Drove today from Seattle to SLC and on the way I was wearing my new ray-bans, which are really heavy, and I started to worry that the weight plus the constant wearing, because we are always in the sunlight, was going to fold my ears down and permanently make my ears stick out, so I took them off, you know precautionary measures. But then I started to think about all the people who wear regular eyeglasses all the time, but then again maybe their ears stick out a little bit, so I decided to regiment my sunglass wearing into 45 minute intervals.
Just a minor day in the life of a ten second thought of jake frank.
Jake Frank is currently lying in a bed in Salt Lake City, about 10 inches away from Eric (as jake type's this he glances over at eric to see if he is reading it, which he isnt).
Jake Frank has just decided to write the rest of this blog in the third person.
Leave San Fran via the Golden Gate bridge. Head into Napa and Sonoma Valley. Flip a coin on what winery to visit. Flip coin again. Decide on Rutherford Hills, which is located in a cave hollowed out of a hillside. Drink some wine. Leave wine country, where actually only 5% of California's wine is produced, so not really THE wine country but really just wine country.
Between Napa and Seattle we stop twice, once in cali, and again in a motel outside of Portland. Funny thing about the west coast, the further north you go the more southern it gets.
Oregon is nice, Portland is a cool city, Crater lake is nice, and thats about all Jake has to say about that.
Seattle is tits. (foreshadowing). (its not another strip club).
boom.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
I left 35 dollars in singles with a stripper in San Francisco
We leave the sweltering armpit that is Las Vegas and head out into the Mojave Desert. Temperature outside of the car reaches 113 degrees. Temperatures stay refreshingly chilly as both Eric and I are chewing Dentyne Ice, Spearmint flavor, the coldest of all the mint flavors.
Cross the Nevada/California border. Car is inspected for any sort of contraband being smuggled across the border. And by contraband I mean fruits and vegetables of any kind. And by inspected I mean a Mexican woman waved at us as we drove through the checkpoint.
Sun goes down as we approach LA. We merge onto some highway in LA, 10 or the 405 or something like that. Eric, ‘driving here is like war.’ Proceeds to drive like an asshole, immediately cuts someone off, ‘fucking cocksucker what the fuck pick a lane.’ Arrive in Santa Monica. Hang out with Tim. Go to Del Taco. Eat 4 tacos. Go to sleep.
Wake up the next morning drive down to the beach and decide I am moving here. Sorry Boston.
Go to In N Out. Eat a delicious hamburger. Rest of my LA experience is pretty much just me hanging out at Tim’s and driving around places.
Pacific Coast Highway out of LA and up through Malibu and along the Pacific coast to San Francisco. BEATIFUL.
Arrive in San Fran. Find a Starbucks to get on the Internet and find a hotel room. 5 minutes after we get coffee and about 15 minutes since we entered the city a crazy homeless man comes in and starts yelling. He leaves. He kicks over a sign outside the Starbucks and gets his foot caught in it. He does an awkward kick jump and tries to stay mad. Hipster Barista yells at him. He yells back. He storms back into Starbucks and pushes his backpack into the face of the Hipster Barista. Hipster Barista counters with a push/slap and leg kick. Crazy Homeless dude ducks slap and shoves backpack into Hipster Barista’s face. HB dodges the backpack and pushes CH back towards the door, while yelling, “Get the fuck out of Starbucks Mother Fucker, and get the fuck out!” More slap/pushing ensues until finally CH is forced out of the doors, which HB is able to lock. CH returns and pulls on the locked doors, screaming obscenities towards HB.
We leave Starbucks and drive to our hotel. The Hotel Renoir from the pictures online looks like a very luxurious and well-kept hotel. We check in amongst a full battalion of police officers on some kind of raid outside the hotel. Our room has views of two very nice strip clubs (foreshadowing) a liquor store, and a rite aid pharmacy.
As we are checking in I ask the hotel clerk if he has a restaurant list, he hands me the restroom key. I ask if he can recommend some good San Fran restaurants. He recommends the Jack in the Box or Burger King across the street.
We go out for dinner.
Find a bar. 50 percent chance we are walking into a gay bar.
Start drinking, and make friends with the bartender, start drinking free beers. We are that charming. Bartenders start ringing a bell and flashing the lights. I befriend a local girl. I ask what there is to do in San Fran after closing time, which is about 2:30am. Her response, the strip clubs across the street from our hotel room.
I finish the rest of my drink.
3:15am I enter the Market Street Cinemas Fully Nude Strip Club. I have to check my hat at the door. There are more strippers than patrons. We sit down in the front row. I ask some creepy smiley dude in a suit with an earpiece if he can get me change for two twenties. He comes back within a minute with two stacks of twenty ones, each rubber banded. I start to enjoy the reasons why anyone would come to a strip club, the good music and the companionship of the fellow patrons.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and smell what would have to be an entire bottle of Britney Spears signature perfume, on sale at Kmart and other mart stores. No lie, I hear the following phrase in my ear, ‘Oooh baby. Me so horny’ complete with Asian accent.
I turn around and see the wildest Asian stripper I am assuming has ever existed.
If you want to hear the rest of this story just buy me a beer or two.
The rest of this story will include:
Asian Stripper arguing with me over my balance at an ATM.
Asian Stripper trying to sell me drugs.
Me trying to understand Asian Stripper talking dirty with her heavy accent.
Make it back to my hotel room. I’m not sure where the girl I befriended ended up.
The next morning we go explore San Fran. Drive the curviest street and try to find the full house house.
We try to get a tour to Alcatraz. I ask a tour guide how much it would cost. He asks if Eric and I live together. I answer no. 79 dollars. I ask what if we did live together. Free tomorrow.
We cross the Golden Gate and head into wine country. Next Post up soon.
Cross the Nevada/California border. Car is inspected for any sort of contraband being smuggled across the border. And by contraband I mean fruits and vegetables of any kind. And by inspected I mean a Mexican woman waved at us as we drove through the checkpoint.
Sun goes down as we approach LA. We merge onto some highway in LA, 10 or the 405 or something like that. Eric, ‘driving here is like war.’ Proceeds to drive like an asshole, immediately cuts someone off, ‘fucking cocksucker what the fuck pick a lane.’ Arrive in Santa Monica. Hang out with Tim. Go to Del Taco. Eat 4 tacos. Go to sleep.
Wake up the next morning drive down to the beach and decide I am moving here. Sorry Boston.
Go to In N Out. Eat a delicious hamburger. Rest of my LA experience is pretty much just me hanging out at Tim’s and driving around places.
Pacific Coast Highway out of LA and up through Malibu and along the Pacific coast to San Francisco. BEATIFUL.
Arrive in San Fran. Find a Starbucks to get on the Internet and find a hotel room. 5 minutes after we get coffee and about 15 minutes since we entered the city a crazy homeless man comes in and starts yelling. He leaves. He kicks over a sign outside the Starbucks and gets his foot caught in it. He does an awkward kick jump and tries to stay mad. Hipster Barista yells at him. He yells back. He storms back into Starbucks and pushes his backpack into the face of the Hipster Barista. Hipster Barista counters with a push/slap and leg kick. Crazy Homeless dude ducks slap and shoves backpack into Hipster Barista’s face. HB dodges the backpack and pushes CH back towards the door, while yelling, “Get the fuck out of Starbucks Mother Fucker, and get the fuck out!” More slap/pushing ensues until finally CH is forced out of the doors, which HB is able to lock. CH returns and pulls on the locked doors, screaming obscenities towards HB.
We leave Starbucks and drive to our hotel. The Hotel Renoir from the pictures online looks like a very luxurious and well-kept hotel. We check in amongst a full battalion of police officers on some kind of raid outside the hotel. Our room has views of two very nice strip clubs (foreshadowing) a liquor store, and a rite aid pharmacy.
As we are checking in I ask the hotel clerk if he has a restaurant list, he hands me the restroom key. I ask if he can recommend some good San Fran restaurants. He recommends the Jack in the Box or Burger King across the street.
We go out for dinner.
Find a bar. 50 percent chance we are walking into a gay bar.
Start drinking, and make friends with the bartender, start drinking free beers. We are that charming. Bartenders start ringing a bell and flashing the lights. I befriend a local girl. I ask what there is to do in San Fran after closing time, which is about 2:30am. Her response, the strip clubs across the street from our hotel room.
I finish the rest of my drink.
3:15am I enter the Market Street Cinemas Fully Nude Strip Club. I have to check my hat at the door. There are more strippers than patrons. We sit down in the front row. I ask some creepy smiley dude in a suit with an earpiece if he can get me change for two twenties. He comes back within a minute with two stacks of twenty ones, each rubber banded. I start to enjoy the reasons why anyone would come to a strip club, the good music and the companionship of the fellow patrons.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and smell what would have to be an entire bottle of Britney Spears signature perfume, on sale at Kmart and other mart stores. No lie, I hear the following phrase in my ear, ‘Oooh baby. Me so horny’ complete with Asian accent.
I turn around and see the wildest Asian stripper I am assuming has ever existed.
If you want to hear the rest of this story just buy me a beer or two.
The rest of this story will include:
Asian Stripper arguing with me over my balance at an ATM.
Asian Stripper trying to sell me drugs.
Me trying to understand Asian Stripper talking dirty with her heavy accent.
Make it back to my hotel room. I’m not sure where the girl I befriended ended up.
The next morning we go explore San Fran. Drive the curviest street and try to find the full house house.
We try to get a tour to Alcatraz. I ask a tour guide how much it would cost. He asks if Eric and I live together. I answer no. 79 dollars. I ask what if we did live together. Free tomorrow.
We cross the Golden Gate and head into wine country. Next Post up soon.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Hollywoooooood to Vancouver, washington.
LA, watch the movie swingers.
San Fran, watch the show full house.
part 2 is up tonight.
San Fran, watch the show full house.
part 2 is up tonight.
Nashville to VEGAS BABY VEGAS
Apologies on the delay. You would not believe how hard it is to find Internet between Nashville and San Francisco, and by hard I mean easy and by find I mean go out of my way to blog. Actually that doesn’t make sense (how easy it is to go out of my way to blog) I am trying to say how it’s easy to find Internet but it’s hard to actually make time to do this, except I am not even half as witty as I think I am, or am only saying how un-witty I am in an effort to be even more witty, perhaps I am the wittiest person I know, or you know, or have ever read for that matter.
(While I wrote this a couple days ago, I am posting it now. Fuck the space time continuum, I’m actually in Vancouver, WA)
I am writing this while lying down on a hotel bed in the lustrous Renoir Hotel of San Francisco with the overwhelming smell (I would say stench, but that is degrading) of cheap stripper perfume clogging my nostrils. Yes, I went to a strip club. If you are wondering why San Fran and not Las Vegas or even Los Angeles, then you and me are thinking the same thing. Sorry mom, dad, my sisters, grandmother, new puppy, all uncles, aunts, cousins and friends, future employers, girlfriends, rabbis, ancestors, and all cute fuzzy animals.
Question: How did I find myself at the Market Street Cinema strip club at 3:30am on a Tuesday?
Answer: Read the rest of this blog.
Advice: NEVER GO TO A STRIP CLUB AT 3:30 AM ON A TUESDAY.
We leave Nashville, fucking finally. A quick jaunt takes us through Memphis, across the mighty Mississippi and into Arkansas. Only 4 things of any interest happen in Arkansas.
1.) We pass as school bus pulling a truck (pictures on facebook)
2.) Urinals of stainless steel in the rest area.
3.) Gas stations have slot machine, lotto things in them.
4.) We get an Arkansas magnet with Bill Clinton on it.
If you were given the task of naming the town on the Texas and Arkansas border what name would you come up with? If you came up with Texarkana, then you are correct. We get to Dallas at 2am. It is roughly 10 or so minutes later when passing a bar we hear our first racist remark. It is involving a group of girls who just got into a bar fight. 10 minutes later I witness my first drunk Texan run himself head first into a fence. 5 minutes later this same Texan is sitting in the living room of the house we are staying at firing a shotgun into the ceiling (editors note; the shotgun wasn’t loaded).
Leave Dallas the next afternoon. Get to New Mexico, cross most of it during the night. Motel room in Gallup. Mint on the pillow. Wait, that’s not a mint, that’s a roach. Sleep in my sleeping bag on the bed.
Cross Arizona the next day. Land is most beautiful I’ve seen so far. Indian reservations are like a third world country.
Grand Canyon is grand.
Zion national park. Most beautiful place I have ever seen. Angel’s Landing. Best hike I have ever been on.
Finally see my first Desert between Zion and Vegas. Temperature is 113. Get to Las Vegas. Get lost in parking garage. Get lunch in food court of mall. See hottest pregnant woman I have ever seen. So much for eating a five star meal at Emeril’s Restaurant. Get to strip. Get lost in Treasure Island Casino. Buy a margarita in a skull. Walk down strip. It is 107 degrees, with humidity and a hot smoggy wind. Collect hooker business cards. Trade them with children. Play the game “Did he pay for that” with Eric. Get to Caesar’s Palace. I want to place a 10-dollar Roulette bet on the day number of our road trip (8) and the color red. ATM charges 5-dollar surcharge fee, and I can only get chips at the table.
Open note to the Caesar’s Casino.
To Whom It May Concern:
Recently I came to your casino to place a bet on the Roulette tables. However I found myself quite inconvenienced and unable to place my bet. So if you don’t want my business then my business you shant receive. You will be sorry you didn’t facilitate my 10-dollar roulette bet.
Sincerely,
Jake “rich mutha fucka” Frank
See woman who has shat herself. Leave Vegas. Get to LA. Part 2 will probably be posted by tomorrow morning. Part 2 will cover LA to Vancouver WA.
(While I wrote this a couple days ago, I am posting it now. Fuck the space time continuum, I’m actually in Vancouver, WA)
I am writing this while lying down on a hotel bed in the lustrous Renoir Hotel of San Francisco with the overwhelming smell (I would say stench, but that is degrading) of cheap stripper perfume clogging my nostrils. Yes, I went to a strip club. If you are wondering why San Fran and not Las Vegas or even Los Angeles, then you and me are thinking the same thing. Sorry mom, dad, my sisters, grandmother, new puppy, all uncles, aunts, cousins and friends, future employers, girlfriends, rabbis, ancestors, and all cute fuzzy animals.
Question: How did I find myself at the Market Street Cinema strip club at 3:30am on a Tuesday?
Answer: Read the rest of this blog.
Advice: NEVER GO TO A STRIP CLUB AT 3:30 AM ON A TUESDAY.
We leave Nashville, fucking finally. A quick jaunt takes us through Memphis, across the mighty Mississippi and into Arkansas. Only 4 things of any interest happen in Arkansas.
1.) We pass as school bus pulling a truck (pictures on facebook)
2.) Urinals of stainless steel in the rest area.
3.) Gas stations have slot machine, lotto things in them.
4.) We get an Arkansas magnet with Bill Clinton on it.
If you were given the task of naming the town on the Texas and Arkansas border what name would you come up with? If you came up with Texarkana, then you are correct. We get to Dallas at 2am. It is roughly 10 or so minutes later when passing a bar we hear our first racist remark. It is involving a group of girls who just got into a bar fight. 10 minutes later I witness my first drunk Texan run himself head first into a fence. 5 minutes later this same Texan is sitting in the living room of the house we are staying at firing a shotgun into the ceiling (editors note; the shotgun wasn’t loaded).
Leave Dallas the next afternoon. Get to New Mexico, cross most of it during the night. Motel room in Gallup. Mint on the pillow. Wait, that’s not a mint, that’s a roach. Sleep in my sleeping bag on the bed.
Cross Arizona the next day. Land is most beautiful I’ve seen so far. Indian reservations are like a third world country.
Grand Canyon is grand.
Zion national park. Most beautiful place I have ever seen. Angel’s Landing. Best hike I have ever been on.
Finally see my first Desert between Zion and Vegas. Temperature is 113. Get to Las Vegas. Get lost in parking garage. Get lunch in food court of mall. See hottest pregnant woman I have ever seen. So much for eating a five star meal at Emeril’s Restaurant. Get to strip. Get lost in Treasure Island Casino. Buy a margarita in a skull. Walk down strip. It is 107 degrees, with humidity and a hot smoggy wind. Collect hooker business cards. Trade them with children. Play the game “Did he pay for that” with Eric. Get to Caesar’s Palace. I want to place a 10-dollar Roulette bet on the day number of our road trip (8) and the color red. ATM charges 5-dollar surcharge fee, and I can only get chips at the table.
Open note to the Caesar’s Casino.
To Whom It May Concern:
Recently I came to your casino to place a bet on the Roulette tables. However I found myself quite inconvenienced and unable to place my bet. So if you don’t want my business then my business you shant receive. You will be sorry you didn’t facilitate my 10-dollar roulette bet.
Sincerely,
Jake “rich mutha fucka” Frank
See woman who has shat herself. Leave Vegas. Get to LA. Part 2 will probably be posted by tomorrow morning. Part 2 will cover LA to Vancouver WA.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Groundhog Day (the movie) in Nashville
Groundhog Day, the movie, Bill Murray wakes up each morning to discover it is still the same day.
Nashville, road trip stop, Jake and Eric wake up each morning to discover it pretty much is the same day.
Groundhog day, the movie, each morning Murray is awakened at 6am by Sonny and Cher's "I got you babe" playing on his clock radio.
Nashville, road trip stop, Jake and Eric are awakened at 9am by combination Dan and Sara getting ready for work, and evangelist preacher on TV curing the blind, crippled, or those with glaucoma.
Groundhog day, the movie, it is not until Murray accepts...ok fuck this analogy.
Day 1 in Nasvhille.
Did nothing. Drank by the pool and hot tub until falling asleep.
Day 2 in Nashville.
Woke up. Drove downtown. Saw the worlds only exact replica of the Parthenon. Saw our first southern hipster riding a single speed bike. We order the number 4 sack at White Castle. 20 burgers, 4 fries and two sodas. I finish 5 and a half, Eric eats 8. 2 hour nap. Arrive at poolside and begin drinking. When I ask Dan how many beers he has had after discovering our 18pack is down to 6 beers, he answers none. Eric and I invent the game Lawn chair undercarriage. Imagine a pool with two circular sections of water with a cape like protrusion between them of concrete. We both stand at opposite sides of the cape, and place a lawn chair upon the pool deck separating us. The object of the game is to throw a Frisbee under the lawn chair, but through its legs. 1 point for a bouncer and 3 points for a clean shot. 10 rounds, best score wins. In case of tie sudden death overtime.
Eric and I finish rest of our beers. Make up new rules and invent a doubles game.
Leave for downtown Nashville. Go to a bar with Sunset in the name. It is two for one pitchers night. Fuck.
At some point Eric and I are playing beer pong against two kids wearing ed hardy shirts and sunglasses. The whole bar is cheering us on. We go down early 9 to 5. Band starts playing the greatest "Dont Stop Believing" cover I have ever heard. I hit 6 shots in a row. No lie. Cup count, Eric has hit 1. I have hit 7. Although he does hit the 9th cup to tie it up at one cup a piece.
Meet the first single girls we have seen all trip.
We lose the game. I miss the rebuttle by at least half a foot.
First single girls we have seen all trip leave.
Fucking Nashville.
Nashville, road trip stop, Jake and Eric wake up each morning to discover it pretty much is the same day.
Groundhog day, the movie, each morning Murray is awakened at 6am by Sonny and Cher's "I got you babe" playing on his clock radio.
Nashville, road trip stop, Jake and Eric are awakened at 9am by combination Dan and Sara getting ready for work, and evangelist preacher on TV curing the blind, crippled, or those with glaucoma.
Groundhog day, the movie, it is not until Murray accepts...ok fuck this analogy.
Day 1 in Nasvhille.
Did nothing. Drank by the pool and hot tub until falling asleep.
Day 2 in Nashville.
Woke up. Drove downtown. Saw the worlds only exact replica of the Parthenon. Saw our first southern hipster riding a single speed bike. We order the number 4 sack at White Castle. 20 burgers, 4 fries and two sodas. I finish 5 and a half, Eric eats 8. 2 hour nap. Arrive at poolside and begin drinking. When I ask Dan how many beers he has had after discovering our 18pack is down to 6 beers, he answers none. Eric and I invent the game Lawn chair undercarriage. Imagine a pool with two circular sections of water with a cape like protrusion between them of concrete. We both stand at opposite sides of the cape, and place a lawn chair upon the pool deck separating us. The object of the game is to throw a Frisbee under the lawn chair, but through its legs. 1 point for a bouncer and 3 points for a clean shot. 10 rounds, best score wins. In case of tie sudden death overtime.
Eric and I finish rest of our beers. Make up new rules and invent a doubles game.
Leave for downtown Nashville. Go to a bar with Sunset in the name. It is two for one pitchers night. Fuck.
At some point Eric and I are playing beer pong against two kids wearing ed hardy shirts and sunglasses. The whole bar is cheering us on. We go down early 9 to 5. Band starts playing the greatest "Dont Stop Believing" cover I have ever heard. I hit 6 shots in a row. No lie. Cup count, Eric has hit 1. I have hit 7. Although he does hit the 9th cup to tie it up at one cup a piece.
Meet the first single girls we have seen all trip.
We lose the game. I miss the rebuttle by at least half a foot.
First single girls we have seen all trip leave.
Fucking Nashville.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Nash Vegas.
In 1864 General Sherman of the Union Army into and occupied Nashville, crushing the Confederate Army of Tennessee, decisively turning the tide of war the Union's way and ultimately proving to be one of the final battles of the civil war.
Sunday, July 12 2009/1864
Dearest Gloria,
I write home with a heavy heart. How I long to hold you in my arms and feel your tender embrace. But alas as fortune would have it I must live the life of a soldier. And as all soldiers do I must carry that weight of freedom upon my shoulders. That weight comes with a heavy price. And separation from you is the highest price of them all.
The march to Nashville has been pleasant. Scattered resistance, mostly rag-tag regiments who have fallen out of communication with their superiors. The locals seem to have a affinity for Waffle houses and Shoneys. The latter is quite good, however nobody has yet to be brave enough to eat at a Shoneys. In fact we have an open bet going as to what the correct pronunciation of Shoneys actually is.
Tennessee is a beautiful place. We stopped at a local munitions depot store and picked up enough firepower to blow off all ten digits and then some. We stopped quickly to raise up some rations from a local Jack living in a box house. Then we burned it down, teach these boys of dixie a lesson.
Ominious clouds are gathering on the distance, shadowing our approach into Nashville.
Much like the storm gathering on the horizon, battle is approaching. I shall write to you later, Gloria.
It is your correspondances that keep me going through the cold southern nights.
First Lietenant Brigideir General Jake Frank .
PS: here is what really happened in nashvegas.
Drove into Nashville. Drove out of Nashville. Drove back into Nashville. Discover where music row is. Drive through music row. Drive out of music row. Drive back through music row. Stop at the Nashville Tavern. Young pretty woman singing Hank Williams jr songs. New meaning to the term 1 in a million.
Bar only has PBR and Natty Light on draft. Order pitcher number 1. It comes with extra beers. Thunderstorm arrives.
Drive to a bar recomended by a local. Yea right, we are not going in there. Pee on the side of a porta-potty. Find the bars downtown. Go to first bar. Dont even make it through the doorway before getting somewhat rattled by the plethora of cowboy hats and Ed Hardy wearing urban cowboys. Bouncer is wearing a utility belt with what looks like mace and handcuffs.
Walk down street to second bar. Meet the future middle weight UFC champion, he also just got out of Ranger school. Whiskey and a beer. Meet our first locals. Dont understand a word they say for the rest of the night. Beer. Whiskey. Beer. In conversation about fighting Eric is telling the local you cant punch anyone in the face anymore for fear of getting sued; his reply, 'thats why you need one of these,' and pulls out a knife and stabs it into the bar. Bartender laughs. Beer. Talking to an ex-marine who has a phd and teaches high school with a loaded 40 calibur in his desk. The other day he pulled it out on a student. Every girl has a wedding ring on.
Bar number two. Beer. Every girl has a wedding ring on.
Bar number three. Learn how to speak country from bartender, 'BAR! Whiskey and a Beer!' Walk into bar, knock over a chair loudly, band thanks me. Whiskey and a beer. Walk into bathroom. Walk out of woman's bathroom. Walk into men's room. Every girl has a wedding ring on.
Bar number 4. Beer. See asshole wearing a St. Louis tshirt. 10 minute conversation about how much the cubs suck. Beer. Dan arrives. Yell loudly with a Texan. We leave.
Dont remember what happens next. Sitting in a Waffle house. Its 3 am and waitress is pissed off at no one in particular. Waffle and Hashbrowns covered and smothered. Tip the surly waitress 90% on a 5 dollar meal. Fall asleep.
Still have three boxes of fireworks in the trunk.
Sunday, July 12 2009/1864
Dearest Gloria,
I write home with a heavy heart. How I long to hold you in my arms and feel your tender embrace. But alas as fortune would have it I must live the life of a soldier. And as all soldiers do I must carry that weight of freedom upon my shoulders. That weight comes with a heavy price. And separation from you is the highest price of them all.
The march to Nashville has been pleasant. Scattered resistance, mostly rag-tag regiments who have fallen out of communication with their superiors. The locals seem to have a affinity for Waffle houses and Shoneys. The latter is quite good, however nobody has yet to be brave enough to eat at a Shoneys. In fact we have an open bet going as to what the correct pronunciation of Shoneys actually is.
Tennessee is a beautiful place. We stopped at a local munitions depot store and picked up enough firepower to blow off all ten digits and then some. We stopped quickly to raise up some rations from a local Jack living in a box house. Then we burned it down, teach these boys of dixie a lesson.
Ominious clouds are gathering on the distance, shadowing our approach into Nashville.
Much like the storm gathering on the horizon, battle is approaching. I shall write to you later, Gloria.
It is your correspondances that keep me going through the cold southern nights.
First Lietenant Brigideir General Jake Frank .
PS: here is what really happened in nashvegas.
Drove into Nashville. Drove out of Nashville. Drove back into Nashville. Discover where music row is. Drive through music row. Drive out of music row. Drive back through music row. Stop at the Nashville Tavern. Young pretty woman singing Hank Williams jr songs. New meaning to the term 1 in a million.
Bar only has PBR and Natty Light on draft. Order pitcher number 1. It comes with extra beers. Thunderstorm arrives.
Drive to a bar recomended by a local. Yea right, we are not going in there. Pee on the side of a porta-potty. Find the bars downtown. Go to first bar. Dont even make it through the doorway before getting somewhat rattled by the plethora of cowboy hats and Ed Hardy wearing urban cowboys. Bouncer is wearing a utility belt with what looks like mace and handcuffs.
Walk down street to second bar. Meet the future middle weight UFC champion, he also just got out of Ranger school. Whiskey and a beer. Meet our first locals. Dont understand a word they say for the rest of the night. Beer. Whiskey. Beer. In conversation about fighting Eric is telling the local you cant punch anyone in the face anymore for fear of getting sued; his reply, 'thats why you need one of these,' and pulls out a knife and stabs it into the bar. Bartender laughs. Beer. Talking to an ex-marine who has a phd and teaches high school with a loaded 40 calibur in his desk. The other day he pulled it out on a student. Every girl has a wedding ring on.
Bar number two. Beer. Every girl has a wedding ring on.
Bar number three. Learn how to speak country from bartender, 'BAR! Whiskey and a Beer!' Walk into bar, knock over a chair loudly, band thanks me. Whiskey and a beer. Walk into bathroom. Walk out of woman's bathroom. Walk into men's room. Every girl has a wedding ring on.
Bar number 4. Beer. See asshole wearing a St. Louis tshirt. 10 minute conversation about how much the cubs suck. Beer. Dan arrives. Yell loudly with a Texan. We leave.
Dont remember what happens next. Sitting in a Waffle house. Its 3 am and waitress is pissed off at no one in particular. Waffle and Hashbrowns covered and smothered. Tip the surly waitress 90% on a 5 dollar meal. Fall asleep.
Still have three boxes of fireworks in the trunk.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Cheeky British campers and discount fireworks.
Arrived in Shenandoah early Saturday afternoon, and after a sluggish drive along the Skyline drive and possibly the best Blackberry shake I've ever had, we found a campsite neighbored by a family of 7 (1 boy, 4 girls, mom + dad, and a very tense yellow lab named Jack), a cheeky British couple, a grandfather whose occupation was fighting bears his wife and granddaughter, and another young couple.
The rest of the Shenandoah trip goes something like this:
Go for a hike. Starts to Rain. Turn around. Get back to car. Rain Stops. Go for another hike. Laugh at all the fat, out of shape, misplaced, hopeless tourists lugging themselves up the trail.
Get back to campsite. Dinner of cold chef boyardi, canned chicken sandwiches (with boyardi sauce), dessert of canned peaches. Finish one bottle of wine.
Decide we need more firewood. Eric pulls down a dead tree. Carry tree back to camp. Cheeky British gentleman's inquires why I am only carrying two twigs while Eric is carrying a full tree. I respond that the wood is very dense. His response; what is it made out of your head?
Open second bottle of wine. Decide we need more wood. This time we both uproot trees. Begin burning the trees. Finish second bottle of wine. Argue about politics. Eric exclaims he inst scared of anything even Jack. Laughter issues from all 5 children. Eric; Shut the fuck up!.
6 a.m. we leave and drive through Southwestern Virginia. Nap. Breakfast burrito at Sonic. Nap.
Tennessee.
AWESOME. Home to the largest US Factory outlet of fireworks, the South's largest adult novelty store and a knife warehouse. The car is fully stocked.
The rest of the Shenandoah trip goes something like this:
Go for a hike. Starts to Rain. Turn around. Get back to car. Rain Stops. Go for another hike. Laugh at all the fat, out of shape, misplaced, hopeless tourists lugging themselves up the trail.
Get back to campsite. Dinner of cold chef boyardi, canned chicken sandwiches (with boyardi sauce), dessert of canned peaches. Finish one bottle of wine.
Decide we need more firewood. Eric pulls down a dead tree. Carry tree back to camp. Cheeky British gentleman's inquires why I am only carrying two twigs while Eric is carrying a full tree. I respond that the wood is very dense. His response; what is it made out of your head?
Open second bottle of wine. Decide we need more wood. This time we both uproot trees. Begin burning the trees. Finish second bottle of wine. Argue about politics. Eric exclaims he inst scared of anything even Jack. Laughter issues from all 5 children. Eric; Shut the fuck up!.
6 a.m. we leave and drive through Southwestern Virginia. Nap. Breakfast burrito at Sonic. Nap.
Tennessee.
AWESOME. Home to the largest US Factory outlet of fireworks, the South's largest adult novelty store and a knife warehouse. The car is fully stocked.
Friday, July 10, 2009
On the road again...
300 miles down. 9,000 to go. flickr stream is up and running at
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jakeisfrank/
so check out all the pics from the trip.
highlight so far, a bank of america branch that was open till 6... on a friday.
early morning tomorrow off to Shenandoah national park for some hiking and fireworks buying.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jakeisfrank/
so check out all the pics from the trip.
highlight so far, a bank of america branch that was open till 6... on a friday.
early morning tomorrow off to Shenandoah national park for some hiking and fireworks buying.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
