Vacation!! 2011 (Part Two)

And now....for part two! Return of the Revenge of the Secret of the Vacation.

When we left off, I'd just had my heart broken by a set of retro-styled large scale kitchen appliances in a place of business whose name escapes me. The warehouse sized store looked a little like Louisville's The Concrete Lady from the outside, boasting a cement-sculpted menagerie of animals both exotic and more domestic. I must admit, it was the six foot tall King Kong statuary on the roof that truly drew me into the store and out of the rain. Upon stepping inside, the joint was a little more like the now defunct Expo Center stores. Ah, well. Functioning on the Southern serial shopper's attitude that it's rude (and sometime premature in judgement) to walk into a store, see that the merchandise isn't what you'd expect, and walk directly back out, Bab and I meandered down the aisles, whereupon we caught sight of the aforementioned, astronomically priced, but oh-so-perfect appliances. Two aisles down, past a glass tile cornucopia for all your backsplash glass tiling needs, we came across these lovely girls.

I borrowed this image, but this is pretty much EXACTLY what the box of cast iron mermaid wall hooks looked like when I saw them and my eyes popped out a little. What bombshells! Only two unpainted, rustic looking mer-ladies were left among some that were lacquered pink or white, so I bought them both. Though a topless lady being included in the design actually dissuaded me from buying a Danzig lunchbox this weekend (he was displayed in the case showing only the awesome Danzig logo side, not the naked, kind of lame looking Gothic Rockabilly nymph which would preclude said lunchbox's use in my work environment, which...was...the...point...), I think these are kind of cutie. Or, as the folks at Brokelyn pithily put it, "the nester's equivalent of mudflaps". Too true. Too true.

We made a hairpin U-turn on leaving the unnamed home decor place to hit a Salvation Army across the street. In my youth, the Salvation Army on Gallatin Road was far and away the best place to go for gauzy, 1940's librarian blouses with rhinestone buttons, or seventies' plaid buttonup shirts that were both physically and metaphorically hard on the eyes (ie, staples of my wardrobe from 1997 to the present). In the early millenium, that location and several across Davidson County closed, and the one that remains on Charlotte is a poor substitute for what was a GOLDMINE of vintage opportunity. Showing either my best sportsmanship or my actual inability to resist thrift store shopping opportunities in strange cities, we visited the tiny store under the red badge in spite of its Tennessee reputation as being bereft of the GOOD "goods".

And what did I find, folks. What DID I find.



On a shelf in the back near several sets of dun-spined encyclopedias, I found EIGHT high school and college yearbooks, spanning consecutive years from 1940-1947. Price tag?

Eighty-nine cents apiece.

Now, fellow vintage-o-philes, please correct me if I'm way off base here, but have you EVER in your LIFE seen a sixty-plus year old yearbook in a retail setting (ie not a swap meet or yard sale) for less than, oh, $15? It's unheard of. Forties' yearbooks of any kind in any antique store in Nashville would be priced at STARTING at twenty bucks, and often running exorbitantly high for no apparent reason (if it was at Southern Thrift, the price tag would probably be a nonsensical $79.99 or some such). I was GIDDY with the true "thrift" of my purchase.

There was a ton of great late 1970's/early 1980's beach house furniture, but how would one transport self same Miami Vice/Scarface-esque furniture several hours North without cancelling out the reasonability of the price tag? Sad. Upon checkout, a fifty-percent-off sale bin near the register produced these last minute purchases:



A Basic Instinct keychain for a quarter (you can get your own on ebay), and large green plastic frog. Vacation essentials, folks, for sure.

All this shopping had our appetites worked up, so we stopped at Lambert's Cafe, "Home of the Throwed Rolls". Not only does it remind you of this practice on the sign, it spells it out for you visually.



Before I explain this peculiar way of serving dinner rolls, let me show you what the side of the building where we parked looked like:





Epic.

After waiting for less than ten minutes for a table, a hostess led us through the (absolutely full) restaurant to a rough hewn booth in one corner. As the call of "Hot rolls! Who wants a hot roll?" was answered by many a "Right here!", baseball sized hot rolls, I kid you not, were flung with the precision and sometimes speed of a major league pitcher towards outstretched palms across the dining room. ACROSS. THE. DINING ROOM. I understood the concept when I came in, but I can't begin to tell you how jovial the atmosphere was simply by dint of this gimmick. "Did you see that guy catch it?" was something either of us kept repeating like children, amazed that hardly any rolls hit the floor. The food was of prodigious and super delicious (if not necessarily Atkins-sound... I kept having to tell myself "You never get to eat like this! It's vacation! Go ahead!")... as employees came by with servings of black eyed peas, macaroni and tomato, fried okra, and even apple butter to put on your hard-earned roll, we ALSO had our main courses of, in my case, a full pound hamburger steak, collard greens, and a full sized baked sweet potato. LAND. SAKES.

Here's what the dining room looked like when I was so full it actually affected my vision:



Note the gentleman with the creased neck. He did not know he was being photographed. I apologize.

Later, we came across this wholly bizarre sign outside of a fresh seafood supplier. I submit it without additional commentary:



Did I mention I am still, even in part two, confused by the availability of wine in any and all grocery settings? Aisle 12 is like my favorite aisle. AND pizza? Well, shut my mouth.



Weird chip varieties were everywhere... maybe we have these in Nashville, but I certainly wasn't aware of them. Below, the flavors include "Spicy Cajun Crawtators", "Spicy Creole Tomato spiked with Tabasco", "Molten Hot Wing", and "Loaded Chili and Cheese". Maybe this is a non-believer speaking, but I prefer my food flavors separate-- e.g., chili cheese fries OR potato chips, but not both. I might just be too picky.




When we had sunned our selves silly, and eaten all the food in the coastal region, it was time to head back north to Tennessee. What did we see on the way? We saw this:




Sakes alive! The very "spear chunker" museum I'd been foretold of on the Roadside America website!



Which. It Turns out. IS CLOSED. On Mondays. Can you see Bab's face in the lefthand picture as he reads the "FERME" written unapologetically across the day's date? To the right, can you see the yawning jaws of an alligator waiting to be seen by such as we? Sad, sad day.

From his website:
Has he, at age 77, reached the end of his rope? The end of changes in his hunting career? Hell, NO, he has not! For some years now, he has developed the techniques of throwing two spears at the same time by throwing one spear with his left hand and one spear with his right hand-- both at the same time. His quest? To take two animals at the same time.

Go, Gene Morris, go!!



We are DEFINITELY going back next time.

Is it just me, or is the entire purpose of having a McDonald franchise to provide as far from "unique" an experience as possible? You want your McDonald's experience to be of a high quality and standard, but definitely not "unique". I was handed my supersized coffee while pondering this misuse of the word.

While listening to hour five of "Horns" (which Bab's finished, post-trip, and I have not, for shame), we passed a brown, historical highway marker for Georgiana, Alabama reading "Hank William's Boyhood Home". And of course, we stopped.

About three miles off the highway, past a discount store seeming plopped in the middle of a forest and a small subdivision of houses, were a smattering of 1910's houses and what was left of a small town center. Here's a youtube video of a drive through the middle part of what would be a town square, were it not actually bisected by a railroad track (which prevented us from getting back to the other side of it for about fifteen minutes once a line of railroad cars pulled up):



I didn't see any businesses that were actually open on this Monday morning-- most of the stores were boarded up, though at one time, I have no doubt the place looked like a regular Norman Rockwell painting. Very the-beginning-of-Fried-Green-Tomatoes in terms of wistful abandonment.

The museum, like a town, was a small affair itself. A snow-haired lady, improbably thought elegantly dressed in a long, spotless sixties'-era neon orange and yellow Hawaiian maxi-dress, slim as a bird and tanned, greeted us in dulcet Southern tones and gave a short introduction, taking our admission fares (I think it was $3 apiece) and encouraging us to take all the pictures we wanted. What I really wanted to do was take a picture of her, but I was too shy. And darned if I couldn't oblige myself TO all the photographs I wanted of the house due to my crum-bug equipment! But here's some of the stuff we saw:



Most of the artifacts were fan-submitted... oil paintings of Hank Williams, cancelled checks, sixty year old flyers from long ago concerts, photographs of familiar (to Hank Williams and fans, I guess) haunts, and newspaper clippings from his life and death.

*I* was most impressed by this hand stitched story quilt of Hank Williams life. Each square tells a different segment of his life. Could you just die?



In a corner, a painted wooden silhouette of Williams that I thought was particularly good, and the artifact I found second most-impressive, the curtains. THE CURTAINS. Which read out the lyrics and music to "Your Cheating Heart." How do I not already have a set of these in my home?



Hoping not to squander my last vacation meal of excess at a fast food joint, yet burning with hunger, I read in the Hank Williams Trail brochure about a hot dog stand in Montgomery, Alabama. Hank Sr. used to frequent as a denizen of that city in the 1940's, it had been in operation since the 'teens, and it was still family owned, after all those years! A winning combination, in my book. Chris's Hot Dogs, we're comin' for ya!

Could it have a cuter entrance? The stone plus the awning reminded me of some sixties' hole in the wall cocktail lounge.

The front of the store had 1920's grocery style shelving, packed with convenience store items like candy bars and potato chips, which you could buy at the counter along with your chili items.




The dine-in area was a skinny sliver of booths along a wall lined with Chris's memorabilia-- news clippings, family photos, old menus. From a framed article above where we were seated, Bab and I learned that our waitress had been with the business since the early 70's. Talk about job security!





I meant to take a picture of the dogs we ate, but I ended up having to swipe this one from their website. They were so good, and we were so hungry, I not only forgot to take pictures, but essentially forgot how to do anything but murmur "Mmmmm!" and chew. Not realizing the size of the portions, and having gobbled up our first servings, we put in a second order for a chili burger, which was extremely good, but I think I'd stick with the hot dogs next time. D-E-L-I-C-I-O-U-S.

Me sans eyeliner, sans up do, sans earrings-- only on vacation.



An annexed sort of game room just to the right of entrance boasted the Aerosmith arcade video game Revolution X (whose picture didn't turn out, but please be aware that such a thing exists) and this pinball machine, which I love. "Bad Cats" for the world.



On the wall, what I can only assume was a Hank-era, maybe later, posting of the menu and prices. I love the listing "All Kind of Beverages". Just ask! We have all kinds!



Here's a sign from the side of the road that I saw on the way down, and tried to make double sure I caught on the way home. And I did! Take a look:



Wait, what does that sign say?



"Go to Church, or the Devil Will Get You". And in case you can't tell the little sign holder guys are claws. Note his human-sized sickle! And the emphasis on his name! The lack of a sponsoring organization mentioned on the board! A perfect 10 of roadside America.

Hurray! We made it back!



As we had to stop off for food provisions before getting ALL the way home, let me show you what greeted us back as we stepped in the door of our neighborhood Kroger:



Cease and desist? Anybody? Anybody? I love his erlenmeyer flask of milk. Nice touch.

So, anyway, that wraps up this far-too-epic retelling of our summer vacation 2011. I hope if you're ever headed down Alabama-ways, the knowledge of the existence of these attractions will be of help to you. Did you go anywhere awesome this summer? Any kitsch must-see's from the vacation slides? Do let a girl know.

Vacation!! 2011 (Part One)

How-DEE, strangers. Whaddya know about the Cotton State?

Three years ago, Kelsey and I drove (or, more accurately, I passengered and Kelsey drove) across Alabama from stem to stern, on our joint summer vacation of that year. We were two overworked government employees, sea-starved in landlocked Tennessee, and what better place to sally south towards than the "Redneck Rivieria" itself, Gulf Shores ? Upon arrival, we ate most of the shrimp in the tri-county area. We sunned ourselves like fatted lizards, and watched tv in the hotel room with the airconditioning on its "desert" setting, as ladies of leisure, such as we, are wont to do. It was a GRAND vacation.

So, the day I realized I was, in fact, allotted a certain number of vacation days in my new library division job, I'll be durned if I didn't call Bab up, ask him to negotiate the leave-taking at his own place of business, and pack a Sanrio bag for another shot at the seaside!



Both of us cleared our workaday schedules so that we were free and easy from Thursday afternoon until Tuesday morning. The signifigance of this! Barring a few fortiutously placed government holidays, I haven't had two days off together in nearly a year (my weekend is of the bifurcated, every Saturday and Monday off variety). On Friday morning, there was much struggling with iTunes to make a mp3 of the audiobook version of Horns by Joe Hill (I'd just finished Heartshaped Box in one rapturous go, so the situation was desperate) and with my own scatterbrain to double check packing lists (Lisa: "Did I put my toothpaste in the green "Global Warming is Uncool" tote?" Bab: "Yes, you did." Lisa: "Are you just saying that or did you actually see it in the bag?" Bab: "I saw you put it in the bag." Lisa: "But did you subsequently see it IN THE BAG? I might have taken it back out. Where is the global warming bag?" Bab:((with the patience of an actual saint)) "It's in the car. Where you told me to put it. I can bring it back in though." ((pause)) I have Elizabeth Taylor like tendencies when faced with more than a night away from my homestead). Nonetheless, we did eventually make it out of the driveway by 9, but then had to make a detour downtown to pick up Bab's weekly check from his place of work-- the better to eat more all you can eat shrimp with, my dear.



With a chocolate doughnut apiece from Brian (workplace manager, great personal friend), and the soundtrack to Superfly blaring, we wheedled our way down I-24. I-65 is a much more direct route, but I really wanted to check out the Unclaimed Baggage store in Scottsboro, Ala. on the way down, so we made a diversion.

Doughnut gone, here's a skinny bridge of which Bab did not like the looks. And below, a pretty vista of mossy river. I have yet to get over my fascination on trips of seeing large bodies of water en route. Between yelling "Oh, look, water!" and "COWS!", I do sound a little like a bingo caller.

Unsure as I was of our Google directions (which, incidentally, we hadn't even printed out, but copied in chickenscratch shorthand into a spiral notebook about four minutes previous to walking out the door), and convinced of the fact that without constant reassurance, we would end up in backwoods Alabama and hopelessly lost, I made Bab pull over several times to make sure we hadn't missed some hinted-at fork in the road and were on the correct path. When we did this in Section, Alabama, this is what turned up next door to the Chevron station (sidenote: There are so many Chevrons the further south you go! I was unaware).

"I will give you $500 CASH for a Diet Coke!" I, too, have had my dark, caffeine-deprived moments.

Section Dairy bar was actually visited by bloggers at We Love Burgers, but sadly, Bab and I had to make time if we were going to get to Scottsboro by lunch. Catch you next time, Section burgers!

In Scottsboro, we stopped at a total bust of a Goodwill near the city square (SKY high prices, and nothing nothing nothing old) and then Unclaimed Baggage, the whole point of our eastward detour. UB is entirely stocked with the contents of lost luggage never claimed by their rightful owners after traveling the friendly skies, and if that's not the coolest concept store for a thriftaholic to indulge in during vacation, I don't know what is. I scored a great pair of aviators (which you'll see throughout the photos) for $5 and two complete sets (three pieces-- headwrap, full length skirt, and tunic top) of bona fide African women's ensembles in brilliant fabrics for $10 apiece. One pattern is just about identical to the one Gwen Stefani uses in her 2010 collection. Color me excited! I've already worn one of the tops, belted, with its oh so convenient reverse zipper (the zipper zips UP instead of down, so you can do it yourself without the aid of a helpful Bab...why don't all dress zippers function like so?!?!) and faintly winged cap sleeves, drawing compliments like flies. Now I've only to figure out the other five pieces and how/when to wear them. Great success!

I am continually amazed, on any trip out of state, at the availability of wine and sometimes liquor in any old merchant's stand or gas station you might encounter. Wine in a Walgreens...! Saints preserve us! In Tennessee, or at least in Nashville and its environs, "spirits" of any kind, pretty much anything stronger than beer, is sold solely at a booze-specific store (liquor store, wine store, some combination of the two, that sells nothing but alcohol). Makes me feel provincial.

Here are our action shots before taking off for the beach. Bab is rocking a plaid ensemble, shirt's a vintage Wrangler, snap front pearled button number, and shorts from Walmart. My shorts and fifties' lookin' swimsuit are also from Walmart. I almost bought THIS Esther Williams brand version, because who better to know about 1940's/50's swimsuits than Esther Williams? However, shortly before clicking the button and taking the $60 + s/h plunge, I was idly searching "retro" on Walmart's online website and came up with OMG IT'S THE EXACT SUIT for $26. It's on sale now for $18, and I think I'm going to buy two more to put in mothballs, as it's seriously the cutest/most flattering swimsuit ever. How often do you say that.

Beach! Oh, blessed beach! We're almost there! While it rained a little each day we were there, owing to my Girl Scout like tendency to rise before 8, no matter what the schedule, our two morning jaunts to the beach were clear and lovely.



The sea! We can see the sea! To the far left you can make out a pier we never walked down, and just a few yard further lies the spot we set up camp. Bab and I stood in the water, constantly beset upon by slash wide-eyed'edly observing, marine and plant life of all kinds (tiny fish, seaweed, crabs... the ocean was like a science class that day!), swam a little, and sunned on the beach. Just a gorgeous, gorgeous time.



The beach was practically deserted. This year, for the first time in my life, I wasn't tethered to the school year as a deadline by which a summer vacation should have to take place. While I missed the two months off, it was kind of neat to be in a summery place without sixty million tourists with the same idea.

Below, a little tableau of a sandpiper who had caught the pictured fish, but for some reason refused to eat it. He snapped it around the surf a little bit, once or twice losing his quarry to the seafoam and charging into the water to re-capture it. He would then walk around, with artful guilelessness, on the beach, as if he didn't care a fig in the world for the aforementioned fish, before taking it up once more for no apparent reason, as he never did eat it. The ways of birds are mysterious indeed.





I wish my P.O.V. was this peaceful every day, all day. Should look into moving closer to an ocean.



Our newly purchased beach towel (one of two), my coverup shorts, and my favorite Andy Warhol Foundation tote bag. Get it, beach style!



Two happy vacationers.




This pavilion was newly built when Kelsey and I came here the first time, and though we never visited it, I thought it was worth a snap. It does cut an elegant figure against the beach landscape.



Here are a few pictures of our classy, classy accomodations:



Yeeks! So, if you want to buy a really nice Microtel within shouting distance of Gulf Shores Parkway, Vallas Realty has your back.




Bab was amused by the tiny appointments, when in retrospect, they were exactly his size. Reminded us both of a Japanese urban apartment, with everything neatly space-conscious in dimension and efficiency. We liked it!

The Tin Top restaurant was a F-A-N-T-A-S-T-I-C place in Bon Secour that Kelsey and I visited, and I was heartbroken that I couldn't remember exactly what the name was or where the dad-durned place was located the second time around. All I could remember was a mindboggling delicious muffaletta at a reasonable price. Bab and I spent the better part of an hour driving down the wrong coastal roads in search of the phantom eatery. Luckily, however, I followed a sign for the same-commercial- fishing outfit-I once-again-mistook-for-a-restaurant as we did on our initial trip, and once more ran smack dab in the Tin Top! Kismet. The collard greens, pinto beans, and shrimp po'boy was so good, and I was so hungry, that I forgot to take a picture of it. But this is what the exterior looked like.




These were at a shop we ran into to get out of the rain while driving through Foley, I think. BRAND. NEW. VINTAGE STYLE. APPLIANCES. I like to had a fit.



In a minty aquamarine? The only thing that's kept me from replacing my serviceable major kitchen appliances with vintage items (which, tauntingly enough, ARE EVERYWHERE at estate sales) is my knowledge of one, donated-from-a-teacher's-basement, Cadillac-tricked-out style fifties' Frigidaire at my dad's high school workplace catching fire in mid day to the point that billowing black smoke came out of its ancient coils. Yes, it worked perfectly for sixty odd years before it kicked the bucket by BECOMING ENGULFED IN FLAMES. If I replaced my working Kenmore with some gorgeous, mid century equivalent, and if it happened to spontaneously combust while I was at work, and, I am, by the way, always at work, I would actually die of heartbreak at the loss of my domestic museum to kitsch. But here! Look! A brand new set! What's the retail price, Ed?



COME. ON. Oh, darn that dream. How are these numbers even real?

There's tons more vacation to cover, but I'll save it for part two of this post. Coming up, the greatest $8 Salvation Army find of the year, right there in Foley, Alabama, and on the trail of Hank Williams. Have you been to/know of any Alabama haunts and hollers I might swing by on the next trip down? See you at part two!