FlamingText

July 1st 2004, AM

    Before we left Seattle we stopped at the QFC on Broadway, otherwise known as The Hippest QFC In the Whole World. Some bathroom evangelist had scrawled "SIN IS NOT A FAMILY VALUE" above the urinal. Fortunately I always carry a pen inside my jacket pocket for just such occasions, and within seconds it read "PISSIN' IS NOT A FAMILY VALUE."

Because Jesus wants you to hold it in.

July 1st, PM.

    We are in a teepee in Montana, at a national park called Beaver Tail. Des picked the place based on its name. The teepee is pretty swanky in its way, spacious and light, artificial turf covering the ground. Of course, building a fire is out of the question, since that would burn a hole clean through the lovely beige groundcover. The teepee cost ten dollars more than the regular campsite, but it's our first night out and we're feeling extravagant and besides nobody really felt like setting up a tent tonight.

    My first night's accounting of important things which I forgot to pack includes:
        My passport.
        A pillow.

The nice ranger came by on his little tractor to tell us the rates and give us instructions on payment; we are to place our fee into an envelope and then place the envelope into something called "the Iron Ranger", which is apparently the name of the payment receptacle.

         Tangent Number Two
The Iron Ranger sounds like a good name for a pro wrestling villain from the glory years of Hulk Hogan. As usual, he would be a symbol of some primal American fear, in this case the Canadian Menace. He would sit in his corner eating pancakes slathered in maple syrup before coming out to unleash the dreaded Yukon Mooselock on unsuspecting corn-fed American wrestlers. He would leave a trail of devastation in his wake before the inevitable climactic showdown with the Hulkster, where he would be soundly thrashed by that symbol of all that is good and pure and right about the U.S.A.

    Lying on my back in the astroturf teepee I can see an oblong patch of sky at the apex where the tent-poles converge in roughly the shape of a human eye. The eye is a deep blue now with occasional wisps of white, but last night the eye was filled with lightning as an electrical storm thundered by overhead. It is good to be out in thunderstorm country again. I believe while the Pirate Girls are still asleep I'll go outside and steal a few minutes of solitary guitar practice....

Posted by flamingbanjo at July 7, 2004 03:40 PM