A beautiful day for the rapture

I'm in Gettysburg, bitches!










Pennsylvania is a promising place to be on the day of the rapture. Exhibits A and B:

Oh, wait. How'd that get in there?

Sa-weet!

That tested my comfort zone. But I forged ahead to Gettysburg and got a room at the Hampton Inn. I think I'll start doing this to my shower curtain:

Gettysburg is an odd town. After the WalMart, Staples, and McDonald's, there is a tight downtown that centers around a roundabout. 

It looks calm in that picture, but it's actually hectic and loud. Lots of motorcycles revving. And every street was lined with people selling stuff, like a stretched-out flea market. I liked this woman's stuff, especially the big wooden fish.

Right nearby is an inexplicably creepy figure of Lincoln giving a bland guy directions.

Oh hell, I can't get it to flip correctly.

For dinner, I went to the famed Farnsworth Inn. It's covered in bullet holes from a shootout during the war. You can see a couple here, above the window.

They have a lovely deck. And the food is scrumptious. The spoon bread was delicious, but perhaps mostly because the butter is so good (and so salty). The pumpkin fritters are not to be missed. Sooo good. And the chicken pot pie was lovely. I wonder whether they put a tiny dash of curry into it. It has that yellow color and there seemed to have a slight taste in it. Very subtle. What's not subtle, however, is Old Pete's Punch. (which is also sideways; sorry, folks)

Good lord, that was a lot of food. I had to take a walk after that. That's when things turned a little ugly. Look at these hussies on a corner. Totally up to no good.

And their male clientele were shameless.

Harrumph!

***

So it seems a little odd (to me anyway) that a town's main street can run through a national park. But after their blatant display of prostitution, nothing surprised me. Just a minute up the road on Baltimore Street is Gettysburg National Military Park. Completely serene, aside from the motorcycles. I spent a little time in the cemetery and the location of the Battle of Cemetery Hill. I don't know anything about the battle at Gettysburg, so I'll just roll the film...

19 unknown US soldiers and a soldier from the Spanish American War.

Otay!

-k.

Kelly's on a road to nowhere, come on inside

This post will be a monumental disappointment. I won't even pretend to up-sell. Girl's tired.

Those of you in the know are aware that I'm en route to my brother's wedding in NC. Those of you who really know me know that when I say there's no itinerary, I mean "heading south" is about all I've planned. I'm hoping (for both our sakes) something awesome happens along the way.

***

You know how you're supposed to listen to that little voice that tells you the truth you don't want to hear? Well, as I got the last of my crap into my car I noticed it was 4 p.m. On a Friday. Heading toward Boston. Hmmm. "This will suck," says the little voice. "Eh, it'll be fine. I have music and a good attitude," I say. "You're delusional," says the little voice.

Little voice wins.

Exhibit A 

Exhibit B

And I hadn't even gotten anywhere impressive. I had to kill time at the 99 near Lowell. But then back on the road.

The sun made a glorious appearance after 715 days of rain. I'm sorry to report it was shining only over Worcester.

I figured I'd stay in southern Connecticut somewhere, but every time I saw a lodging sign coming up at an exit, I thought, further. Eventually I saw an enormous sign welcoming me to New York. Oops.

I eventually pulled over at the friendliest-looking on/off exit. I had to look at the hotel materials in the room to figure out where I was. Fishkill. Say what? I decided to see where that is, but the Interwebs are not so good here, so all I see is this:

 

Thanks, Google Maps.

But while I wait for the Web to come around, I have lots of time to study the deep, sophisticated art at the Ramada.

Go ahead. Envy the shit out of me.

Fun facts about Fishkill, NY:

• Home of Camp Mariah 
• Also home to Fishkill Correctional Facility

That is all.

-k.

Paris part III-X: Laziness catches up

Sacre Coeur

I, erm, haven't kept up with this very well. Too much shtuff happening. However, I did post all the pics on Flickr. Enjoy. Now you can make fun of pictures of my family and friends too.





And now I am packing to head south. With no plan. Not sure whether this is brilliant or stupid, but let's find out together, shall we? I'll post along the way.

Paris part II: obligatory Eiffel Tower pics

This post doesn't require a lot of text, so just enjoy the ride.

Weird Band-Aid wall art in Montmartre, with the tower wayyy in the distance. Makes me wanna crush it with my thumb and forefinger. *pinch pinch pinch*

Our first day. A little goofy with excitement and exhaustion.
















And I present to you the leaning Tower of Eiffel. And Robin and me for good measure.

 . . . and Robin and Gienna










Finally, we meet.

















We agreed to meet up at the carousel by the Eiffel Tower that afternoon. Did you know there are TWO carousels? May have lost a couple hours there (and I may have flung myself across a busy street to get Robin and Gienna, who were getting in a cab to go back to the hotel). The art on the carousel reminds me of things that are wrong, like candy cigarettes and a Smurf figurine holding a mug of beer.

Late that afternoon, we had a lovely picnic beneath the tower. As it happens, there is a lot of girl-on-girl love going on in that park. Ah, the French.














My new boyfriend, hanging out by the tower.





And, of course, there are little towers to be had everywhere. Nancy looks adorable here with her sparkly tower.










While the bateaux may seem tacky and touristy, it gives a great view, and without any tourists to muck it up.

And one evening, Noelle and I wandered around the top of Montmartre and, at midnight, caught the hourly light show. It would seem cheesy, except that it was so quiet and so far away. It almost feels like your own little secret. And then it's gone . . .

Paris part I: Montmartre cemetery (and its many cats)

I am a pretty lucky girl who just got back from a week-long stay in Paris with five girlfriends. It was a whirlwind. A good whirlwind. A fantastic break from real life.

Perhaps starting off with pictures of the cemetery doesn't appear to speak to the good times one would hope to have in Paris. But to me it captures the tranquil, romantic, grainy staidness of the old city.

Two mornings I trudged out early, past all the people on their way to work, to wander the narrow paths of the cemetery as the sun began to rise and cast shadows. The cemetery hosts Degas, Foucault, Truffaut, Zola, Dumas, and the list goes on. But even with the help of the maps, I couldn't find any of them.

The cemetery is located below street level, and is dissected by a bridge that sees heavy traffic. But it still manages to be quiet and serene.
 

And along the way, I was followed, watched, and judged by the multitude of cats that call the cemetery home.

I love this broad. She's haunting and hovers directly over passersby.
















And this woman reminds me of the paintings of Jean-Francois Millet, who created spectacular depictions of pastoral farming folk (I was smitten with his work when I went to the D'Orsay).

    

I wouldn't mind a small lilac blossoming by my grave.









The little ears you see here followed me for a while, but kept a safe distance.

The thing of nightmares, but also draws one near. I can't figure out the intention here, but I dig it.

 Sweet owl.

 

Some of the tombs were extraordinarily tall; others had no name or decoration.














 One of these things is not like the others...

And...what not to do on a tombstone: pictures of the person in a leisure suit, smoking, lounging, and doing a Glamor Shot pose. If anyone does this to me, they can rest assured that I will come back and haunt the shit out of them.

More to come. A bientot!

Don't fucking smoke! ...and put yer gun away too.

This at the neurologist's office today. Really? This sticker wasn't here at my last check-up. The foolish question I want to ask: What the hell initiates someone putting up such a decal? Was there an incident? My neuro is the sweetest man. I feel much more inclined to fist-bump him than stab him.

I guess that means the meds are working.