Meet Virginia

Evangeline and I recently finished our “girls only” road trip to Virginia. Good music, good conversation (as much as an 8 year old can dialogue), overall good mom and daughter time. The green, sweet smelling mountain air and the gradual increase of southern twang and hospitality reminded me of why I’ve always wanted to live in the South. I don’t just mean in Virginia, but in the Deep South, where you can use words like Mason Dixon, parasol, y’all, plantation and talcum. Oh, to sip a mint julep on a porch swing would be divine.

I do have two observations about the Commonwealth of Virginia that left me a bit ruffled.

Upon our return trip, we saw several road signs indicating a place called Biscuit World. To a carb addict such as me, the sign might as well have been pointing directly to Heaven. What was this Biscuit World and what kind of blessings on a bun did they serve?

We decided to indulge our quixotic side, and try this enticing place. So, whenever we saw a highway sign for the gourmet eatery I’d get all excited and yell out in typical Wayne’s World fashion, “Biscuit World, Biscuit World Party on Excellent!” Evangeline, of course, being of the deprived generation, had no idea what I was doing, but as long as this behavior pattern led to a little slice of heaven, she was happy to oblige.

At three different exits we attempted to find the elusive, yet advertised, Biscuit World. Three different times we left disappointed and hungry with a lather of grouchiness foaming inside. Either the building was closed down or had been replaced with a Butt Hut, cigar and cigarette outlet. No Biscuit World. Anywhere. Oh, the disappointment! How I would’ve auctioned a limb to get the mouth-watering Southern goodies that waited.

I don’t know, maybe it’s too much to ask that if you advertise a place on the road sign, the corresponding establishment should be there!

Another draw back to Virginia is the humidity factor. Here in Ohio, my naturally curly hair is manageable, dare I say it, able to be straightened, if I have a few extra hours. Not so in Virginia. My hair kinked and curled and resorted to a general state of POOF. I walked around a good two inches taller than usual, thanks to the orbital explosion of my head. I looked like a fat, white woman with a ‘fro, kinda like that creepy, big-headed statue that stands outside those Big Boy Restaurants.

It’s probably a good thing I never found a Biscuit World.

The Big O

I’m getting ready to road trip with my eight year old daughter to Virginia. I'm going to be driving some volleyball players to a team camp there and I thought it would be fun to take Evangeline. It should only be about a seven hour drive, however, having just seen Deliverance I'm refusing to drive through the state of West Virginia, so it's going to be much longer.

Such an event calls for audio books. Our county library is so lame it left me agonizing between The Life and Times of Rodney Dangerfield or The Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama. Both are as about appealing as being a Soul Train dancer. I picked up the Obama book after a fierce competition of rock, paper, scissors with myself.

Then I remembered that I heard on the news earlier that Oprah plans to help raise campaign funds for Obama.

So I started wondering what it would be like if Obama and Oprah hooked up, got married and began a one name empire. Just think of the ridiculous media barrage we’d be subjected to if that came to fruition. Egad, the fourth vowel would be raised to almost biblical proportions. The letter itself would achieve sainthood, but only the long sound, not the short sound.



Even their initials together point to some hidden agenda. B.O.O.W. BOOW. BOW. Bown down and worship the great O's. They will not be treated as mere mortals but god-like in all their televised greatness.

He could use her billions and she would become the first lady of the United States. She would, of course, have to slum it in the White House. Her decorating friend Nate would be called upon to fix the feng shui from the previous administration.

And then what if instead of having a poet laureate, she hired Bob Greene and we the people were subjected to diet and fitness tips for the whole term.

And then Oprah's Book Club would reach universal popularity. Even Kim Jong Il would come on to the show to discuss The Secret, except he would be asked to leave because as soon as anyone disagreed with him, he would squint through his fiberglass lenses while making death threats in Korean.

Of course, First lady Oprah could find cave dweller Osama bin Laden and coax him onto the show where Dr. Phil would be waiting. I bet in a forty five minute segment, she could start world peace.

And then, I thought, what if, for her cause, she eschewed the cliquish topics like world hunger, and instead chose to bring Botox breaks to the workplace. She could make it mandatory that employers offer Botox injections during employee breaks and that would be really cool. I’d vote for that.

You can see how one could get carried away with the possibilities. Although Rodney Dangerfield looked tempting, in the end, I opted for La Traviata, if nothing more than to make me look smart.