Dad had surprised me during my visit by staging a little family reunion. Uncles, aunts, cousins. Well, darnit. I packed only jeans and t-shirts and serveral of those of in the "what?-you-don't-recognize-this-brand?-I'm-sure-Lindsey-or- Nicole-was-arrested-wearing-this-brand-Duh!" SoCal trashy chic vein. Oh, and this to die for silk scarf dress concoction, that just packs so well. But not workin' east of Las Vegas. Not in Central Missouri. I could really use something J. Crew Factory Outlet-ish.
Alas. I will never graduate from the little kids' table.
Speaking of trashy chic. I am crushin' on this little part of town near my dad's lake house. In a world of cookie-cutter focus-group-okay'd concept restaurants and keiretsu'd, fluorescent lighted and ISO-9000'd big box retail chains, my heart belongs to the 10 cent skee ball business plan. This strip of dilapidating bumper cars, rusting batting cages and Granny's fudge stores (and those are good pecan turtles!), will soon be made extinct by the evolution of more efficient, adaptable beasts of the entertainment, enter-tailing and eat-ertainment marketplace. In the meantime, I find some beauty in the breakdown.
And this statue? Was this left by a group of time traveling alien beings as a foretelling? Makes me wonder.
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