Went to Woody's the other day, the Quonset hut turned bar that me and my friends went to directly after Hank's funeral almost five years ago and had a burger and a Shinerbock, not exactly health food, and listened to all the people around talk. "You know all the shit you don't want to do? I'm the guy who does it," said a big old boy in a ten gallon. I did not try to speculate what that meant because sometimes you just know that things ain't good. The waitress had a t-shirt on that said, I'm sure you're a nice person, but I don't really want to find out. She lit a cigarette and carried on a conversation with two guys at the bar. "I got one shirt that says Angel and one that says Princess. I thought about getting the one that said Diva, but I ain't much of a diva so I let that one stay." "Sounds about right," said one of her companions. "Ain't never met a woman that didn't think she was a princess of some sort."
Which got me to thinking about the legend of fallen rock right down the road, one of those classic hokey stories about how two lovers were kept apart by evil parents because the girl had Indian blood (depending on whose telling the story, you get a different tribe each time -- most popular being Cherokee) and how she killed herself by throwing herself off this rock cliff onto the highway and now you can get hit by rocks that her ghost lobs at people she deems assholes. Lots of people get hit by rocks on that road, so much so that they have a sign as if that's going to help your ass if a rock is coming at your car. By the time I had finished my burger, as if on cue, the waitress was telling the guys about having, you guessed it, being the descendant of a Cherokee princess and how that made her special. More special than what, I don't know. The tribes around here have hard lives, lots of early death and poverty. But we all crave glamour in all its forms, even if it means a ghost who can throw rocks at people we don't like as they drive down a road that leads, if not to nowhere, then somewhere close.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"The dream I needed most was the dream that most frightened me." Sherman Alexie
Cocktail Hour
Drinking memoir suggestion: Redneck Riveria Dennis Covington
Which got me to thinking about the legend of fallen rock right down the road, one of those classic hokey stories about how two lovers were kept apart by evil parents because the girl had Indian blood (depending on whose telling the story, you get a different tribe each time -- most popular being Cherokee) and how she killed herself by throwing herself off this rock cliff onto the highway and now you can get hit by rocks that her ghost lobs at people she deems assholes. Lots of people get hit by rocks on that road, so much so that they have a sign as if that's going to help your ass if a rock is coming at your car. By the time I had finished my burger, as if on cue, the waitress was telling the guys about having, you guessed it, being the descendant of a Cherokee princess and how that made her special. More special than what, I don't know. The tribes around here have hard lives, lots of early death and poverty. But we all crave glamour in all its forms, even if it means a ghost who can throw rocks at people we don't like as they drive down a road that leads, if not to nowhere, then somewhere close.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"The dream I needed most was the dream that most frightened me." Sherman Alexie
Cocktail Hour
Drinking memoir suggestion: Redneck Riveria Dennis Covington
Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Sunday!
4 comments:
I can think of a lot of people who need to take a ride down that road. Fuck, it would be better than hitting them in the face with truth.
peace
mark
Yes, it's interesting how people want and need to cling to something that makes them special.
Great pic, btw. Sure looks like Texas.
Truth and falling rocks--me we all beware of angry ghosts and Cherokee divas.
Dream large.
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