Saturday, October 22, 2005

The Worst Fall Foliage Season in History

We've been on a road trip through New Hampshire, Maine and Massachusetts in the second worst weather in recorded history. I hate to think what the worst weather in recorded history was like because this has been bad. Really bad. Dangerous bad, with flooding rivers, dead bodies, washed out roads and none of what we came here for...foliage.

Even though it's all soggy, I still love this road trip. The air is so clean, you can smell a moose poop hundreds of miles away. There are tons of animals who live here that don't live in Hollywood, like tiny, striped chipmonks, who dart around the trees. Finny looks like she woke up out of a coma here. She's all excited about running through dead leaves and finding something alive to chase.

Of course, Mom and Dad have been complaining non-stop. They've been fighting like they were in the Octagon cage (the "Extreme Fighting" you see on pay per view) except that this cage is a grey rented Grand Am with zero horsepower.

Everyone we meet says it's the worst Fall foliage season in history and that there's no cuhlah (that's how they pronounce color ovah heah). But I saw plenty of cuhlah. I saw a bright red bird and all the New England humans wear red, orange or bright green stretchy outfits.

The New England humans look like a different species than the humans in Hollywood or Paris. They smell different too. They're not doused with perfume and the females don't wear as much make-up or high spikey shoes. There’s no weird, expressionless botox look here and the lady human lips don’t look like huge jelly donuts, stuffed with their own ass-fat. The human males here all look like they could build stuff. In L.A., the human males look all like manicured poodles.Even the dogs in New England are ten times bigger. And the dogs here work.

Dad has some land in New Hampshire that he inherited. Since Dad grew up here, he thought it might be great to come home and he wanted to show Mom, hoping that she would like it enough to move here. But I don't think that's going to happen.

Dad: "All my dreams growing up are as dead as the leaves we're driving through. You can't go home. It's miles and miles of Dunkin' Donuts and fatties in flannel shirts. You can't even get a latte here--they look at you like you're nuts. 'Latte? What's that?' They don't want to change anything. It's just like I remember. All shitty little houses. Except now it costs five million to live on a swamp called Winnepesaukee and get devoured by mosquitoes, gnats and black flies."

Mom: "Yeah, and there's nothing fresh here! At the store, all they have is apples and iceberg lettuce! I'd never be able to cook anything I like here! And look at all the No Hunting signs everywhere. That means they're hunting and murdering animals all over the place! All the hotels have giant stuffed, decapitated moose heads. We are deep in the heartless land."

Dad: "It is beautiful though, don't you think? All these tall trees? You don't see anything like that in L.A."

Mom: "No, we have Palm trees in L.A."

Dad: "Palm trees are phony, ridiculous trees. They're not real trees. It's a giant bush with a rat in it. They're ugly. They belong in Baghdad."

Mom: "We have lush vegetation and we can buy snow peas and Porcini mushrooms. There are flowers everywhere. You stick something in the ground in California and it grows. Here, if you don't uproot everything every year and bring it indoors, it DIES in the freezing cold that lasts six months. And it gets dark at four in the afternoon and you wake up in the dark half the year. I'll fucking kill myself here in the land of fatties in flannel who hunt. "

I'm telling you, all they did was fight in the car. It rained for a week straight and we were lost almost the whole time. Neither one of them knows how to read a map and Dad was too cheap to get the GPS system option from Avis.

Mom: "Where are we going to eat? We haven't seen anything but McDonald's and Dunkin Donuts for hours! We're running out of gas you know."

Then we saw a place in the White Mountains that served live lawbstah (that's how they say lobster up there). Dad wanted to stop there so he could get some clam chowdah. I don't get it. How do all those lawbstahs get up to the mountains? There are no lawbstahs living anywhere near there. I can't understand how anybody would want to eat a thing like that. Don't get me wrong, I love meat, like Dad. And I would kill to get it if I was living alone in the woods but a lawbstah? And clams just look like the things that come flying out of Stupid Kitty's nose. Ew.

Mom: How awful. They must bring all these lobsters from the coast, alive, knowing they're going to be boiled alive and eaten by these horrible people with hunting rifles wearing red flannel. I can't go in there. I can't look at them alive in the tank like that. "

Dad: " I'm going to get some fried clams to go then."

Then we got stuck on a washed out road while Dad ate his fried Kitty snots.


Blogger Pisser said...

I agree with Daddy that most vegetation, as well as most of the people in L.A. - belong in Baghdad :)

4:32 PM  

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