a beat.  While cooking all of our meals, we also witnessed him settle an account with a delivery man and bus the tables.  TOTALLY IMPRESSIVE!



The rest of the drive to Vegas was uneventful.  We enjoyed the rolling hills, sprawling canyons, and endlessly flat strips of generic highways.  All in all, it was a great day in the car.

 Next up: Our Vegas Adventure, returning "home" to SLC, and our departure.

Holy Long Car Ride, Batman! or Welcome to Salt Lake City, Baby!

So, this post is a day late. Please forgive my tardiness. It's not because I didn't want to tell you about the TEN HOURS we spent in the car yesterday. But when we finally got OUT of the car, the last thing I wanted to do was sit around and type.  Now that I have the energy and desire, I'll fill you in on our adventure!

Bright Lights A Welcomed Sight!

We've totaled 1800 miles in the car since we got to SLC last Thursday, so I was more than a little excited to reach the semi-end of the long journey.  Even though Vegas is around the corner (we drive out to LV tomorrow morning and back Thursday night), Reaching SLC felt a little like heaven.  Shocking, perhaps, but it's true.

Yesterday morning we loaded the car and started our journey.  In order to maximize what we saw of this part of the country, we decided to drive through Yellowstone one more time and head towards Jackson Hole, WY.  Having heard about Jackson Hole for years, I was pretty excited to see what this trendy ski town was all about.  Plus, there was a cool brewery there so we would both have things to explore.  The southern part of Yellowstone is less traveled but still insanely beautiful. Unlike the other days we spent in the park, all of our stops were short. There was very little wandering, just us checking out the landscapes one more time.

Yellowstone blurs right into Teton National Park in the south, so we had a chance to explore this beautiful park as well.  Hours into the trip, we finally reached Jackson Hole.  Nestled right in between ridiculously impressive mountains, the views were amazing. We found the brewery and had a decent lunch. The trendy restaurant featured all sorts of bearded folks and a promising menu. But unfortunately, bad service and food that didn’t live up to its description left us less than inspired.  As evidence of how mediocre the place was, my counterpart didn’t argue with me when I said we couldn’t tip 20% to a waitress who neither asked how things were nor apologized for the fact that my soda was flat and I didn’t want it.  The point isn’t that I’m fussy (and yes, I can be) but that the most unflappable and forgiving person I know agreed that it was less than good.  And worry not, we still tipped but not as generously as usual.  Anyway, I can see why people spend their winters in this town.  However, the summer is a different story.  Still cute and somewhat charming, the town was a veritable tourist trap!  Cheesy tee shirt stores with moose-based puns and limericks comparing women with mountains abound.  Despite the natural charms of this city, the “culture” left much to be desired.

Jackson Hole Antler Art.

After lunch and as much exploring as we could endure, we hopped back in the car and started on the strangest leg of our journey.  When we headed north to Big Sky, we went through Idaho.  Because of the desire to see Jackson Hole, our route back to SLC was very different. More long and winding roads but this time they were squished in between gigantic mountains.  These roads are so potentially dangerous that the road signs warn people not to pull over because of the possibility of landslides and avalanches. About an hour outside of Jackson Hole, we started entering small towns.  And by “small” I mean we saw a town with the population of 100 people.  They still had a mega church, but only 100 people.  Uneventful and utterly boring, this was the most painful drive I’ve ever taken—and that includes when I moved to Texas and had to drive through Tennessee and Arkansas and feared the roadside help from the men in pointy white hats. 

But we survived.  And before we killed each other, we found ourselves in Utah!  Woohoo!  Another 100 miles and we were in SLC!  We stopped to Costco to pick up something and discovered that even Costco is different out here.  There were barefoot children running around and rolling on the floor.  Seriously.  I actually walked by a young boy rolling around on the floor.  I wondered what he would hear if he heard his mother’s voice during such a moment and what she would be saying.  It certainly was a different message than what my mother would say!  Especially since his mom was right next to him and seemed unbothered by the floor cleaning her son was doing? And there was a barefoot girl playing between cars in the parking lot…. It’s a whole new world, I guess.

The Jack Mormon?

After a long day in the car, we decided that we should test the SLC waters.  We’ve been wondering whether this is truly a dry town.  It isn’t.  Between Costco and our hotel we saw a jumbo wine store and a brewery supply compound.  And then the bars… they’re plenty of them.  And we’ve already seen a couple of coffee places, so I think the myths are just that, myths!  Once checked in and cleaned up, we decided to go to one of the bars right down the street.  Somehow it turned out to be a local brewpub. A nice place (and full of all sorts of silver foxes), we had a few drinks (including the JACK MORMON I had to try) and appetizers before heading back to our very comfy Hilton Hotel room! I thought that I was a simple girl, but turns out I like comfort. I like plush pillows and flat screen TVs.  I like sinking into a hotel bed and not having to disinfect things before I touch them (and yes, there's a small can of lysol in one of my three bags of necessities!). The rugged style of our hotel in Big Sky was nice, but I simply like the good life.


So far, so good in SLC.  It’s nice to be back in a city, even if it’s smaller than NYC or Boston.  In fact, the picture below is from the SLC website so I think it’s going to be OK.

The NEW SLC Family?!

In a minute, I’m going to enjoy the snazzy workout room in the hotel and when my counterpart returns from his scout-the- city run, we’re going to continue the adventure.  This evening we’re going to a Triple-A baseball game and we’re totally excited for what this looks like in Utah!

Crazy Messages All Around.

Today was all about our trip to Helena.  We overslept and got off to a clunky start, but we were determined to see both Butte and Helena.  The first leg of the trip was to Butte (which some how turned to Boot-ay in our vernacular). We were very excited to have lunch at the best prospect for a great diner and to see a small local brewery.  The drive to Butte was exquisite but very long. There were long expanses of winding hills that were steep and neverending.  As we made our way through the mountains and the numerous and varied cattle ranches (who knew there was a thing called red angus?), we stumbled upon the sleepiest city I've ever seen.  At first sight, Butte seems large and full of possibilities. But as soon as we exited I-90 we saw a town that has long lost its will to live.  Still determined, we found the local diner and it's exterior was everything we had hoped for: kitschy, brightly colored, and totally quirky.  Unfortunately, it was Sunday and it was closed.  When we checked their website yesterday, it said they were open daily. Apparently, "daily" means every day EXCEPT Sunday? This was our first disappointment of the day.  And there were more to come.

Without a place for lunch, we set off to find a replacement venue.  We drove up and down and all over, but all of Butte seemed to be asleep.  We did, however, find many houses of worship (including what appeared to be a synagogue? There are Jewish people in Butte? Who knew!?). Finally, we found a funky restaurant called Sparky's Garage.  Remolded from an actual automobile repair shop, Sparky's was totally great to stumble upon.  The decor reminded us of the funky and odd trimmings that are now popular in chain restaurants but these were the originals.  The weird lights and wall hangings and other oddities were true vintage crap and we loved it.  Despite the fun and warm setting, the patrons were less than welcoming.  In fact, no fewer than five white women glared at me in the most hostile and confrontational manner. Could I be returning to my status as circus freak? Thankfully two overly enthusiastic members of the waitstaff came over to make sure we were okay.  This was comforting, I suppose, but also confirmed my status as urban harbinger.  And if this wasn't enough to make us eat quickly, there was a screaming toddler whose parents were ignoring him entirely and letting him simply wail until they were ready to leave.  Good times, indeed.

After a quick and simple lunch, we headed to the local brewery.  Also a renovated garage, the Quarry was awesome.  Since it was early and a Sunday, there were only a few patrons around which meant we could explore the territory freely.  My counterpart enjoyed sampling all of the beers and we had a great time simply hanging out in this super funky bar.  And before long, it was time to say farewell to Butte.  Despite the great service and atmosphere of the Quarry, I knew it would be a long time before I could ever return to this sad and disturbing place.

Back in the car, we headed to Helena.  We were again surrounded by beautiful landscapes (and to be honest, I think we're both over how great the mountains can look by this point!) and crazy characters. The first character was driving like a bat out of hell.  Based on the license plate which said RUGMAMA, we decided it best to avoid the unpredictable driver.  Of course this was easier said than done.  Once we finally past the car, we realized said "rugmama" was actually an older man who was very distracted and very dangerous (he almost had a terrible accident right in front of us). 

Our journey continued when we reached Helena.  The second brewery of the day was a "tap room" which had a strict set of rules and a weird receipt system to make sure patrons didn't enjoy the beer too much.  Luckily, the people and atmosphere were great so we hardly noticed the oddities of the place.  In fact, the people were so friendly that it got a little creepy.  While my counterpart was in the bathroom, I decided to reply to some of the text messages I had accumulated (one of the dangers of this small town living is that 90% of the time, you are without ANY form of cell service.  Beyond the social issues that this created, I was really worried about what would happen should we need roadside assistance.). Mid-text, a silver-haired cyclist playfully approached me and asked me to send him a text. I played along, afterall, this is a pleasant change from the circus freak feeling!  When my counterpart returned, I told him what happened and we discussed this trend of weird men approaching me when he leaves. 

About an hour later when we were ready to leave, my counterpart had to go to the bathroom again (I was filling him with beer all day and this was the price he had to pay) and we had a really odd and funny exchange.  My counterpart explained that he wanted to wait a little longer before going to the bathroom so that his last beer could settle in.  The idea was that if he waited, we might not have to stop on the way back to the hotel.  Of course this started a silly discussion which left me laughing as he went to the bathroom.  A different silver-haired fox joined in the laughter and said something to me that I couldn't quite make out so I asked him if he had heard our conversation. He said he hadn't but that I had just the sweetest laugh ever.  Aware that perhaps I was giving off some form of old dude pheromone, I ignored the flirtatious side of this and decided to discuss my laugh with him. I don't know what I thought this would do, but I really didn't know what kind of mojo I was sending out and it was all so weird.  Thankfully, my counterpart returned and disrupted silver fox #2's game.  We said our farewells and headed out of town.  Again, I explained to my counterpart what had happened and he was amazed that these men only approached me when he wasn't around. I tried explaining how/why this happened but he insisted it would be better if they did such crazy things where he could see them.  I let the logic of this go and instead we focused on giving ourselves a quick tour of Helena.  It was a nice city, but there wasn't much to do. And since the breweries had worked out so well, I opted out of the sapphire mining.  Hopefully we'll be able to find something equally cool in either Salt Lake City or Vegas.

As we were leaving Helena, we discovered another oddity: a MAN STORE.  In West Yellowstone, we saw the DUDE MOTEL and wondered what on earth people were thinking when they choosing such a name, but the MAN STORE seemed even more troubling.  We pulled over quickly and my counterpart hopped out to take a picture of the odd place.  I tried to convince him to go in so he could give me a full report, but he refused.  And I just couldn't bring myself to be the guinea pig! 

We made our way back to Bozeman for dinner and then headed back to Big Sky to call it a night.  En route back to the hotel, we stopped to photograph the billboard that started all of the craziness about signs today.  This morning on our way north, we noticed how many public service announcements were filling billboards. I was especially interested in one that featured a father shaving and a small boy watching.  The text read "Thanks dad for teaching me to respect mom and all other women."  I was totally surprised by the direct

address of how both good and bad learned behaviors are taught.  Moments later we encountered the billboard that kept resurfacing in our conversation all day. In fact, it was so intense and weird that we searched for it on the way back to the hotel so we could photograph it.  Unfortunately, one of the lights was out, so it's a little dark on the left side.  In case you can't read it and for the sake of emphasis, here's the text: BEFORE METH I HAD A DAUGHTER. NOW I HAVE A PROSTITUTE.  Provocative. Intense. Shocking.  Useful? It's unclear how many lives it will save, but it certainly got our attention and started at least one meaningful conversation!

Overall, it was a good day.  I'm not sure what I will make of all of these experiences, but I will keep sorting things out in the coming days.  Tomorrow we leave Big Sky and head to Jackson Hole. We will see some of Teton National Park en route to Jackson Hole, so hopefully there will be new wonderful pictures to share.  After Jackson and Teton, we will head to Salt Lake City.  Mapquest says we'll be in the car for 9+ hours tomorrow.  Here's hoping we can find a way to be nice to each other for that long!