I had dinner with my folks last night, who just recently drove cross-country and back from Cali. They were both raised out in the cuts so they appreciate our cracker ass interior more than I would. These are their foremost observations;

HIGHLIGHT- a restaurant in South Dakota. Choice of appetizer- green salad with a single dressing option. Entree- 6 oz. steak, or 9 oz. steak. Of course then the waiter asked if they wanted dessert, and they figured if they answered in the affirmative a couple of rice crispy treats would have fallen from the ceiling... but no. They had like twenty different bomb desserts. That, is a restaurant.

Advertisement

LOWLIGHT- I asked pops if anybody smelled the hippie on them and harrassed them, and he said no, but it only took until their first stop in Nevada before they were dining next to a "semi-obese white guy with a swastika and 'MASTER RACE' tattoos". Being the diplomatic guy that I am, I wondered aloud if it didn't wrap around to say "MASTER RACER", that perhaps it was just an innocent Buddhist in NASCAR territory. But pops said no it was "MASTER RACE", he checked.

Also, they were pretty sure their Jetta was the smallest car on the road east of the Rockies.

What a country...