Photography Lesson #3, Food, The Worst Second Act

It serves me right for going to sleep. No NPR. This car is an NPR-free zone. USA Today will give Neil all the news he needs. Actually, I'm a big fan of driving in silence and appreciating the beautiful landscape. Because lemme tell ya, Oklahoma is gorgeous. But radio silence would never occur to the dear boy, and filling the time with pleasant conversation is even less likely.

It is as windy as advertised, with long, lush green plains broken up by bouffant trees and super-rich chocolate dirt, ranch entrances and the odd angus giving us the eye. It takes me longer to get out of the car and reach for the camera--especially as I was driving today, so I had to put the car in 'park' first--but I had fun shooting Neil again. In this photo he's standing in the remains of a very early, non-electric Route 66 gas station, and later counterfeiter's home. DB, in case you are wondering--and I know you are--he didn't think I was cradling the lens correctly. (Double click on this and the OKC Memorial photo for greater detail.)

As for food...I thought I was going to chronicle that. But Neil and I have become used to eating very clean and very simple at home. There is nothing in the midwest that is clean or simple. Everything I've chosen has been fairly awful. And a vegetable would be nice to see sometime. Last night we went out and determined that we would apply our approach to alcohol to the food (Alcoholic beverage = 1 ingredient + optional ice). We settled on a French dip (as beef is certainly plentiful) au jus, no cheese. These folks put cheese on EVERYTHING. Glad I brought the Met-Rx.

Which leads me to the worst second act in history....I know that I am not alone when I wish the curtain would come down after the townsfolk sing Oklahoma! and everyone could go home. Despite the amusement of hearing Oklahoma! as we entered the state, as well as Oh, what a Beautiful Morning somewhere between Tulsa and Oklahoma City, I sometimes wish that Judd would kill Curly so we could leave the theatre on a high note. But then I think of John Raitt (or Gordon McCrae, if you please) and I sigh. For some things, I'm just a Girl Who Can't Say No.

Except to you-know-who.