Notes From South Dakota

So it was a looong long weekend in South Dakota, filled with beer, conversation, bowling and other mayhem. Here are some random observations...

The staff at the Mt. Rushmore snack bar are all foreigners, from the former Soviet Union. How do I know this? Because they have helpful nametags, that display their name and place of origin. Like "Olga" from "Russia" and "Vasily" from the "Ukraine." It was all very odd - at first I thought the girl taking my order was 'slow' or something, because she couldn't seem to process my request for a Coke. Then I noticed the nametag and thought 'how silly of me. She's not retarded, she's from the former Soviet Union. Like everyone else working here apparently. Makes perfect sense.'

I am still a very poor bowler. So poor in fact, that I won the prize awarded for the lowest score: a foam baseball hat with the emblazoned logo South Dakota is Big Cock Country alongside a picture of some kind of giant bird. Sadly, the hat was left behind, but feel free to enjoy any double entendres you can think of.

The Black Hills surrounding Mt. Rushmore would be completely lovely (and is lovely in spots) if not for the hideous tourist traps that infest the area. My favorites were the numerous establishments advertising Chuckwagon Dinners and Cowboy Shows, which sounded to me like some sort of gay dinner-cabaret with a western motif. And luckily for me, a friend of mine satisfied my curiousity and visited The Mystery Spot (or something like that) a tourist attraction promising all sorts of otherworldly happenings, which turned out to be a wooden shack with a funhouse mirror inside.

Apparently chicks now dig me for five second intervals. As I was standing in The Firehouse (the bar we adopted as our local away from local) on Friday evening, a young woman appeared out of the crowd, said "it's nice to see someone having such a good time," planted one on my cheek, and vanished again. I'd of chalked the whole thing up to some sort of beer mirage except my non-drinking friend whitnessed the events (and found them rather amusing, especially the confused expression on my face.)

A lot of folks in South Dakota are really into Jesus. Even the bikers sport WWJD gear. I have nothing against folks getting their God on (as long they don't try and recruit me); what struck me was the faux funky alternative/indie band T-shirts that were actually about Their Man. Rock on Jesus.