Friday, 12 August 2011
In the Corn Field
We've been working our way down the East coast of Michigan. Each day is another day and another tennis court.
Today we pulled into a little RV park in the middle of a corn field. They're hosting a blue grass festival with some big names including The Little River Band.
The music is really good. It's all kind of like the "O Brother, Where Art Thou" stuff that George Clooney and the Cohen brothers did a few years back.
Ulysses Everett McGill: What'd the devil give you for your soul, Tommy?
Tommy Johnson: Well, he taught me to play this here guitar real good.
Delmar O'Donnell: Oh son, for that you sold your everlasting soul?
Tommy Johnson: Well, I wasn't usin' it.
Meanwhile, "flash mobs" are leaving the pages of science fiction, toppling Middle Eastern dictators, burning London and Paris and wreaking havoc in Philadelphia and other U.S. cities.
We got here late so they parked us here in the corn field with no water or electric. Mrs. Phred is very exited about all this and wants to spend the weekend.
We're between Detroit and Toledo. I'd like to go into Detroit and photographically document the American rust belt...maybe we'll spend a few days here before heading to Ithaca to enjoy the Fall grapes, peaches and apple cider.
Pete: Wait a minute. Who elected you leader of this outfit?
Ulysses Everett McGill: Well Pete, I figured it should be the one with the capacity for abstract thought. But if that ain't the consensus view, then hell, let's put it to a vote.
Pete: Suits me. I'm voting for yours truly.
Ulysses Everett McGill: Well I'm voting for yours truly too.
[Everett and Pete look at Delmar for the deciding vote]
Delmar O'Donnell: Okay... I'm with you fellas.