Contents Stripped...what's left?

Once we were nearing The Whiskey, it was like I was narrating one of those Hollywood Tours...except this one covered my own life.  Why are we taking this road?  It's a shortcut; you avoid 2 lights.  I used to live here.  Drive a mile or more, and then another sneaky way - see?  Here we are.  

As with anything else in Dealville, you drive through famous streets and just as much point out places you remember, you also point out the things that are gone.  The Sunset Strip always changes.  It evolves.  The only thing permanent, beyond a handful of clubs and buildings, is the street itself.  One unexpected change, however, was a curious feeling: is the moment over?  I'm not saying I was the only car on the road or anything, but it was a Friday night and...I had no trouble navigating the road.  Parking was a breeze.  Weird.  Maybe we beat the traffic?  It's kind of dinner time, I guess...

We passed Carney's (still there!) and the Artist Formerly Known As Smiley was thrown.  "Whoa.  What's this?"  The Big Scoop herself told her it was Supreme's store.  I added that there was a skate bowl inside.  Confusion continued until I mentioned it was once Tower Records.  "Oh!"  Hey, it could be worse: so many things on our way had been replaced by 5-6 story buildings of various gaudy styles, all seemingly made by outsiders trying to fit in.

I looked around and saw other locales that very quickly put back in a state and time, roughly 2 decades ago.  Your author spent much time getting drunk, seeing comedy and rock/punk shows, and just wandering.  The streets were packed and, as the slogan used to say, "the best show IS the strip."  I kept this inside as I arrived at The Whiskey.  My name was on the guest list!  I've arrived!  

"Because she's under 18, she can't go in and out."  Why not?  "It's our policy."  Okay...

As it goes, we entered as one act was going on.  I was still taking it all in, keeping an eye on the Scoop (who was mildly enjoying it) and AFKAS who was trying to turn this into a wedding reception dance floor.  As the evening wore on, the Scoop kept wanting to move farther and farther back from the stage.  I probably should have bought her ear plugs.  Just doing this activity was a lengthy discussion.  "Why does it have to be a rock concert?"  "Hey, I know you'd rather see smooth jazz, but we're trying something else.  We don't have to stay all night.  Plus, I found an Italian restaurant nearby."  (Her face lit up)

So, she and I left and wandered up and down the strip.  Outside a restaurant or 2, she didn't seem interested in anything else.  She was annoyed by people smoking.  I was mildly concerned by some of the strip's, uh, more colorful characters that were wandering around.  The traffic continued to flow freely.  Most times, we had the sidewalk to ourselves.

Upon return to The Whiskey, she said, "let's get dinner" and I tried to bargain - we haven't even been seeing the bands 90 minutes.  That's it?!  Then I remembered she couldn't even go back in if I wanted her to, and I had to go in to tell the AFKAS that we're getting something to eat - she won't hear or notice her phone.  I left her alone on the street while I tried to tell someone who already has hearing problems to meet us whenever you're ready, but the Scoop's hungry and bored.  I calmly and quickly got out to the street, a concerned parent, leaving my kid out there, but I needn't have worried: even if the security was more concerned with people going inside, no one else was around.  But maybe my timing was perfect: as I talked with her outside the door, down the strip came a woman looking the very definition of "bad road."  Like an 80's hair metal rock had been overturned and they crawled out.  I had one eye on her talking to the door guy, and one on the scoop.  The old groupie walked on and I heard the door guy say to a friend "Did you see her?  I hadn't seen her in years.  I thought she was fucking dead.  And there she is!"

The Big Scoop was easily pleased by the pasta, headache and cares long gone as she regaled the owners of their high-quality garlic bread.  People known and new wandered over from the show to join us.  Most of us discussed YouTube's byzantine monetization policies.  None of these things would've happened decades ago, nor would the following phrases have been used: "Yeah, it was dead in there."  When the scoop and I dined, a to-go order customer said "Yeah, I haven't been by in a while.  It's dead out there."  In a brief moment, I remembered: Easter Weekend, around Christmas, I remember those were slow times on the strip.  But this was a regular Friday night with good weather.  

I discussed this with the help of the restaurant.  It was almost a lament.  I shared something I've probably shared on this blog.  "I worked with a guy who was down here in the late 70s, early 80s all the time, and I'd say, 'you were there in the PRIME days.'  And he'd shake his head and say no, you're in your 20's, you're going to look back at right now the same way."  The help agreed.  I said "yeah, I guess he's right, it was fun.  But (gesturing outside) now?"  The help said they get traffic during the day now from international tourists.  They've all heard of it.  They want to see it.  They stop in for lunch.  "Well, that's cool.  Things keep moving."

Fortified, we continued around and saw vacant buildings (not forlorn, just ready to lease) and bars & clubs having trouble attracting anyone.  We were at the early stages of the shank of the evening...and we figured we might as well head back.  Nothing going on.  I made a left turn with ease, something impossible 20 years ago.  I had no problem making it home.  Once inside, I took a moment to reflect: some things should pass me by, and some things I've passed by, that's how life goes.  Melrose was a hot spot for decades because of what the people made it...until real estate found out, priced every weird thing out, and it is a shell of its former self if even that.  The Strip, I figured, would continue to evolve but remain a hot spot.  Maybe that, too, is in the long, slow fade.  There is less that I can go "back to" out here, a vibe being one of things, especially while so many physical things still stand.

It's not really the speed so much, I just wish I hadn't drunk all that cough syrup this morning

It's nice, in today's day and age, to be able to count on things...especially in March.  For example, what can YOU always count on each March?

A) Weather getting better (location permitting)

B) Flowers beginning to bloom

C) Steve Alford finding a way to fill that diaper

Zesty Enchilada Dip

When watching the MEAC conference tournament last year, you ordered a commemorative T shirt.  When it arrived weeks later, the 2XL size was too small.  To ensure the purchase wasn't a total loss you

A) Wear it as an undershirt

B) Wear it when you go to the library to check out CDs

C) Wrote off the $32.58 on your taxes as an "educational donation."    

Top 50 Trash Horror Films of the 1980's: #25-21

Over the last week or so, I struggled through less-than-exciting basketball games, wondering what could fill the precious little evening viewing time I have...and then I realized: I'm only halfway done with this quest!  I shall return!

For those of you finding this randomly:

#50-#46

#45-#41

#40-#36

#35-#31

#30-#26

#25 - Class of Nuke 'em High (1986)

Back of VHS Description: Straight-A honor students mutate into a blood-thirsty gang of punked-out bikers.  Shy young couples turn into lust-crazed sex-weasels.  And a putrid, flesh-eating slime-monster lurks in the basement.  Just another school day...at Tromaville High!  The strangeness begins when highly radioactive sludge from the neighboring nuclear power plant seeps onto campus.  Soon, discipline crumbles, morals go out the window and mega-volt rock 'n roll madness takes over the student body!  As the hideous mutant organism in the school basement continues to grow, so does the virulent outbreak of bizarre and violent behavior.  It's a crash course in genetically deranged humor for the kids - and creatures - of "The Class of Nuke 'Em High!"  An outrageous dose of Nuclear Age adventure from the makers of the cult classic "Toxic Avenger!"

Just going to revisit this film led me to think back to those first viewings of such Troma films as this, Squeeze Play, and Troma's War.  Pretty sure I first saw Squeeze Play heavily edited on USA, and then later in my Hollywood Video days.  Troma's War might have been even before working at the video store (Troma's War has one of my favorite video box quotes of all time: "Not a REAL war, but who cares?!").  Toxie would fit somewhere in that timeline, too.  But Nuke 'em High I remember, but bits and pieces...I think?

With all the subtlety of a frying pan to the face, the Troma Team knows what they're doing and why you're watching.  Give it to em!

"I don't give a wet fart what you think!"

"Unless you want Kathy here to see your EARS ripped off, I suggest you make like a hockey stick and get the puck outta here!"

"Gross, huh?  You shoulda seen the girl I picked up at the video arcade on Saturday.  SHE was GROSS.  What a hairy ass!"

(The 1980's - what a time: where people are force-fed joints, and wearing plastic leis meant PARTY)

The scene seconds before this screenshot (taken not to ruin it for those who haven't seen it in decades)

is yet another piece of proof that putting money into practical effects is always worth it.  By the way - what an 8x10.

Why this film is not in constant rotation with other crazy low-budget 80s films, I don't know.  Then again, maybe I'm the one who is late to the party.  But this is a party I'm not leaving any time soon, because if you're looking to see a nuclear waste-controlled man punch another down his throat, well, you're my kind of person.  Video trash?  Sure - I think everyone would agree.  Dumpster dive into this one for a trip down memory lane.  No, the 1980s weren't perfect despite what I wrote above (so much of the dialogue wouldn't fly today, and that's a good thing) but don't shy away - sift through this bin and see what you can find.

#24 - Night of the Demon (1980)

Back of the VHS description: In shock and pain after being found in the forest with his face mutilated and most of the skin burnt away, Professor Nugent insists that the American legend of the "Big Foot" monster is true.  A group from the University's anthropology class, including the young daughter of the dead fisherman, set out to uncover the mystery.  The group are eventually trapped by the demon, only to die in the most gruesome blood bath ever filmed.

(Way to give away the whole fucking movie)

Alas, the VHS box does include this reassuring note:

Oh - this is in color?  Great!  

I'll save you time - this is not good.  Let's focus on the positives.  The music, even if not made for the film, is pleasing.  There are also names.

The art director is David Gooch.  The script comes from a story by Jim L. Ball.  The director of photography is John Quick.

But the film is on this list for 1 reason, and 1 organ only:

#23 - The Deadly Spawn (1983)

Back of the VHS description: Imagine a meteor, hurtling through space for a billion, billion years.  It smashes into an isolated part of the earth's surface and unleashes deadly mutating spores.  As they grow, the spores only want to do one thing - EAT - anything or anyone will do to satisfy their hunger.  Their arrival was unnoticed but their presence was soon experienced by everyone.

16mm!!!

Look, man, this is the opposite of the dreck I previously watched: at least these guys are doing their best with what they have (which is, apparently, next to nothing...or they spent it all on the monster) so let's look at some money saving ideas:

Kills

Can be done by tossing a spoonful of blood on a character's glasses.

By Sound-effect

By shadow against a wall

Blood drops from a test tube on the floor

Effects themselves

Projecting a light behind a white sheet, showing only the shadow

Establishing shots can come from a model railroad

Plow through these issues

Hiring an actress to whisk eggs in a scene and, though it's apparent she doesn't know how, leave it in

When a table-full of actors talk over each other, remind the viewer that's what happens in real life

It's OK to focus on 1 character and cut to a different camera angle, still on the same character

Combine all that, add some synth for spice, and well, you've got a worthy entry in this list!

#22 - Death Spa (1988)

Back of the VHS description: Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn.  This one is shapely, beautiful, demonic...and dead.  She's also insanely jealous - and one by one, the beautiful people of her husband's health club become victims possessed by her evil spirit...and each meets a grisly death.  Check this one out...it's from the people who brought you "FACES OF DEATH", and it's not recommended for the Squeamish.  In this spa, you'll sweat blood!

My only measuring stick is this vs. Killer Workout but hold on - I know exactly where this opening was filmed.  For a time, I lived a little over a block from here - this is the intersection of Sunset (we see the classic Marlboro cowboy billboard by the Chateau Marmont) and Crescent Heights.  This was a double decker strip mall with a McDonald's inside (that had a movie marque showing the latest sale) and a bank in front...I think a Washington Mutual but something before that...holy shit.  OK, for personal effect alone this rules already.

Now let's take a look at this cast - the late great Merritt Butrick of Square Pegs and Zapped! fame (and maybe a Star Trek in there somewhere).  Alexa Hamilton of the infamous TV Movie pilot The Invisible Woman.  A lot of other recognizable faces, too.

I freely admit - I haven't returned to a health club since Covid.  I don't need mouth breathers surrounding me as I attempt some semblance of fitness.  However, if a health club looked like this, I'd change my mind:

Pastel walls in various shapes, upbeat synth, people just getting on and off weights and nautilus equipment.  Even if my workout would be interrupted by undercover cops wearing white suits.  

"Where were you last night between 9 and 11?"

"At home.  Hacking."

---

"How does a god damn diving board just break loose?"

"Somebody messed with the bolts."

---

"A word, David."

"Can we keep it to that?"

---

"Why don't you show off for me?"

"I never waste effort in the gym.  Besides, I'm Beta, you're VHS."

---

---

"I'm putting the machines on manual.  And that's the end of that."

(reverse low five)

"I like it."

---

---

I think Merritt and I have the same hair.

Unfortunately, in a movie like this, you have actors with skill and experience mixed with some with, well, less than, and you wouldn't notice this that much unless they're together.  In this film, it's nearly every scene.  I guess one's spleen could rupture when you couldn't let go of a chest fly machine.  I guess someone could survive falling 20 feet from the ceiling to the floor and get up like they tripped.  

It's up to you, reader, to determine if this is better, worse, or the same as Killer Workout.  That's all I can ask of you.

#21 - Slumber Party Massacre II (1987)

Back of the VHS description: The only sane survivor of SLUMBER PARTY MASSACRE, Courtney (CRYSTAL BERNARD) dreams of the drill murderer returning.  She can't shake the horrible feeling that she and her friends will be viciously tormented and brutally butchered.  Again and again the nightmare returns.  Dazed, Courtney loses control.  And her nightmare crosses into reality.  No one believes her, until it's too late.  The driller killer returns, reincarnated as an evil rocker.  He methodically stalks them; then violently gores them to death...one by one.  Mixing elements of NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET with TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE, one the fittest can survive - SLUMBER PARTY MASSACRE II!

(Spoiler alert: this film is a stretch at over 70 minutes)

In movies such as these, while there has to be some element of plot setup, you'd like to see some early, if even brief, view of why we're watching.  Show us even a sneak peak...a preview...anything.  While we get the form of a nightmare at the start, this film begins with garage band antics, someone actually requesting a Slice soda, and a "student's" room with a poster that actually says "Football."  This movie, for what it's supposed to be, takes WAY TOO LONG TO GET GOING.

Poor Courtney.  There's a dog barking outside every fucking minute she's home.  Is that an in-joke or did they not know the difference?

"These are killer corn dogs."

Sometimes movies like these can be too self-aware.  And some of the winks can be appreciated.  But after a while...I don't know.  I wanted it to either be a genial comedy of an all-girl band working out a new album in a rental condo, or something closer to Slumber Party Massacre.  I just don't know.  It's like this movie blatantly has a very specific first half and second half that almost don't go together.

(When a bathtub fills with blood intercut with a killer electric guitar riff...that ruled.  When the giant zit...well, that was gold.  Drill-tar in action: a winner)

I guess most of the cast gave up the acting life, and that's a shame, too.  Crystal Bernard was funny, relatable, and cute.  After "Wings" and a brief country music career...vanished.  Juliette Cummins could have done drama & comedy, but apparently never got the chance.  Kim McArthur was on Santa Barbara (a good spot for her) and then disappeared.  

Maybe, another viewing will help, but there are so many others on the list!

Happy Old Year

I wonder if I'm alone in thinking that the Times Square New Year's Eve specials have become a downer?  Multiple stages line the street so that someone you have (or likely haven't) heard of can sing "Imagine" to cut the happy mood immediately.  Then, from there, the countdown begins with a surprisingly low amount of audience volume...and "Aud Lang Syne" is trimmed to include the well-overplayed "New York, New York."  What follows is another downer - "What a Wonderful World."  I noticed, watching this 3 hours behind, that roughly 10 minutes later as the new year began in New York, the streets were about "back to normal" as one could ever expect.  Amazing how it's devolved into...well, this.

To get that old feeling back, I fired up Dick Clark's New Year's Rocking Eve from 1981 into 1982.  Why wouldn't I?!  As we begin with Dick showing a frenzied crowd who shut down the area:

we then go to the ABC Television Center in Hollywood for the Rocking Eve!

I don't have many regrets, but looking back, one was not taking up this invitation: each year while I was at ABC, I was asked if I wanted to attend the Hollywood portion of New Year's Rocking Eve.  It's taped roughly a month before, and the only other direction was to wear "party clothes."  That interpretation was left up to you.  One year I was in Hawaii, but the other 2 I could have attended.  I should have attended.  What a curio it would be to find oneself on camera then...but especially now, with all the time past.  I don't think I'd be invited anymore.  

I can look at the artists I missed (Luda, Rihanna) and then see that as the clock turned to 1982, we were treated to the Ricks of 1981:

Even lip-synched, that's a powerful 1-2 right there.  We are then introduced to our hosts, Charlene Tilton and Tom Wopat.  Two stars from CBS shows hosting an ABC special would seem to show the stroke Dick Clark had at the time.

Even before Rick Springfield can start singing, ABC doesn't want you to forget: it's not ALL Rockin, you know?

 

In what can be viewed as a higher-class American Bandstand, the dancing shots get classed up with people in tuxedos and formal wear.  The transition is seamless as they go back live to Dick, who's freezin' for his money.  No heaters beyond the lighting.  All we hear is just a constant wail of cheering and people clowning for the camera.  

After Rick James lip synch's Super Freak, it's time for another transition back to the Times Square but...holy cow:

We have video games here because hey, it's a party!  Time for a commercial and...whoa horsey:

HELL YES.

OK, we're getting close, and Dick Clark mentions that the people they're showing don't know they're on camera...but that isn't stopping them from trying anyway.

It arrives - Dick yells "Happy New Year!" and immediately we show Hollywood, where Charlene and Tom celebrate like they've just won the bonus round of a game show:

After 2 minutes of celebrating, we go to commercial.  A long break - even a fake out coming back - maybe 4 minutes?  It includes a Dr. Pepper commercial with Scott Baio.  Once finally back, Barry Manilow is followed by the Four Tops, who perform their current hit "When She Was My Girl."  The hour continues with more songs - Jesse's Girl being one of them.  We even get one of Tom's slow dance country tunes.  Rick (James that is) returns with Ghetto Life, which, I think covers the debate on what's better, then or now.  "Playing tag with winos, the only way to have some fun."  Give it to me, baby!  They immediately turn then to Rick Springfield, who performs "Love is alright tonight" - sorry, my brain is on overload now.  Girls are screaming, people are, well, rocking out.  

Think about the last 2 songs.

Now think about the shit I mentioned from this year.

Isn't New Year's supposed to be a party?!  A celebration either of a great year, or happiness that the current year, while shit, is finally over?  I've felt both ways many times.  Yet I watched the Times Square of now 2024 try to sap the happiness out of me...and damn it all, I'm not having that as my end of 1 year or start of another.

During the thick of viewing this special, I was seated aside The Big Scoop, who was faintly paying attention while playing video games.  Mid-play she asked, "why do you like old commercials, anyway?"  I hate getting asked questions like that; like I have to prove to anyone why I have the interests I have - what is it to you?  But this time I did and, come to find out, she was paying attention.  "Yeah, because those commercials are sweet, you know?  And if it's funny, it's supposed to be funny.  Commercials now are so stupid: here's people falling down or whatever."  I remind her that you had to try harder then, too: no "skip" buttons.  Not that anyone in 1981/82 could have ever imagined a world where that would be a possibility.  I also wonder if those revelers, 40 years ago, would envision a future where it almost seems those in charge want you to almost feel lucky you made it.  Well fuck that.  Give me an excuse to party, I'll do it.  Make a situation unnecessarily remorseful, well, I won't be there.   

Local Calls

I sat at the kitchen table with such an exasperated look that the Big Scoop herself knew something was amiss.  "Did they write back?" she asked.  "No, and I wrote twice.  Are you sure this is the right number?"  She looked and checked her scribbling from school.  "Yeah, that's what she wrote."  Before I could say anything else she asked (not as a statement) "I wish I could just call HER."

In my chair, I was struck by lightning.  In our youth (you and me, dear reader), there was 1 phone number to call for an entire family.  There was no missing anything because that was it - you'd get a hold of the kid or, worst case, the parents who would let you know what (if anything) they knew about their location.  Now?  Well, post-Covid I have a ~10% success rate connecting with a normal person to coordinate.  The other 90% are just a waste of texts - into the either, never to connect.

Being the Big Scoop's main daily guardian means I am at school in the morning and afternoon and come into contact with some of the most woefully ignorant dipdingles ever created.  Swollen moms drive minivans like they stole them around neighborhood streets, often times right into curbs.  A father who dressed his son like Rick Nielsen (which would actually be a positive) blithely walked with him right into oncoming traffic - an image burned into my brain.  During the various strikes occurring at the start of the school year, this 90% would cluster at the school entrance, squawking and blocking anyone from passing.  The dialogue seemed to only be laughter and "I know!" before dropping a cup of coffee on the sidewalk.

It is these very adults that I'm having to engage in some form of communication.  No wonder we're striking out!  Days, weeks later we meet up: the scoop and the other kids run off.  I avoid all banal talk with the adult and say "I texted you twice 2 weeks ago, saying who I am" and so on and I get "Oh!" or a confused look at their phone with "let me check."  I use all my reserves to prevent just calling this grown adult such a dumb dummy.

Soon I will have 2 weeks of dealing with such moments.  Instead, it tends to be the 2 of us enjoying a swanky diner, wandering in stores, and maaaybe shooting hoops.  It wears on me and yet when I review that 90% who are utterly baffled by the self check out line, the rest of us continue to look for human value.  

It's not me, it's Utah

I have established a good set up in my life these days when it comes to "doing stuff."  Obviously, if it's something I want to do, I'm doing it.  If it's something I don't want to do, I'm usually not doing that, either.  (Note: it took some time, but this flex is absolutely vital in life, and in speaking to others my age in a similar life situation, they are amazed one can do this.  If you fit this category and are not doing this now, I highly advise you to get moving)  This hasn't cut down on the amount of squawking in the house from others, of course, but it's made my days happier, so it's worth it.

This leaves one category: something is proposed and I either have no experience with what's suggested, could take or leave it, or truly don't know.  "What the hell.  Sure." tends to be my response.  I needed to remember this after a typically terrible lunch in a sportsbook in a Las Vegas casino.  Normally, I'd stay and fight through either with bets, or move to a different casino to find the right fit.  What I hadn't done before was continuing to drive east. 

What you see first might be what "Las Vegas" doesn't want you to see: very industrial, a bleak desert landscape, with a racetrack thrown in for spice.  Next thing you know, you're just in the desert with no buildings anywhere, and you can't help but think you drove through a mirage.  I figured there would be some casinos near the border, and there are, and they are as comical as I'd expected.  No time for investigating - had to push onward to Arizona.  

At this point, I'd been in the car a while, so when I was driving through the Virgin River gorge at dusk, I was more than a little concerned.  You're making good time, you have no use for looking at scenery at these speeds, and yet you feel like you're suddenly driving indoors.  (Outside, under some light)  By the time of a Utah arrival, I felt like I'd crossed the finish line.  Look, we made it!  Take in a beautiful sunset, and we must be where we're supposed to be, right?

No, we're not, and because of the woman formerly known as Smiley's hunt for "hot slots" that commandeered 2 hours of our time, I'll be driving a 2-laner through the mountains in pitch black.  "Hey Trip, where are we?"  Well...I have no idea.  Arriving later on at this time of year gives you little time for calibration or figuring out what's what.  Awful food for dinner, worn out from driving desolate landscapes, and on an uncomfortable bed at the "lodge" was not an ideal ending.

Sun up, some of the locals were about.  My body says it's an hour earlier than the clock which might not mean much to others but after yesterday, it does to me.  "Come on - are you ready?"  Well, no.  My body was in Las Vegas yesterday, so get up at this hour on a Saturday, sure, I'm running on adrenaline for 24 hours.  But I'm not there, I'm at a national park.  It's time to hike?!  Groggy, comically bundled up for the early legs of the trip, my stumbling in will have to be tempered.

The wandering is narrow, but despite the early cold, not only is the scenery worth it, so too is the people watching.  Some is familiar to LA (large families a variety of ages leaving garbage in their wake), others not so much: one group of maybe 20 were all wearing bright blue shirts saying AUSTRALIA in a massive font.  Another group included active seniors cautiously moving with walking sticks who, if I'm being honest, I'd have kept to just flat terrain as 1 slight slip would cause damage.  The Big Scoop took a couple spills, no injuries, but no fun either, and the kind of thing that drives someone to say they're "never hiking again."

So, she and I returned to the lodge dirty, exhausted, and more concerned with relaxation on this "vacation" than pushing it.  After cleaning up it seemed fitting that I watch a Utah game on the uncomfortable furniture.  If the option is working too much to enjoy the scenery and nightlife which is limited, I can't say this is something I'd have wanted to do...or at least not in a way that I'd like.  The vacation conundrum alongside the people of my house continues.  More-than-passable Thai food capped the night, and I tried to be optimistic for the future.

More driving the following morning at least brought me to a small town in the middle of nowhere: Orderville, Utah.  And yes, the best of this was an ATV ride to rock climb for views like this:

Post-climbing allowed me to wander this town.  I'd have explored as long as it took to see everything, whatever that might be:

What's doing in Orderville?  The post office bulletin board advertised getting your up-to-date shots, available properties and other services.  

Pet care is apparently also a local issue.   I didn't feel right about calling any of these numbers what with it a weekend and not wanting to bother the locals.

Wherever it is, I always appreciate a "main drag" of town, especially one where there are no stoplights.  It makes it all the easier to get around.  If anyone noticed, no one seemed to mind.  A man complimented my Rams winter hat by reminding me "we've always liked the Rams because Merlin Olsen played there."  I nodded and said, "Utah State." which, with a smile seemed to give me more bonus points than I realized at the time.

Who's up for some Ice Cream Soup, kids?  I thought so!

We had to press onward, however - 1 more park to see.  A much more leisurely drive led to Ruby's Diner.  In a location that looked like the saloon in Dodge City where the Griswolds decide to visit and watch Clark get "shot" from an ornery bartender, we naturally took the all-you-can-eat BBQ buffet.  It hit the spot and also gave everyone a different kind of fuel: the kind where you're going to want to walk around a bit.  Where can we go with few crowds so that I can release the brass bonanza?

Nothing echoed out here, thank goodness.  Plus, I could blame the nearly 2 miles high altitude on why I needed to just get back in the car.  We were losing the light, and my greatest fear (driving these narrow, mountain-edged roads in the dark) was realized.  When we finally made it back, we shoved down enchiladas at a furious pace.  No one said much (we were worn out) but this meal felt like a victory more than anything else.

Somehow, we made it back the next day.  We stopped in Las Vegas and kept her "hot slot" hunt to a minimum.  We didn't stop in Baker, Yermo, or Barstow.  We had to get home.  And when we did, at dusk, it was an immediate look-around at how things were when we left.  We had no idea of our future and yet, it was accomplished.  Holding on to a tree root to dodge massive groups of tourists on a narrow trail?  Having a milkshake for breakfast while chatting up small town locals?  Trying to keep my breath over 9,000 feet at Rainbow Point?  Lamenting traffic for an F1 race in Las Vegas? 

"What the hell.  Sure."