Posted by: tlnemethy | March 19, 2013

If You Were Concerned

DSC00026We did, in fact, make it back across the border. And without much fuss whatsoever, which was good because my car door had been acting up and I wasn’t sure if they’d frown upon me crawling through my window like I was practicing for NASCAR or something. Border patrol is another breed entirely. But nonetheless, with little more than a raised eyebrow and a gentle chiding to renew his passport we were admitted.

I’m gonna say it was a relaxing stay in Quebec, what with all the eating and lounging I did it was pretty much an optimal hiatus. I didn’t bring back any souvenirs besides loose change and the makings for poutine (Canadian delicacy of french fries topped with hot gravy and melting squeaky cheese). I didn’t buy potatoes because, c’mon, those are not exactly novelty items, but the gravy is a special canned kind with a wonderful spice to it, and the cheese was freshly cheesified the very morning it was bought.

We did glance at some souvenir sweatshirts at the Red Bull Crashed Ice finale but they were an ungodly $75 and I have way too many sweatshirts as is. The track was pretty swamped with people trying to catch a glimpse of the race, and since I’m on the stunted side of the height chart I didn’t get to see much of the competitors, but the course was very impressive in itself. DSC00016

We hung out by the finish line for the longest time, standing around the big projector screens to watch the action as it happened. The commentators got to sit on a throne-like ice platform and bar to get a prime view of the action as the four competitors vied for first place in the world championships.

I kept seeing this guy crossing the crowd of people with a tray of drinks and wondered why they were so excited to fill their stomachs with ice-cold Red Bull when it was beyond chilly outside. Then he put the tray down and it was beer. Everything suddenly became clear.

Leave a Comment

Posted in Pit Stops: No Work & All Play | Tags: , , , ,

Posted by: tlnemethy | March 16, 2013

To The Cow Plop Cafe

Heading north to Canada in my convertible meant the weather had to change from forecast clear skies to roads covered in slick ice and gritty salt crusting the perimeter of the windshield. That’s just how it is when my dad decides to go to Quebec; he’s always bringing a blizzard with him. We started out in the wee hours of the morning, before the sun had melted the ice into a layer of even slicker partial mixture, and by the time we hit the halfway mark of our journey we were getting hungry for some border food. DSC00017

We pulled up at a little restaurant on Main Street of Newport, VT for a taste of home cooking without the hassle of washing our own dishes. Named Brown Cow, it featured picnic style checkered table clothes and plastic chairs crammed cozily into every possible space. Papa Bear ordered a meal that I personally shied away from as it was named “the cow plop” and consisted of sausage gravy over scrambled eggs and homefries. Nothing against the meal, but I’m just not a gravy for breakfast person and the name didn’t help me at all.

Just a forewarning though, Saturdays are apparently “the-wife-pays day” and I have been mistaken for my dad’s wife since 8th grade. Either he looks really young, which I hear is the case, or I apparently have the bitter housewife vibe down-pat.

Now, I don’t usually do the whole restaurant critic thing, but this was some damn good food. We ordered and literally waited four minutes before the food had arrived, fresh and steaming hot. I got some raisin toast that was obviously homemade, and deliciously so. The ham steak was perfectly grilled and the eggs were fluffy. I very rarely clear my plate at restaurants, and especially not with breakfast, but this morning the plate could’ve been given to another customer it looked so sparkling clean.

With full bellies, we drove onwards and I pulled out our passports to cross the border only to realize that the May expiration date Papa Bear said was on his passport, was actually a March expiration, from five days ago. Thinking we would be turned away at the border I became disappointed, but Papa Bear claimed Canada doesn’t care at all about passports so they’d let us through. Shrugging it off as an experiment, we tried for the border, and surprisingly enough got through without even a comment.

Now, getting back into the country is going to be the true challenge. The next blog will most likely hold some strip searching, interrogation, and crying. Tune in.

1 Comment

Posted in Pit Stops: No Work & All Play | Tags: , , , , ,

Posted by: tlnemethy | March 13, 2013

Alone

You know what’s weird? The fact that I’ve never really journeyed anywhere by myself. Sure, I went to Indiana for a summer, but I was going to school and it’s not like I was completely alone in my newness. There’s something invigorating in going to a new place, whether it’s some exotic locale or a neighboring town you’re unfamiliar with that really solidifies your independent self. In high school, my teacher told us that we needed to go out to restaurants by ourselves; sit in a booth without the comfort of idle chitchat or hiding behind our comforts. I pshawed the idea. Of course I could eat by myself. I’ve effectively been ordering my own food for years, I mean c’mon. What’s so hard about eating by yourself?

It sucks. You feel like you stick out in the crowd, and not for any good reasons to be memorable. Casual glances from three tables down start to insinuate a distrust or an air of judgement. I begin to fiddle with my cellphone, rereading the same old texts over again while thinking that they won’t be able to tell my phone is dumb. Everyone has internet access on cells now. I don’t, but they don’t know that. They. They. They. It becomes me and them. A line drawn in the sand that splits us and keeps us detached from each other. I’m obviously a social leper. Why else would I be sitting alone in a restaurant? These are all things that I imagine them thinking.

In AP Psych we became familiar with a principle that described a hyper awareness of how people perceive you. Let’s call it the sock principle. Say, Sally goes to church and thinks she’s grabbed matching dark socks, but instead she’s wearing a mismatched pair. Because she notices this she automatically thinks that other people will too, meaning every glance towards her results in a fear of her flaws being noticed.

Sitting alone in a restaurant, or even traveling alone, can result in an exaggerated relay of the sock principle. But, as is tested in many psych experiments annually, overexposure to a fear trigger can sometimes cause the fear to dissipate with time.

Wear those mismatched socks while traveling. I dare you. Besides, making up stories of everyone around you is a brilliant way to pass the time in an entertaining manner without having to resort to buying a smart phone.

Leave a Comment

Posted in Salem Or Bust: Hometown Throwdown | Tags: , , , ,

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »

Categories