tobermory's Diaryland Diary


There's a Springfield in every state in the Union

So, the state board meeting went fine. Dinner at Cracker Barrel was not as heinous as expected – I got to have deep fried okra nuggets. Even though I have evidence to the contrary, I suspect that there must be some southerner in me. Either that or it’s further proof that if you bread something and then deep-fry it, I’ll eat it. The same holds true for foods that have been pickled. I once ate at a place in Mendota, Illinois that served my ultimate food – breaded, deep-fried dill pickle chips. Sadly, I’ve heard the restaurant is no more. Not enough demand for the salty, greasy, tangy. I also wandered around the Cracker Barrel gift shop like a zombie for about 15 minutes before the husband gently led me back to the car. That must be how they sell that crap – after you’ve been on the road for a few hours suddenly you start to think that you might have a use for a sweatshirt with calico cow appliqués. Or not.

H0liday 1nn responded to my e-complaint from my El Paso stay. There was a huge wedding one of the nights I was there and as the hotel has an open-air plan, I was serenaded by Ricky Martin, the Mambo #5 man and other wedding favorites until the wee hours culminating with the obligatory ‘Celebration’ at midnight. I had complained and was given a room-rate reduction – of a whopping $12.00. Now I don’t know about you, but I feel my peace and quiet is worth a little more than that. Apparently they’ll be calling hotel management to further investigate and then they’ll get back to me again. Mmm’k. All I know is that if I had been making that kind of noise they would have told me to pipe down or get out. I’m not suggesting that one shouldn’t have a gay ol’ time at their wedding reception, just that hotels with open-air plans should think long and hard about the soundproofing provided by a tent (none) and the relative comfort of their non-event attending guests. I do like my sleep ever so much and woe to the man, woman or wedding that prevents me from getting as much as I can. I’ll keep you posted on how they handle this little snafu.

Last night I got to have my real birthday dinner. We went to Bistro Campagne and it was ever so tasty. I had a goat cheese salad that was sublime and then steak tartar followed by the best mandarin orange sorbet ever. I was in heaven. It’s hard to find a restaurant with the balls to serve steak tartar these days which is sad because I find the raw meat thing to be scrum-dilly-icious. I know it squicks most of the general public way, way out but if you’ve grown up eating it then there is no problem. Except for the mild KalKan breath.

The wonderful husband came through with many excellent and thoughtful gifts like a white noise machine (could have used that one in El Paso), books to explain the many facets of religion to me, the heathen, and a beautiful sparkly bracelet from Pistachios. I should further explain the religious books so y’all don’t think my husband is trying to ‘save’ me or anything. I was never baptized and never attended church as a wee one – unless you consider regular Sunday morning youth hockey viewing to be church - in which case I would guess that you’re either from Minnesota or Canada where hockey IS religion. So, in recent years I have taken to wondering things like, “what makes a Presbyterian different from a Methodist?” and wishing for a ‘Religion for Dummies’ book to give me the brief .25 cent answer. As there is no such book in the ‘for Dummies’ line and I am too lazy to do any real research, the husband was thoughtful enough to find three books that should concisely explain what I want to know. Not that I want to start going to church or anything – I just want to know what the difference is between the different sects.

I do believe that I’ve rambled on quite enough now. If anyone (anyone? anyone?) is reading they must be bored silly by now, so…. ‘til later.

10:24 a.m. - 2004-02-26


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