Where
have I been? Well mister, that's a downright complicated question. You
see, I've been here and I've been there, I've been up and down and
crisscrossing this amazing little backyard I like to call "America."
What did I learn? If you'll pull up a chair, I've got a few stories to
tell you.
”You look like you could stand a little cheerin’ up," said my
cellmate, an ancient little man with a patched coat and a twinkle in
his eye. I was stranded in that Alabama county jail
after a roadhouse misunderstanding, and truth was I did have a hard
case of the blues. "I used to dance me a bit,” he rasped. “Maybe a
little softshoe and a story would put a grin back on you." I looked at
his cheerfully wizened face, smiled, and nodded. The memory of the
little old man’s dances and stories linger, long after he traded me to
that other inmate for a pack of Merit Menthols.
You often heard tales of the magnificent beauty of the humpback whales that frolic near Alaska's
verdant Pacific Coast. But unless you see them for yourself, up close,
you will never truly understand how they can also be complete assholes.
If there is anything that can match the majestic vistas of the Grand Canyon, it is perhaps the many majestic liquor stores of Arizona
that tempt you along the way to the Grand Canyon. But I wouldn’t really
take my word on it, because I don’t remember ever making it to the
Grand Canyon.
How did a humble small town five-and-dime become America's mightiest economic engine? I traveled to Arkansas
seeking answers, and discovered that Wal-Mart’s amazing success story
isn’t really a mystery -- all it takes is a commitment to customer
satisfaction, efficiency, and the Red Army’s invincible Ozark Division,
according to new Wal-Mart CEO General Xiao Zheyang.
In California I walked along Hollywood's Boulevard
of Broken Dreams and learned the American Dream has its dark, seedy
side. Every year thousands of naïve beautiful actresses come here
harboring fantasies of stardom in the Hollywood Machine. Most of these
naïve girls will end up signing gigantic studio contracts and move to
Malibu. Only then do they discover the tragic truth: the Hollywood
Machine has sold me a $20 map.
High in the Colorado Rockies I learned it takes
nerves of steel to work on the emergency rescue ski patrol helicopters.
I also learned that no matter how many times you call them, they always
forget to bring those cool dogs with the miniature booze barrels.
I had heard about Connecticut nutmeg, so I decided
to buy some of the state’s famous brown spice from an independent New
Haven street vendor. I have to admit it was a little bitter at first,
but after five or six vials I found myself anxiously returning for
another tasty rock of that sweet, relaxing Connecticut nutmeg.
Ask the people of Delaware what makes their state
so special, and they’ll puff out their chest with pride and tell you
that Delaware is the first state. You know, this is exactly the kind of
arrogance that explains why Delaware and Delawarites are universally
loathed by non-Delawarites.
Of all the extreme thrills I’ve experienced nothing compares to performing in the coed pyramid water skiing team at Florida’s
Cypress Gardens, unless you count the extreme thrill of sneaking a peak
up at those pyramid chicks. And also, surviving that still-unexplained
extreme pyramid wipeout.
“Why Mister Burge, I declare your sweet talk is enough to sweep a
girl off her feet – on her wedding day!” said Jennifer, the enchanting Georgia
belle I picked up on an I-75 on-ramp. I’m not sure what she hit me with
but next thing I knew I was in an Atlanta hospital, watching the Las
Vegas cops arrest her on CNN.
When I looked out into Hawaii’s Waiamea Bay and saw
those surfers slicing across the gaping maw of a 30-foot monster wave,
the fear nearly pushed my heart into my throat. Then I told myself it
would take almost superhuman concentration to challenge the dreaded
‘Pipeline,’ so those surfers would probably be distracted while I
checked through their wallets.
I’ve got to hand it to Idaho’s resilient potatoes –
no matter how many times I baked them or diced them or mashed them,
those crazy bastards kept coming back for more.
Illinois’ ‘Windy City’ of Chicago has lots of
colorful traditions and culture. For instance, don’t be surprised if a
local asks you if you cheer for the White Sox or the Cubs. This means
he is soliciting a bribe, so my advice is to slip him ten bucks and
keep your mouth shut.
To me, nothing said "Indiana" like that lone
teenage farm kid practicing his jump shot on a barn hoop in the misty
dawn sunlight. And to him, nothing yelled “air ball!” like me, coaching
along the roadside, whenever that stupid jug-eared Hoosier rube missed.
Back home in Iowa, I was astounded when that 1890’s
baseball team emerged from the cornfield. But not as astounded as the
baseball team, when they were suddenly attacked by a pack of satanic
corn children. Later, I heard one of the baseball players escaped from
the corn children and had a tender love affair with a local Italian
farm wife. To tell you the truth, that part really didn’t astound me
all that much.
Say "Kansas" to some people and they automatically
think “flat.” But soon after you arrive, you realize its vast plains
are a complex canvas on which nature has painted a masterpiece of
sunflowers, golden wheat, and psychedelic munchkin villages. Later you
realize that man, this painting is really freaking flat.
“Talk to the damn horse all you want, but he ain’t never gonna amount to nothin’,” growled the old trainer on the Kentucky
thoroughbred farm, motioning to the stable containing a restless
chestnut stallion. Still, there was something about that horse… a will,
a heart… an indefinable desire. I don’t know why, but something told me
he could be a champion if only that energy was focused. I cautiously
approached the mighty beast, coaxing him near with a sugar cube. When
he was close and calm enough to hear my whisper, I opened the weekly
Kroger insert and showed him the 99 cent special on Alpo.
I used to think the “supernatural” was a lot of hooey -- until I met
an old voodoo Cajun swamp witch in the backwoods bayou country of Louisiana.
With my own eyes I saw how that mounted fish on her cabin wall came to
life, then I screamed in terror as it began to sing “Don’t Worry, Be
Happy.”
Which undersea mutant species is the deadliest? Some might say the hideous Lobster People of Maine. Others point to the grotesque Crab People of Maryland. For me, it will always be the terrifying Kennedy People of Massachusetts.
Inside Michigan’s notorious Eight Mile, they all
laughed and jeered when I pulled up my hood and got up on stage in that
sweaty hip hop club, where I challenged champion Detroit rapper KTO to
a throwdown battle on the mic. The laughing continued while he peppered
me with a menacing mad flow of rhymes and beats and insults. And when
his hurtful personal remarks finally caused me to run for the bathroom
in tears, I suppose there was probably even more laughing.
I don't know if I’ll ever hear a more haunting sound than cry of Minnesota's beloved loon -- government radio superstar Garrison Keillor.
“Where you g’wan with that guitar, boy?” My blood ran cold when I turned around on that dusty gravel crossroads in Mississippi
and saw the mysterious stranger. He was pale and ghostly but his eyes
burned red like blacksmith’s coals. "Welsuh, I'm headed up to Tupelo to
be a bluesman," I answered nervously. “Boy,” he cackled with demon
grin, “if you want to bargain, I’ll teach you to make that guitar
scream and wail like woman making love.” Down in the Delta, they say I was
a fool for making that deal with the devil, they say I’ve got the
hellhounds on my tail. But they also say this: there’s not a bluesman
alive who can play the entire first part of Smoke on the Water like
Hellbound Dave.
Did you know that Missouri is known as the “Show Me
State” because its people are known for their skepticism? It turns out
it has nothing to do with a voyeurism fetish. Like I told that night
court judge in St. Louis, those guys really need to be more specific
about their state mottos.
Working a dusty cattle drive under the big sky of Montana,
I spotted a pitiful little dogie calf who got separated from his momma.
Well sir, I guess I’m getting’ all soft-hearted, because right then I
split that little critter off from the herd and raised him as my own.
And, when we got to the trail end in Nebraska, he made a damn tasty
Omaha veal chop.
At that high stakes poker tournament in Nevada, I
stared across the table into the reflective sunglasses of my nemesis --
the legendary Reno Clem. I was looking for a facial tic, a raised
eyebrow, any sort of ‘tell.’ Was he bluffing? I decided to go all in.
Once again I had been suckered by my legendary dead nemesis Reno Clem.
On the exterior the flinty, rock-ribbed people of New Hampshire
can be every bit as craggy and jagged as their state’s famous granite.
But if you sit down and get to know them, you’ll find that they can be
as friendly and warm as many carbon-based life forms.
Why is New Jersey the butt of so many cruel jokes?
I recommend traveling there by car. You’ll see many charming, well-kept
towns, filled with attractive, friendly, intelligent people. Then, when
you finally arrive at the New Jersey border, you will understand why it
is the butt of so many cruel jokes.
I met an old Navajo shaman in New Mexico who
consented to lead me on a sacred vision quest. After ritually cleansing
his lodge of the wolf spirit, we shared the ancient tribal pipe of
wisdom. Our vision quest first took us to Circle K, where we sought the
bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and the Bud Light Fridge Pak. We continued
the vision quest back at his lodge, where we shared a couple more pipes
and checked out Cinemax.
I have to say New York has undergone a remarkable
turnaround in since my first trip there in 1985. When I was visiting a
few weeks ago I became inspired to participate in this amazing cleanup
story. So I borrowed a squeegee from a gas station and wandered out
into traffic seeking of unsightly windshields.
Down on North Carolina’s “Tobacco Road,” I had a
hard time telling what was more popular – basketball, stock car racing,
or moonshine. That’s when I came up with my latest North Carolina
sports idea: Drunk Smoking Nascartball.
I think I speak for all Americans when I say “hats off” to you, North Dakota
-- for your delicious wheat products, and for being an impenetrable
buffer zone protecting normal America from rampaging Manitobans.
If you’re ever in Ohio I recommend a visit to
Cleveland’s exciting Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but remember to call
at least 4 months in advance if you plan to visit the popular Billy
Joel wing. Also, if you need directions to the Britny Fox archives, ask
the museum guides. Over and over again, if necessary.
“Let’s go team, we’ve got an F2 on the radar!” I could hear my heart
thumping in my ears when I jumped into the van. I had just joined the Oklahoma
tornado chase team, and I would soon experience nature’s awesome
climactic power. When I awoke in the ditch, I realized the twister had
swept away the van, Professor Randy and Dr. Chuck, and all of my credit
cards.
I knew if I were going to be a logger in Oregon, I
would encounter environmental activists. Still, nothing prepared me for
the angry screams from the Greenpeace protestor when the tree crushed
the Volvo in her driveway.
My co-workers at the gritty mill in Pennsylvania
never discovered my secret – steel worker by day, exotic flashdancer by
night. And the other steelworking flashdancers would never discover
that I was actually secretly working toward my real dream: to become a
licensed Pennsylvania podiatrist.
For all its vaunted history of “religious tolerance,” I was shocked to learn that Rhode Island
is now controlled by theocrats who have instituted the persecution
minority spiritual practices. I myself experienced this when I left a
beachside offering of car batteries for Womba, God of Oceanic Car
Batteries.
Everyone knows that South Carolina is a mecca for
golfers, but did you know that the South Carolina Golf Club, founded in
1786, is the country’s oldest golf organization? And did you know that
the South Carolina Golf Club will prosecute you to the full extent of
the law for driving your Camaro across their golf course?
Gazing up at South Dakota’s Mount Rushmore, I
couldn’t help but think about how God has blessed our country with
leaders of such wisdom, courage and enormous enemy-crushing size.
When I walk out into the stage lights, I froze for a split second.
For years I had traveled a lonely circuit of roadhouses and honky-tonks
preparing for this moment, but I never quite convinced myself it would
ever come true. Yet, here I was -- on the stage of Tennessee’s Grand Ole Opry, staggering toward hot country singer babe Lorrie Morgan. And there she was, motioning for security.
Whether it’s an enormous plate of Texas barbecue,
“Big Tex” at the state fair park in Dallas, or Houston’s cavernous
Astrodome, one thing is certain – Texans really get mad when you
spraypaint their stuff.
Gripping the wheel tightly, I struggled to maintain focus as I roared across the Bonneville Salt Flats of Utah.
Then all hell broke when my right front caught a notch in the salt,
launching the car into a wild, helpless, end-over-end tumble. After
what seemed an eternity I found myself encased in a hissing heap of
metal, salt and debris. No, there would be no new speed record for me
that day, but at least I was alive. And that mangled Tercel was now
Avis’ problem.
My mouth was watering in anticipation of old fashioned Vermont
maple syrup when I pounded a tap into the tree, but I wondered… just
why was the tree screaming? Turns out it wasn’t a sap maple after all,
just a run-of-the-mill Vermont hippie.
When the wives and girlfriends said goodbye to the sailors at the Virginia
naval port, their lonely sacrifice made my heart swell with patriotism.
Later, when I offered some intimate companionship to these lonely wives
and girlfriends, their powerful kicks made my groin swell with agony.
Whether they’re apple farmers, aerospace workers, gourmet coffee baristas, or software billionaires, people in Washington have one thing in common: relief that Courtney Love moved.
“Fire in the hole!” I was deep inside the West Virginia
coal mine when I heard the bossman’s voice echo through its maze-like
tunnels. I began scurrying for the entrance when suddenly the dynamite
blast shook the walls, and I was buried under an avalanche of dirt and
support timbers. I struggled and clawed my way toward a faint light,
and after several hours I emerged from that tomb into the sweet fresh
air of the valley, and hugged the bossman, grateful to be alive. “Um, I
think you forgot your pickaxe,” he reminded me. As I headed back down
the mineshaft, I heard the bossman calling the dynamite store for more
dynamite.
Nearly everyone knows about Wisconsin’s famous
cheeses, sausages, and beers. But take it from me: try a stack of their
delicious Paul Bunyan hotcakes, smothered in delicious Vermont hippie
syrup.
If you ever travel to Wyoming’s famous Yellowstone
National Park, don’t make the same mistake I did. Even if you really
have to “pinch one,” don’t use the outdoor toilet they call Old
Faithful. Especially at 4:15.
Yes, I learned a lot out there on the road, but one lesson sticks
out above all others: when you go out in search of America, avoid doing
it alphabetically.
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Originally posted
here
