Here I am in the appropriately named Effingham,IL. The entire industry of this town is based solely on the nexus of two major interstates, and the existence of a giant, water tower-sized cross.
With the exception of Chicago, Illinois is quite possible one of the most boring places on the planet. The highlight of my day was adding another coat of nail polish after dinner at Denny’s. Yes, Denny’s. I had the French Slam. Now, normally if you had asked me if you should eat a meal with ‘Slam’ in its name I would slap you and send you back to menu training. Bu the French Slam had 2 french toasts, 2 eggs, 2 bacons, 2 sausages and a soda. Unfortunately, I tasted the error of my ways too late. The bacon tasted of chicken, you should never bite into a piece of smoked, cured pork and think of the original white meat. Worse than the chickeny bacon was the sausage. One bite of the sausage and I was transported from the ‘Decadent Meat’ section of the food pyramid directly to the ‘Vegetables that grow Underground’ section. Eggs tasted of warm white pulp and the french toast had the texture of bath towels.
Lesson learned, in a big way.
Tomorrow, Nashville and Atlanta and better food. A word of warning to those of you down south, Minnesotans don’t like to chat with people they don’t know. We are pleasant, quiet, reserved Scandinavians; we aren’t trying to be rude, it’s just that our sense of personal space extends beyond the physical. I know I sound funny to you, but you sound just as funny to me and you don’t see me engaging you in an ongoing converstation just to hear you talk. In Minnesota, when we are asked ‘How are you?’ we lie and say, ‘Fine,’ and leave it at that. If you ask where we are from or where we are going or how long we are on vacation or what our DNA sequence preferences are, we will only be suspicious of you and edge away.
If necessary, I will get a little name tag that says “Hi, My name is Heather, I am from Minnesota” and that is all you will need to see.