Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
I was in a coal mine on Saturday. Yeah, it was a touristy tour-type
tour, but it was a coal mine nonetheless. The old #190 Slope, to be
exact. Toney suggested we take the Secrets, and I groaned a little
inside, fearing cheesiness. But it turned out to be a pleasant surprise.
I'd been on one of those deals before, in Beckley, WV, and it was the
source of my hesitation. It was a long time ago, but I remember it as
being prettylame. I recall lots of mannequins dressed in
novelty mining clothes, and sitting beside powdered-up old ladies in a
modified coal car on a trip underground that wasn't nearly scary enough.
And, of course, a large gift shop that sold "souvenir spoons"
and whatnot.
I'm not sure if this Lackawanna mine is simply better, or if I enjoyed
it more because I'm an old man now. But it was fun. The descent into the
black hole was a little unnerving, smelly, and rough, and that's all
good stuff.
Our guide was also excellent. With his help, I walked around down there
imagining what it must've been like for the miners working in the dark,
breathing the dust, and dealing with the danger. I thought about their
home life, and how difficult it must've been in those days.
In Beckley I was probably looking for an RC machine, preoccupied with
getting my hands on a Nehi Red Apple.
Of course there were a couple of douchebags in our group yesterday,
trying to impress us all with their vast knowledge and probing
questions. But that goes with the territory, doesn't it? You just
fantasize about "accidentally" bumping them over a railing and
sending them down a darkened shaft, and that seems to help.
A painfully skinny teenage girl was shivering and showboating for
everyone (it's a constant fifty degrees down there), and she was a
little harder to take. I wanted to tell her to have a freakin' burger
once in a while, and get some platelets in her blood, and she might not
shatter like a delicate flower at the slightest change in temperature.
Jesus J. McChrist.
But I liked the way the ceiling kept
getting lower and lower the longer we walked; it created a mild feeling
of claustrophobia. And the dampness, and the constant drip drip drip....
I liked the stories the guide told us about the kids who worked down
there (as young as seven years old), tending to the work-mules (some of
which lived their entire lives underground), and how they went about
stopping the big (and brakeless) five-ton coal cars. Let's just say that
it was a process
that could easily earn a person the nickname "Ol' Seven
Fingers." Holy crap.
So, it was an enjoyable way to spend an afternoon. And the place is only
a few miles from our house. Who knew? Maybe I'll try to set aside my
deep, deep prejudices more often, and just go with the flow? Sometimes
it works out.
I took a bunch of pictures, but most of the shots inside the mine itself
didn't work out very well. Unless, of course, you like black rectangles
with a blurry light up in one corner.... Here's the best I could do.
Hopefully it'll give you a general feel for the place.
Pretty cool.
-- On Sunday Toney and I worked in the yard for two or three hours. The
grass was kinda high (I don't care if the neighbors put together a
petition, I'm not mowing in 98% humidity), but we got everything
whipped into shape, and it looks really good now.
And how's that for a pisser? Last weekend, when we were camping, it was
like hell on earth. This weekend, when we're just hanging around at home,
temperatures are in the 70s and the soul-sapping humidity is at a
tolerable level.
Ya just gotta love it.
In the afternoon I went out and bought a six-pack of some sort of
highly-hopped American microbrew, and we sat on the deck and partook. A
beautiful day. It seemed like the bugs were even on vacation.
God is Allen Funt, isn't he?
-- And just so you're completely up to date on our exciting weekend, I
watched Kiss Kiss Bang Bang on Saturday: an entertaining
flick with hilarious dialog. I also ripped through the first disc of the
first season of Perry Mason, which was also great. One of my
all-time favorite shows.... Every episode is like a really good movie.
I did some reading on Raymond Burr after I finished watching the shows,
and I'm still a little surprised at his gayness. I had no idea, until he
died and news reports said he was survived by a "life
partner." Apparently they lived in northern California for decades
as a married couple, raising flowers and running a vineyard(!).
Whatever. It's not like I care one way or the other, but you usually
hear rumors about such things. Ya know? I knew nothing of Perry
Mason's sweet tooth for the man ass. Gomer? Check. Paul Lynde?
Obviously. Rock Hudson? Not exactly shocking. But Raymond Burr?? No.
On top of that, my research revealed that not only was Perry Mason a
homosexual, but Paul Drake was not. It's like we're living in the
bizarro world.... It's almost as hard to fathom as Bob Mould being
gay, while the members of Depeche Mode are all married and have a bunch
of kids. Sometimes it's almost too much for the brain to process.
Hello?
-- Here are last night's (lackluster)
Deadwood numbers, and you're all caught
up.
--
I was in a coal mine on Saturday. Yeah, it was a touristy tour-type
tour, but it was a coal mine nonetheless. The old #190 Slope, to be
exact. Toney suggested we take the Secrets, and I groaned a little
inside, fearing cheesiness. But it turned out to be a pleasant surprise.