OK. Guess where I was on September 11th this year, (which also happens to be patriot day). No, I wasn't out burning flags---I spent the evening at a Raleigh post of the
American Legion. Their strange little shack is about the scariest place you can imagine: the sign is shaped not unlike the blade of a circular saw, the the
whole place looks like it was very... hill-billy-home-made, and the sagging roof had a couple of beer cans perched on top. After I drove up the winding gravel drive, I parked and meandered over to the entrance. I was greeted by Ms. Honeycutt, a nice little old lady, who was quite a contrast to the terrifying man standing behind her: he was about 6 feet tall, wearing a
leather vest, and he had the most sunken, hollow eyes I've ever had the misfortune to stare into. I said, "Good evening sir", but he just looked at me blankly. He had the aura of a person whose life hasn't gone quite the way they hoped it would. After I darted past them to grab my name-tag, I hurried away to find a friendlier face. Who should I see but Jo! She had brought her sister along and they were both wearing the dreaded
Girls' State polos.
I suppose I ought to back up: the entire reason for my presence at this terrifying hide-out was to (a.) tell the Legionnaires how much I loved Girls' State, and (b.) thank them ever s0 much for sending me. A member of the American Legion Auxiliary, or as I like to call it, "The Crazy Conservative Confederation", called me and asked me straight up, "What was you favorite part of Girls' State?" Initially I assumed that it was an idle question so I gave a saccharine statement about how much I loved the program and how wonderful it was to meet new people. Then she informed that I would be talking about it in a speech for the American Legion. Yeah. Ugh. I quickly had an about-face and told her I was fascinated by learning about lobbying.
I know I could have told her that I was going to be out of town, but I didn't, and my reasons were not entirely noble: I had visited the creepy Legion post once before, and I wanted to get a photo of it. Sadly, the photos were accidentally deleted... Also, this place is so far out in the boonies that GoogleMaps hasn't got a street view for it!
Anyway: Point is that I went, and it was unpleasant. They crowded about 25 of us over on the far side for the benefit of perhaps 3 old Legionnaires. Several blowhards stood at the front of the admittedly small room and used a microphone--it was uncalled for. They could have whispered and we would have heard them just fine. After they had rambled on for a bit, we recited some patriotic tripe and prayed several times. Yes--praying once was not enough for God to hear us. Maybe the call was dropped. If so, they should have their prayer-provider looked into. After sitting quietly for what seemed like an eternity, the march of falsely enthusiastic participants began. Each girl walked up the microphone and desperately tried to think of something to say. Some seemed to have genuinely enjoyed it; in fact, one girl went on for about 5 minutes about how much it had increased her patriotism and how much more she loves Murkuh now. Oy.
When I got up to the microphone, I was sorely tempted to use it as an opportunity to give them all a piece of my mind. I wanted to share with them my distaste for extreme patriotism. I wanted to make them see how ridiculous the whole idea is. I didn't. I said something about how I'd enjoyed every aspect of the program and thanked them for giving me the opportunity. They all smiled like self-satisfied toads and leaned back in their chairs basking in the glow of being appreciated by a whole bunch of young people. Perhaps that's a bit harsh... less like toads... more like fat cats. I can't really badmouth them because as I left, they gave me a doughnut.
mmm...tasty...
It was captioned "Fundamentally, the ship was sound." It was published in 1932. 
rnips are similar in that they both have miserable flavors and textures--they're like horrible imitations of potatoes that simply haven't got it right. They are the rubbish covers of Beatles songs of the vegetable world. They're somewhat similar in appearance to the real thing, and if you're not paying attention, you might be fooled, but ultimately they're an unpleasant surprise. There is nothing worse at the dinner table than biting into what you thought was a lovely potato and discovering it to be none other than the dreaded parsnip.
only say this: there are two kinds of people in the world--people who hate celery, and people who cannot taste celery. If you complain about celery, non-celery-detesting-people invariably claim that it has no taste. They are horribly wrong: I can genuinely smell it from the other side of a room, and it is instantaneously recognizable in any sort of a soup, stew, or salad. Apart from it's polluting flavor, it has a shockingly disgusting texture that ought to put any right-thinking person off their food for several days!
to an awful poem dedicated to the flag.
d and used to mean something that it shouldn't; it is too divorced from the reality of the United States which is multifaceted and simultaneously beautiful and horrifying.
