Familiar Faces

George enjoying a little "me" time.

Prior to this trip, if you would have asked me where Mt. Rushmore was, I’m reasonably sure I could have placed it within a state or two of its actual location, but to pinpoint it in South Dakota would have been a lucky guess. In general, this seems to be the bane of SoDak: beautiful countryside, impressive monuments, wild west legacy, and yet it would stand by a wall nursing a warm beer, virtually ignored, if ever invited to a party hosted by cool states or Kardashians. It does have a rapidly growing meth problem, so maybe that will finally put it on the map. Time will tell. 

Go Spartans!

Our first night in Rapid City, we were out walking the downtown looking for a place to anesthetize our aching, travel joints. We bumped into a retired couple who were doing the same. If you know my wife, you know she invited them to join us. If you know me, you know I loathe this type of forced interaction. I have to admit, however, Jerry and Diana proved to be delightful dinner guests as well as fellow Floridians with Michigan origin stories. Small world. 

Pull my Finger.

On top of that, we also enjoyed a free show with dinner, as our red-bearded, lawn-gnome looking, MSU fan of a waiter, Jimmy, was absolutely hilarious and could easily give me a run for my money in the rate of F-bombs dropped per conversational minute. All in all, a good start. 

The next day we checked out Mt. Rushmore, Crazy Horse, Deadwood and some Google-approved, pretentious wine bar & grill in one of the infinite, identical looking tourist towns dotting the Black Hills.  I’m happy to report that none were without merit, but I’ll just elaborate on the big boy. 

Mt. Rushmore, as you might expect, was impressive. I had read more than one online review saying how patriotic it would make you feel. For me, it did not invoke that response. It’s not that I’m incapable of that kind of reaction, either. When I visited Washington DC for the first time, I walked around for a week afterwards with a red, white and blue boner whistling “I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy.” Rushmore just didn't affect me that way. 

Rushmore obviously impressed me by its sheer magnitude. I was impressed by the sole sculptor’s audacity and arrogance to swing for the fences on his first time at bat and succeed. I was blown away by the nuts and bolts details of the engineering prowess that kept it on track. 

Oh, now that is way better!

Upon contemplation, however, it also made me sad that we seem to have lost the ability to plan, dream, execute, and, most cripplingly, collaborate on epic projects that showcase how amazing we can be when we sidestep our partisan alliances and allow ourselves the freedom to express ourselves without the consequences of special interest's retaliation or real-time, Twitter persecution. 

Damn, that was a long, fucking sentence. 

I need a Gummy Bear.