Ventriloquism
Went winding up through the Shenandoah Mountains all the way to Luray. At the Mexican food restaurant we got a table in the long rectangular room which promised to include no smokers. Instead of smokers we got a little girl who hummed prolifically, apparently even while drinking water. At another table a woman every bit as smart looking as Barbie explained to Skipper the difference between vacation bible school and Sunday school. I complained to Lorina that if the waitresses' whole family had been cut down in a drive-by and therefore she was in a state of profound lamentation, I would still require chips and salsa immediately. When the waitress did show up, and apologize, saying it was her first day, and being young enough for it to be like her first, first day, I said oh don't you worry about it sweetie, but not in so many words. When Lorina said did you just cut that waitress some slack I said I sure did the poor thing.
The food will only rate as last or next to last resort even though in some ways it was quite authentic. Once with my grandpappy I was right across the South Texas border and was served a sweaty rectangular cube of orange cheese wrapped in a cold tortilla and it was called an enchilada.
I'll never forget that time I went fishing on the King Ranch with Big Pa and somebody, not me, pushed him in his wheelchair all the way to the end of a long pier over bumpy uneven boards and though at the time there was no metaphoric value to the event, we did catch, after waiting several hours for the wind to shift, a large number of fish, using Garcia Ambassador 5000 reels attached to stiff rods.
After the Luraymex we played eighteen holes of golf at the Yogi Bear campground and one of the holes featured a paper mache' tunnel with Yogi's little friend, BooBoo, stuck to the side of it and Lorina said I had to walk through the tunnel, as it appeared to be the premier feature of this course. So I did, but hurriedly, and without touching anything.
At every opportunity, after sinking a putt, I would shoot my arm forward and maybe bend one of my legs awkwardly and exclaim quite seriously--Yeessss!
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Went winding up through the Shenandoah Mountains all the way to Luray. At the Mexican food restaurant we got a table in the long rectangular room which promised to include no smokers. Instead of smokers we got a little girl who hummed prolifically, apparently even while drinking water. At another table a woman every bit as smart looking as Barbie explained to Skipper the difference between vacation bible school and Sunday school. I complained to Lorina that if the waitresses' whole family had been cut down in a drive-by and therefore she was in a state of profound lamentation, I would still require chips and salsa immediately. When the waitress did show up, and apologize, saying it was her first day, and being young enough for it to be like her first, first day, I said oh don't you worry about it sweetie, but not in so many words. When Lorina said did you just cut that waitress some slack I said I sure did the poor thing.
The food will only rate as last or next to last resort even though in some ways it was quite authentic. Once with my grandpappy I was right across the South Texas border and was served a sweaty rectangular cube of orange cheese wrapped in a cold tortilla and it was called an enchilada.
I'll never forget that time I went fishing on the King Ranch with Big Pa and somebody, not me, pushed him in his wheelchair all the way to the end of a long pier over bumpy uneven boards and though at the time there was no metaphoric value to the event, we did catch, after waiting several hours for the wind to shift, a large number of fish, using Garcia Ambassador 5000 reels attached to stiff rods.
After the Luraymex we played eighteen holes of golf at the Yogi Bear campground and one of the holes featured a paper mache' tunnel with Yogi's little friend, BooBoo, stuck to the side of it and Lorina said I had to walk through the tunnel, as it appeared to be the premier feature of this course. So I did, but hurriedly, and without touching anything.
At every opportunity, after sinking a putt, I would shoot my arm forward and maybe bend one of my legs awkwardly and exclaim quite seriously--Yeessss!
- jimlouis 6-23-2005 5:33 pm