Weird places…
These two pictures were taken from my car (obviously) while driving through some town in Pennsylvania. Previously, I did not know anything about Pennsylvania, except that 1) there are Dutch people there, and 2) it inspired one of my favorite shows, “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.” Now I know a bit more, thanks to one of the people in my OCS class and a dinner in Steubenville. Steubenville is a small coal-mining town in Western Pennsylvania, whose economy clearly has not seen any new developments since dynamite and railroads were introduced to the coal mining industry. I try not to watch horror movies because they scare the living crap out of me, but I am pretty sure Steubenville could be the setting for many a crazed-ax-murder scene. After my mom and I had dinner in Steubenville, we were both so impressed by the weirdness that she sent me an article of some crazy news story that had recently happened in Steubenville. (I don’t remember what it was, but it was bizarre.)
The other thing about Pennsylvania…my drill instructor always likes to insult people by guessing where they are from, and then implying that every negative stereotype of that place is a direct result of their existence. One of the guys in my class is from Western Pennsylvania, and his nickname is now “Western Penn,” said in a tone of voice that suggests this guy could only be the product of multiple generations of cousins marrying cousins.
I didn’t start this post with the intention of just bashing on Pennsylvania. I guess my point was that, when I started the road trip, I thought Ohio was backwards and Pennsylvania was relatively urban. However, now I think Ohio is lovely, and the Appalachian region of Pennsylvania makes those little towns way out in the woods in Humboldt County look like thoroughly modern centers of civilization. Anytime my perceptions are changed, I feel like I have learned something, and that is always good. Sorry Pennsylvania.
And, finally, unrelated but also new and weird – small hamburgers from the middle of the country.
Carmen is discussing. 
Emilily are discussing. 
My second favorite part of New Orleans (the architecture was first, the food third) was the cemetery. According to the map, there are two main cemeteries, Lafayette One and Lafayette Two, but we only made it to the first. Cemeteries, by their nature, have an aura about them that makes me feel they should only be visited under the cover of darkness, preferably on a moonless night, with a thick layer of mist rolling over the horizon and the sound of wolves howling in the distance. So it felt odd to be walking through the tall, wrought iron gates in the blazing hot afternoon sun. Add to the oddness – then there was this guy, gravedigger Shawn. He was rounding up the few visitors for what he referred to as the last tour of the day. My first thought was, “oh, awesome, I didn’t know there was a cemetery tour, the pamphlet didn’t say anything about this…” and my second thought was “hey, the pamphlet didn’t say anything about this…” 
And although I try not discriminate against people who are missing most of their teeth, just because you have really dirty hands and are walking around a cemetery with a broom does not make you the gravedigger; it does not even prove you are the gardener, the tour guide, or the officially sanctioned welcome wagon. In his defense, he also had a pad of post-it notes with the Lafayette Cemetery logo stamped on them, a fanny pack that appeared to be stuffed full of leaves, and a laminate badge of indistinct design whose only claim to validity was the fact that it was laminated. None of that stopped Shawn from launching into what proved to be a lengthy, rambling, poorly-enunciated speech on why the bodies were stored above ground, how the headstones were unsealed, and what he would do if he accidentally got trapped inside a casket with a pretty lady. At this point, Mia and I had concluded that this guy was probably not a gravedigger, but just a resourceful individual with access to a Kinko’s, knowledge of the area, a flair for oration, and most likely a substance abuse problem. 
mia, and 
Carmen 12:39 pm on October 4, 2011 Permalink
looks exactly how I pictured Arizona to look! Following pig tracks out to where you eat sounds a bit creepy, its like following the pig out to the slaughter house so you can have bacon for breakfast.