It's "part" time in Blogtucky, as I seem to be able to do little else than write really long posts, then break them down into smaller parts for easier consumption.
The latest--a view from the road, namely U.S. 15, as on Monday I traveled north from Blogsburg to Williamsport and back. I'll do anything for my art, even drive through drizzle behind semis up very steeply graded hills to bring you yet another enchanting, family-friendly tale from the Keystone State.
Now let's get ready to read more about a state of the union and a state of mind I like to call Pornsylvania . . .
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Like one of the few, homier moments from the TV show Twin Peaks, the day was misty, foggy, and slightly damp. The road traversed some lovely, more or less unspoiled countryside, kind of what I imagine Alaska or the Pacific Northwest looks like, only with craggier mountains and the occasional moose.
I kept thinking of Alaska and the Pacific Northwest the whole day long because of the beautiful, even dramatic scenery along the way--forest-covered mountains (yes, mountains, of the Mid-Atlantic, 1,000- to 3,000-feet variety); the winding, wide, and rocky Susquehanna; vertigo-inducing overlooks and awe-inspiring breaks of sun through the clouds; and quaint 18th- and 19th-century towns like Marysville, Liverpool, and Lewisburg, to name but a few.
Plus at my destination there is a culinary institute with a restaurant. I learned only about the restaurant after I arrived, too late for lunch. During the meeting that followed, as my stomach bitched and moaned as it realized it wouldn't get feed until after 3 pm, I kept thinking that maybe the students in the culinary institute had made Baked Alaska that day and perhaps a nice pot roast with carrots, parsnips, potatoes, and something green for contrast, and, drat my luck, I had just missed savoring it all.
Is it any wonder I'm perpetually whining about the need to lose 10 to 15 pounds?
Like many towns in the Pacific Northwest are today, Williamsport was once a lumbering center in the late 19th century. Now it just sort of lumbers, like a lot of by-the-wayside Pennsylvania towns.
Still, despite the quieter attitude, Williamsport is quite a charming city, full of restored Victorian homes and buildings, good shops, a Wegman's (say amen somebody!), and a lovely, mountain-hugged shoreline along the Susquehanna River.
I could have stayed a while and explored, but storms were on the way, and I wanted to get back home before the rains and winds hit. On the way out of town, the local college station, WPCT, reported that snow showers were possible that evening. So much for spring.
Turning our attention back to the day's Twin Peaks theme for a moment, being Pennsylvania, there's always more David Lynch than you wish would meet your eye. Roadside trash, ramshackle Bates Motels every few miles, midgets talking backwards, slutty girls in saddle oxfords tying cherry stems with their tongues, and, oddly enough, more "adult entertainment" than you could, um, shake a stick at.
Along the way of this 100-mile journey, I must have passed seven or so adult bookstores and at least three "gentlemen's clubs." Folks, I don't normally do math, but digest that statistic for a moment: That's a chance to get a lap dance or a "lube job" once every ten miles--a much higher rate than that recommended by most manufacturers. But who am I to offer you advice on tuning up your engine?
Amazingly, four or so of the bookstores were located within a very short distance of one another, the thirty miles or so between Duncannon and Selinsgrove. There's not a lot in this stretch of highway but beautiful scenery, a few villages, lots of truck traffic, and caution signs warning of Amish horses and buggies in the roadway ahead.
There's nothing quite like the Commonwealth for odd sensory juxtapositions. For on this trip, in the wilds of Juniata County just down the road from Ye Olde Horndogger's Shoppe, I finally saw my first Amish horse-and-buggy. The buggy was closely followed and soon passed by a perturbed motor vehicle driver, who squealed out from behind the slower technology to fast forward ahead to, oh I dunno, a 4 o'clock appointment with a scantily clad woman named Delilah.
I didn't even know the Amish inhabited this part of the state (does that sound especially dumb or un-PC? oh well . . . ); I just thought they were concentrated in Lancaster County, in Southeastern PA. However, one sees "plain folk" in traditional clothing all over Central PA--and no, that's not a dig at any Mid-Staters' timid, un-fashion-forward dress sense. Many of these plain people are Mennonites, not Amish. I'm not even going to try to explain all the variations on the theme of old orders and new orders among the Amish and the Mennonites. Let's just say that I have read the encyclopedia entries, and I remain confused.
But, in case you were wondering or jumping to the wrong conclusions, never the twains did met. I didn't see any horses and buggies at any of the adult bookstores or the gentlemen's clubs. As wild and crazy as rumspringa is alleged to be, somehow I can't imagine any Amish teen (or adult) breaking that many rules in one day. Being near electric lights, listening to loud music, and witnessing a bump-and-grind session in the presence of that much silicone--that's just asking for full-force shunning and no help the next time your barn burns to the ground.
Besides even if all the buggies are black and the horses are brown, wouldn't the Amish transport parked in front of Dimensionz--A Gentleman's Club kind of call undue attention to oneself?
Call me naïve, but I suspect the Amish and Mennonites aren't the audience for all this purveying of plumped-up flesh. Nevertheless, I'm pretty sure that some form of conservative, organized religion must be particularly strong in this part of the state and thus responsible for such an abundance of T & A, such a plethora of new boots and panties. How else could one explain it? State-sponsored inverse Potemkin Villages showing us at our worst rather than our best? Raging, slobbering male sexual desire? Lonely long-haul truckers?
Come now, it can't be that simple. Plus, given current events like "Perfect wife shoots, kills minister husband" and tales of any number of public officials caught with their pants down (literally, not figuratively), I can't help but favor the theory that "Talibantastic" religious fervor is responsible for all that is wrong, lewd, and weird in our little world. I never said I was tolerant of intolerance, peeps.
Regardless of the subtext, it seems plenty obvious that there is a wide load of horny men in the Heart of PA, who, I suspect, are all living large the adage, "Those who can't do, just look at the pictures and masturbate."
Every ten miles apparently.
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