"Most people don't like to talk about violent historical death. "
Oh gosh, I've got Sarah Vowell fever again. A tiny part of me is almost happy Maile Meloy's book wasn't at B&N today so I was forced to buy another Sarah Vowell book. She's AMAZING as evidenced by these quotations from The Partly Cloudy Patriot:
The thing about going to Ellis Island is that it's a lot like going to Ellis Island. Perhaps to help you better understand the immigrant experience, they make you stand in line for the crammed ferry for an hour and a half in the windy cold. By the time we step onto the island, we are the huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
"But it's not like I'm going to Gettysburg or Salem just to earnestly mourn. I go there and joke around. When I had breakfast in Salem, I ordered bacon, the food of joy."
So what does it mean that in the past twelve months I've take trips to the sites of so many historical tragedies? Besides Gettysburg and Salem, I've dropped by Little Bighorn Battlefield (more ominous than Gettysburg in that a bunch of headstones mark the spot where soldiers in Custer's 7th Cavalry fell down and died); the North Dakota ranch where Theodore Roosevelt escaped when his wife and mother died on the same day; Dealey Plaza in Dallas; and the George W. Bush inauguration
Being stuck in the Boise airport for ten hours while getting hit on by a divorced man with "major financial problems" on his way to his twentieth high school reunion is irksome, but not as dire as swinging by the neck on Salem's Gallows Hill.
Oh Sarah Vowell, you inspire me to read plaques and visit quirky museums in hopes of becoming half as witty as you.
Anyway, I'm spending a few days at my grandparents' in the middle of nowhere eating peach cobbler and playing Monopoly and sleeping in and walking in the park and all those things you do with silly grandparents.
Grandma, eying the biggest ice cream cone I've ever seen: "You know, the 11th commandment is Thou Shalt not waste ice cream."
Grandpa, looking out on the lake: "You know, I think I'm a War of 1812 sailor re-incarnated."
Rachael, thinking of a Bullshit episode she saw on nostalgia: "Grandpa, you wouldn't like it. They didn't have grilled cheese sandwiches those ships."
Grandpa, very seriously: "They did too! They were toasted! And the mold on it helped cure your gunshot wound."
Grandma, swinging in the park: "Rachael, take me to the park to the swing set before you take me to the old folks home."
The thing about going to Ellis Island is that it's a lot like going to Ellis Island. Perhaps to help you better understand the immigrant experience, they make you stand in line for the crammed ferry for an hour and a half in the windy cold. By the time we step onto the island, we are the huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
"But it's not like I'm going to Gettysburg or Salem just to earnestly mourn. I go there and joke around. When I had breakfast in Salem, I ordered bacon, the food of joy."
So what does it mean that in the past twelve months I've take trips to the sites of so many historical tragedies? Besides Gettysburg and Salem, I've dropped by Little Bighorn Battlefield (more ominous than Gettysburg in that a bunch of headstones mark the spot where soldiers in Custer's 7th Cavalry fell down and died); the North Dakota ranch where Theodore Roosevelt escaped when his wife and mother died on the same day; Dealey Plaza in Dallas; and the George W. Bush inauguration
Being stuck in the Boise airport for ten hours while getting hit on by a divorced man with "major financial problems" on his way to his twentieth high school reunion is irksome, but not as dire as swinging by the neck on Salem's Gallows Hill.
Oh Sarah Vowell, you inspire me to read plaques and visit quirky museums in hopes of becoming half as witty as you.
Anyway, I'm spending a few days at my grandparents' in the middle of nowhere eating peach cobbler and playing Monopoly and sleeping in and walking in the park and all those things you do with silly grandparents.
Grandma, eying the biggest ice cream cone I've ever seen: "You know, the 11th commandment is Thou Shalt not waste ice cream."
Grandpa, looking out on the lake: "You know, I think I'm a War of 1812 sailor re-incarnated."
Rachael, thinking of a Bullshit episode she saw on nostalgia: "Grandpa, you wouldn't like it. They didn't have grilled cheese sandwiches those ships."
Grandpa, very seriously: "They did too! They were toasted! And the mold on it helped cure your gunshot wound."
Grandma, swinging in the park: "Rachael, take me to the park to the swing set before you take me to the old folks home."