Tourism for Taste Buds

I recently had the pleasure of eating at The Inn at Little Washington.  A friend and I arrived in the historic town of Washington, Virginia, set in the rolling foothills of the Blue Mountains, and quickly drove right past the Inn.  I think I saw the valets waving our car down as we followed the GPS orders and turned the corner before it misleadingly announced that we were ‘arriving at destination on right.’  We didn’t see a sign or parking.  Oh Betty, Betty, Betty, you’ve led me astray again… everyone names their GPS, right?  Betty assumed she had finished her work and stopped barking orders, and we continued down the street another 100 yards before spotting a dark lot full of cars to the left and assumed we had to be close.  We parked, got out of the car and stepped back in history. 

Chef Patrick O’Connell established his restaurant in the historic little town in 1978, but the town has been around since George Washington laid out the street plan back in 1749.  Many of the town’s historic buildings have since been bought up by Chef O’Connell as he expanded his enterprise from a mobile catering business, to a restaurant - establish in what was once the town garage - to a multi-building Inn, shops, garden, and farm.  Rather than The Inn at Little Washington, I had mistakenly called it The Little Inn at Washington, which is far from true since the Inn has expanded over the years and now Chef O’Connell owns half of the little town. 

When we entered the Inn, we were greeted by a welcoming party of under-employed valets, receptionists, and coat attendants.  After their warm welcome, we continued into a two-story foyer warmed with a fireplace.  The room was lit by soft, low light, and felt like the den in a home from the 18^th century complete with a wall of period-portrait prints, a large marble bust above the fireplace, and comfortable parlor chairs at a small table.  We passed through the den and into the smoking parlor/bar, which was painted in a whimsical garden mural with monkeys dressed in fine period attire of barmen, waiters and the like hanging from the lattice work.  After soaking in the scene, we continued into the dining room, which continued the 18^th century décor theme.  The Inn’s website notes that the Inn has become the life work of Joyce Evans, a renowned stage and set designer from England.  The webpage also notes that she has shipped many of the furnishings from England and believes that one should, “never use one William Morris print in a room when five will do.”

I have a hard time sticking to one job for more than three to five years.  I believe that variety is the spice of life, however Chef O’Connell appears to feel that life is mastering the variety of spice.  As he states on his menu, “With every meal, a cook is given a blank canvas and another chance to create a masterpiece.”  He is a self-taught chef and has been dedicated to the art of culinary excellence for over forty years.  His Nouveau American cuisine has been winning accolades since he opened the restaurant.  

The list of accolades includes being ranked #1 restaurant in Washington D.C. by the Washingtonian Magazine and Washington Zagat Survey, where it has been awarded Zagat’s highest rating all categories for the last 14 years; Travel + Leisure ranked it #1 in the United States for Hotels for Foodies; International Herald Tribune rated it one of the top ten restaurants in the world; AAA’s highest award of five diamonds; and it has received five James Beard Awards, including Chef and Restaurant of the Year.  So, if you think you might only experience fine dining once in your life, this Inn is a pretty safe bet.  Though some reviewers have concluded that the food and experience is “worth every penny,” you must also expect that it is going to cost a lot of pennies. 

I joked that I had to sell off my brokerage account to afford it.  Though it is true that I sold off and closed my brokerage account before going to the Inn, it was not to pay for the dinner.  In fact it was because, unlike the impeccable service at the Inn, AXA has little to no service, and cost me much more than dinner.  As I stated in the Letter of Intent I sent to AXA to close my account:

I have found your service lacking or non-existant, fund performance sub-par, and investment and insurance selection self-serving.  I hope you find it difficult to find and fleece future clients, and I hope I can work toward supporting that goal.

I guess this blog helps support that goal as well, and on that note, I’d like to recommend that you do not do any business with AXA, and advise your friends and family avoid them as well.  They apparently believe that a brokerage ‘service’ should serve to make their clients broker with age.  But I digress.

Back at the Inn, we decided the best way to experience Chef O’Connell’s work was the ten-course Gastronaut’s Menu.  I assume it sounds a bit like Astronaut’s menu because the astronomic price tag is out of this world, but then again, I am not accustomed to fine dining.  After all, I did drive right by the valets, and parked my own car, setting the night’s theme for uncouth conduct in a fine dining environment.  Actually, I think I may have set the bar low even earlier in the evening while selecting my attire and failing to include a suit jacket.  My friend wore a little grey sweater – instead of a fancy coat – which the staff received with slight bafflement and gingerly took it in two fingers as if he had never held such a humble, dispirited-looking garment.  Despite our innocent disregard for fine dining protocols, the staff handled the situation with the utmost of professionalism, and care. 

After choosing our menu, we then had the arduous task of choosing a wine to accompany the wide array of flavors, savors, sweets and heats we were about to experience.  For a mere $200 more, we could have made the choice simple and selected the wine pairing for our menu, but we decided to ask for the wine menu instead.  It arrived in a leather-bound three ring binder with 80 pages of wines to choose from.  I guess this is why they have also won awards from Wine Spectator and Cigar Aficionado for their extensive wine list.  We deftly narrowed our choice to a Pinot Noir or Chardonnay, and after further consultation with our ‘captain,’ - fine restaurants don’t have waiters - and the sommelier, we settled on an oaked Chardonnay from a local Virginian vineyard. 

Before the first course arrived, we were pleasantly surprised with a few extra tastes to begin our gastronomic tour de force.  The first was like a mini cannoli made with a lightly salted potato chip shell filled with American caviar and a light, creamy cheese.  It was decoratively presented on a small black stone, which our captain was quick to warn us not to eat.  The warning made me wonder what circumstances led to the requirement to include this warning, or was it prompted by our glaring inexperience in fine dining. 

Throughout the dinner, we peppered our captain with questions about the chef and menu.  We asked if the chef was in, and learned he rarely takes a night off.  With the restaurant opening in 1978, it seems like he may be due for a vacation, but then again he is doing what he loves in an office he designed with garden views from the window.   During his many days at the ‘office,’ he has also prepared meals for a laundry list of Who’s Who in global politics and cuisine.  Tucked away in the hall to the restrooms are several pictures and letters from grateful diners to include President Obama, First Lady Laura Bush, the Queen of England and Chef Julia Child who celebrated her 90^th birthday at the Inn.

We also learned that the menu varies by season, but otherwise any changes are very subtle.  Patrick was once asked what an aspiring chef should do and his advice was “Mastery. All you need to do in life is master one thing. So choose one menu: A first course, a main course, and a dessert, and make it every Sunday for nine years until it’s perfect.”  If each recipe took 9 years to perfect, his menu has nearly half a century of masterpiece selections crammed into a few pages.

Beyond the food, the Inn also prides itself on their service and strives to make subtle changes in their service to ensure every guest leaves feeling better than when they arrived.  For our visit they started by adding a personalized birthday message to the menu for my friend’s birthday.  Then they quietly noted our interest in the Chef, and arranged for us to meet him and tour the kitchen after dinner.  The kitchen was everything you’d expect it to be, since it was designed by someone referred to as the pope of American cuisine.  A cathedral to food, complete with tables beside the fire place for the devoted to dine in the presence of masters at work.  The walls are done in blue and white Portuguese tiles and the massive hood over the Vulcan Range altar – built to order in France – was designed to look like King Author’s tent.  

Patrick greeted us with a warm smile and happily posed for a picture with us before we began chatting.  He was disappointed to hear that we had arrived only a few minutes before our reservation and had not had a chance to see the town during the day in order to tour the gardens, and see the llamas among other highlights.  Our Captain had mentioned how Patrick had felt a sense of home when he moved to Washington, which led him to establish the restaurant there.  Hearing him speak about it, I could tell he was proud of the house he’d created, and wished to showcase it for his guests.  The llamas led to a discussion of my visits to Peru, and he was keen to hear about their budding gastro-tourism. This man is truly all about cuisine.

Speaking about food, I guess I should give it a mention.  The meal was a sublime, cooked-to-perfection theatric performance for the taste buds.  Like any good show, our menu started with popcorn, but being part of the performance, it was flavored with Parmesan and Australian truffle shavings.  I would not do the tastes, textures, and overall experience justice by attempting a blow by blow run down of delights, but here are a few of the menu’s standouts: the Chilled Maine Lobster with Heart of Palm, Blood Oranges and Pistachios; Nantucket Bay Scallops with Chanterelles, Curried Cauliflower, Sultans and Pine Nuts; the Antarctic Sea Bass in an Asian inspired Broth Perfumed with Ginger; Truffle-Stuffed Breast of Pheasant on Savoy Cabbage Braised in Champagne; Herb Crusted Lamb with Winter Vegetable Stew on Celery Root Puree; and for desert the Pear Sorbet with Riesling Poached Asian Pear. Mmmmm, Mmmmm, Mmmmm!

In short, if you ever sell off a large sum of investments and are looking for a place to put the money, avoid AXA Advisors, and invest in an amazing dining experience at The Inn at Little Washington. 

The music scene of Athens, Georgia

I’ve learned that bar hopping in Georgia can be a bit like the classic ‘Who’s on First’ skit: 

“Let’s go watch some live music tonight.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Nowhere.”

“But I thought you wanted to see some live music?”

“I do, let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Nowhere.”

“Well, we have to go somewhere.”

“I don’t want to go Somewhere, that’s in Augusta.  Let’s go Nowhere.”

“Alright, we’ll stay in then.”

“No, let’s go to Nowhere.”

“Isn’t that the same as staying here?”

“No it’s a Bar, and we should go Nowhere in Athens, or nowhere at all.”

From Somewhere in Augusta to Nowhere in Athens and everywhere in between, I saw some great live music in Georgia.  I was staying with a friend in Athens, which has been ranked as the number one music town by Rolling Stone.  The music scene is so extensive that even the local Terrapin Brewery has live bands play several days a week, and the local farmers market has live music in the park every Saturday morning.  Athens is also a college town, so the audience is full of future earners, currently learners, that probably don't appreciate all the music, and really can’t afford it, so the shows are often free.  In some cases you get what you paid for, but in most cases the musicians rock, and are working for tips and the hopes of a record deal to become future earners themselves.  (Somewhere in Augusta is the name of a popular sports bar where we watched team USA defeat Panama in the Gold Cup soccer final.) 

NOWHERE BAR

The ‘Nowhere Bar’ in Athens has great music and has also been ranked as the eighth best college bar in America, or so they proudly claim (but don’t cite).   At the Nowhere bar, the motto is, ‘Nowhere in Athens or nowhere at all.’  I visited the place a couple of nights and they always had live music and it was almost always good.   

On Tuesdays, they have ‘The Confessional,’ a night of singer/songwriters sharing the stage like musicians house party.  When I arrived, Geoff and Jeff of The Deadfields were on stage and quickly had my ear.  They had some great lyrics and good music.  One of the first songs I caught was ‘A little spark,’ which started out slow and depressed, like a country song about losing it all.  He sang: “All my oats are sown, all my old flames are cold…” However, quickly the beat and mood picks up as he explains his need to get away from the wife and house every once and a while to bar hop.  He explains, “A little hug can lead to her car, but I swear I’ll finish my beer before it gets that far.  I just wanna know I still got that spark.”  Their full band will return to play Nowhere again on 29AUG, and I suspect they’ll fill the house. 

The next songwriter on the stage sang ‘Hit Maker’: “I sneeze and hits come out. When I tell people I'm a songwriter they say ‘ok, but what’s your job.’  People don't know the songwriter they just know the band.”  Ironically, I didn't catch his name.  I asked, found out it was Matt Hudgins, and he continued with several more good ‘sneezes,’ before Vanessa and Elizabeth of Granville Automatic came on stage.  The night continued with three more acts and all of them were impressive.  In the crowd, I saw a man who looked like Ernest Hemingway wearing a cowboy hat two sizes too small, with a fiddle case between his legs tapping his foot as the hits rolled off the stage.  I expected him to head on stage with one of the acts, but he never did... a guy in tie dye, a ten gallon hat, and sunglasses did instead.

On a Friday night, I returned to Nowhere to catch Jet Edison, described as a ‘rock/fusion’ band, but they sounded like they had heavy influence from the days when rock was parting ways with the blues.  As they played, an old pool shark cased the room arm outstretched holding a house cue, like it was a dowsing rod and he was looking for a watering hole.  He spoke to a guy at the bar with something between a threat and invitation to play pool.  The guy declined as John Wayne looked on from the wood paneled wall.  Meanwhile, an older gentlemen, who looked like he had just returned from an afternoon on the links, leans over the bar and advises the bartender that they should bring the band back.  “I’ve been in here before, and these guys are good.  You should bring them back in on a Saturday.”  Never mind that the band is from Colorado, but I’m sure the bartender will chalk that up on his to do list right after taking out the trash.  Apparently, the ladies in the bar agreed, as they were handing the band shots between sets.  “We’re getting shots from beautiful women.  It’s good to be back in Georgia.  Cheers” the singer said, as they downed the shots and started their next song.

CALEDONIA LOUNGE

I caught a local act, Monsoon, on Friday at the Caledonia Lounge, voted the “Best small venue in Athens” by the Flagpole, a local events weekly paper.  I’d say it could also win in the “Best venue that starts with a ‘C’ and ends with Lounge” category.  The Flagpole had also written up Monsoon in their latest paper and put them on the cover as the “Latest band to take the City by Storm.”  The show started early, possibly because the band had a curfew.  The lead singer/songwriter/guitarist is only 17 and looks like Kristen Stewart as Bella in Twilight, dressed in short black dress, torn knit stockings and low black heels.  The base player looked like Lenny Kravitz son, although I may have been making that association because he was wearing a T-shirt with Lenny on it.  The drummer was the old man in the trio at 20.  They were good, and I suspect they are going to get better, since they’ve only been together for eight months. 

The crowd was mostly punk/goth teens, girls in boots, spike clad jeans and pink mohawks.  The venue was black: floor, walls, ceiling, save the fan and skylight, which was still letting in a little evening light.  Just to the right of the stage, a kid was working the lights with a lapboard of dimmer switches.  At first thought he was a sound guy working an equalizer, but he was throwing the switches up and down with abandon.  He had nice rhythm, and fancy finger work, and was tapping his combat boots as he went… I began to wonder if he might simply be an enthusiast and the sound-man gave him a board to play with, but finally it dawned on me that he was lights. 

Monsoon was followed by The Debutante Massacre.  If you have seen Forgetting Sarah Marshall, you would immediately think the band was inspired by the ‘Dracula Muppet Musical’ at the end of the movie.  They were a trio as well, with a charismatic, flamboyant singer in gray slacks, button down shirt, vest and yellow tie.  He was accompanied by an electric pianist and drummer.

I stepped out between acts into the back ally ‘deck’ area between sets, and overheard a pair of parents talking about their kids.  They were the only other people on the deck and the man said, “My 15 year old talks like he is 30.”  I assume he was proud of how mature they were.  When I went back inside the 'mature' teens were developing a small mosh pit, led by none other than the lead singer of Monsoon.  Meanwhile, the small 30 plus contingent stood back shaking their heads, remembering the days when we use to find that entertaining.

The last act I caught was The Jak Locke Rock Show, from New Orleans.  The lead singer, Jak, brought his own retro style microphone, wore a suit jacket and had the facial and body contortions of Jim Carrey.  As he sang he jumped and spasmed behind the mic like there was an electric pulse in the floor.  His drummer looked like the love child of the muppet Animal and guitarist Slash from Guns and Roses.  However, no sooner had I made that association, than he put his hair up, exposing a widows peak, and changing his look to Dracula with a pony-fro.  There last song was 'Hanna', and there happened to be a Hanna in the crowd.  “Oh great, there’s never been a Hanna in the crowd before.  We’re gonna hafta play this song more often.  This is dedicated to Hanna.” Jak said, and Hanna began to move toward the stage. Then the drummer quickly added, “We usually dedicate it to Right Hand; Hanna.” And, Hanna moved back away from the stage.

THE WORLD FAMOUS

 The World Famous (another name that could confuse people when you tell them where you want to go) is another popular and trendy spot, but the venue is small.  The day I went it was packed with pierced and tattooed metal fans.  The small room made it feel like I was at a concert in an artsy apartment living room.  They had an old, bright green ironing board in the corner set up to be used as a small table with homey barstools in front of it for seating.  There was a faux mounted Rhino’s head on one wall, local artwork covering the other and two chandeliers made of rusted, rolled and twisted metal and old belt-saw blades.    However, when you walk out, through the door below the mounted Rhino, you enter a bar instead of the apartment kitchen.  On the wall behind the bar is a huge classroom-style chalk board with the menu and artwork done in colorful chalk.  The drinks are served in mason jars, and they offer Famosa beer from Guatemala.  I think the bar is about as world famous as the beer, but both grew on me. 

THE MELTING POINT

Before heading over to The World Famous, I had caught the Claire Lynch Band, at The Melting Point, which is in a historic set of buildings that was an Ironworks factory in the 1800s.   Now, it’s a collection of shops, bars and a cozy inn.  The Melting Point has an open air courtyard with a stage for some shows, but it was sprinkling that evening, so I was glad our show was inside.  Inside, the venue is intimate with a small stage surrounded by tables which are backed by second level of tables about six feet higher, and then above that is a second floor balcony with one row of theater -style folding chairs and a second row of bar stools with a narrow counter separating the two.  I arrived early, but not early enough to beat the retirees, who had already filled the first two levels of tables, so I ordered a beer and headed up to the balcony.

The shows at The Melting Point start earlier than most, and like an early dinner buffet in Florida, the early evening show brings out the retirees.  Also, like Florida, I learned that Athens is a hot spot for retirement, along with its music.  However, I can’t understand why retirees would go to the early show.  They should be the ones that stay up all night, since they can sleep in every morning.  I guess 30 plus years of work related conditioning will doom us all to being early risers.   

I didn’t come to watch the crowd, and Claire put on a great show of Americana (Bluegrass, Folk, Swing and a little Gospel).  She and her band were charismatic and her sweet Tennessee twang made everything she said lovable.  After one of the first songs she said, “Dats a dad gun good’n!  Written by a guy from Georgia.  He lives on the left coast now.”  The crowd was smitten with her and the band.  They cheered wildly at the end of each song, and clapped, hooted and hollered throughout for any and all solo instrumentals.   At one point they even cheered for the song after Claire introduced it, to which she retorted, “I haven’t done it yet.” On the next song the crowd stayed quiet after she had described the historic civil war diaries the song was inspired by, so before she got started she asked “Well, do you wanna hear it?”  After a short break to chat with the audience, sign autographs and sell CD’s, the band returned to the stage and filled the second set with requests they received during the break.  As the night progressed more and more young people began to arrive as some of the older folks in the crowd began to retire early.   But most stayed and the show did not disappoint. 

TERRAPIN

Before I left Athens, I had to check out the Brewery and the free live music they put on a few nights a week during the summer.  People who love beer typically love the social culture of beer and Terrapin's summer brewery tours exemplify this.  They also manage to blend the beer with Athens music scene, which was one of the deciding factors for them establishing their brewery in Athens.  They love the music scene, and their name even gives homage to music.  One of the two founders is a big Dead Head, who believes the Grateful Dead's album 'Terrapin Station' is the greatest album of all time, so they named their beer after it.  Additionally, they happened to meet the band's artist early on, and he now does all the artwork for the beer labels.

The brewery occupies what was once a jeans factory on the outskirts of town, which they converted because, as they say on the tour: "If you have beer, you don't need pants."  I expected that the free live music they offer when they have tours would be performed in a small corner of a tasting room and a small crowd would come and go as tours filtered through.  Instead, I arrived to find an overflowing parking lot and a steady stream of beer enthusiasts wandering into the brewery from adjacent streets and parking lots.  Also, instead of a small tasting room, they had a huge grass covered lot next to the brewery with a few beer tents, food trucks and a large stage next to the building with a few vines of hops growing up the building beside it.  People were playing Corn Hole, tossing Frisbees and kicked back in lawn chairs enjoying the band on stage.  Every hour a guide would wander through the crowd with a beat up cardboard 'Tour' sign to announce the next tour of the brewery, and a small group of followers would fall in behind him as he disappeared back into the building.  The tour was both entertaining and informative and for ten dollars you got a souvenir pint glass, six half pint tastings, and two full pints from the selection they had on tap. 

‘Nowhere in Athens or nowhere at all.’ I’ll drink to that.

The Town Too Beautiful to burn

While touring some historic homes in Athens, I was told, on two separate occasions, that I should also visit the town of Madison, if I liked historic places and architecture.  The first girl told me that that it is known as the city that was too beautiful to burn, which led me to ask if Athens was burned.  She didn’t know, but the second told me that Athens had been outside of Sherman’s path to the sea.  “In Athens, we destroyed our own history in our efforts to modernize.”  She said with chagrin.  However, she admitted there does need to be a balance, and Athens had been doing a lot to preserve its historic buildings since the late 1970’s.

I decided to take a day trip to Madison, and learned that the motto ‘Too beautiful to burn,’ was not exactly true. Gen Sherman’s army did burn the railroad depot and warehouses in the city, but they did leave the town itself untouched.  Also, although it is a beautiful antebellum town, it was really saved by the people who new Sherman.  Before the Civil war began, Joshua Hill was a US senator who lived in Madison.  Hill knew Sherman and asked him not to burn the city.  Sherman honored the request, and reportedly ordered soldiers to guard all the homes in the city to ensure they were not burned as the army passed through, tearing up the railroad and destroying supplies the southern army might use.  Hill’s home is on the walking tour of town, and I thought it was one of the most impressive ones in town.  

Today, the town continues to preserve its past with almost extreme measures.  As I drove through town, I noticed that the only national chain business around are kept on the outer edge of town.  I also was told that someone had tried to open a Hardees restaurant, but the townsfolk protested.  It was built anyway, and designed fit into the antebellum style of the town.  This did not appease the people of Madison who refused to eat there.  The place quickly went out of business and reportedly the building remains empty.  I tried to find it, but only found a BP station the met the same fate.  

Another thing I found odd was the city center was dominated by brick buildings, but beyond the city center, brick was very rare.  Apparently it was not as beautiful as the rest of town, because the area surround the center square did burn, in 1869, just as the city was beginning to recover from the civil war.  It was rebuilt in brick, giving it a different look from the rest of the city.

I started my tour at the Roger and Rose house, where I met Betty.  She was my guide and knew a little about Madison, because she moved there as a young woman.  She was looking for work and had an aunt that was packing parachutes at an Air Force base, and she hoped she could get a similar job.  However, her mother was afraid Betty might meet a man in the Air Force, and she would never see her again.  “Mom heard about a job for AT&T in Madison, so she boxed me up and sent me here.”  

Betty started out as a switchboard operator back then and continued to work for AT&T for 30 years.  An impressive career, that came with a pension, but she wasn’t done.  She then moved on to being a bus driver, driving 104 miles a day to “collect up my kids” from around the county’s farms and return them again after school.  She drove the bus for another 22 years, but she still wasn’t ready to retire.  She told me “I have found that I like livin’.  And I’ve seen my friends retire and say, ‘I’m not gonna do nuttin’.  But they ain’t with us no more.  ‘If you don’t use it, you lose it,’ is what I say.” So, she got a job with the Madison Historic Society as a tour guide, where she has been for the last eight years.  I don’t know if you’re doing the math, but that is 60 years of work.  I didn’t ask her how old she was but if she started work at 20 she’d be 80 and still guiding tours five days a week.  I asked if she was a volunteer, and she said, “No, I get paid enough to put gas in the car, and buy myself an outfit now and again.”  

I was beginning to realize she was a bit of a historic treasure, as she told me about the Rogers House, the oldest home in Madison.  The first owner bought the lot $111 in 1809, when the town was founded, and sold the house a year later for $1000.  Not a bad return on his investment.  Over the years the house had 17 owners until it was bought by the city and restored to what it would have looked like in 1873.  In one room they had stripped the wall down to show some of the original wall paper.  Betty told me, “They would have nailed the wallpaper up in the fall and taken it down in the Spring.  No insulation here, so the wallpaper kept in the warmth, and the cracks between the boards let in cool air in the summer.”

As a switchboard operator she said she learned a lot.  “That movie The Help, that could have happened right here in Madison.  Mmhmm.  You better believe it.”  She told me many of the homes in town have been in the same families for generations, and the Stokes-McHenry House has been in the same family for seven generations!  All these families had accumulated a lot of wealth with plantations and pastures across Georgia.  For example, Dr Eligah E Jones had a home on Main Street and owned 114 slaves and over 3000 acres of land across the state.  He worked as a doctor with the Confederacy, and his beautiful Greek Revival home is now the Heritage Hall, donated to the city in 1977.  When Betty came into town the slaves were long since emancipated, but the town was still divided.  There was a colored neighborhood, many of the families still had servants and the ladies of the house gathered and gossiped much like they did in The Help.

“When I arrived I was that girl that the women talked about in church, but I had an Ace in the hole,” she told me.  Her uncle was a member of one of the well to do families, and when she sat with him at church one Sunday, and was introduced as his niece, suddenly opinions changed.   “I was that same girl they had been talkin’ about just last week.”  

I asked if she still felt like an outsider in the town.  “No, I feel like a Madisonian now.”  She raised a family there, and now she even has great-grandkids there.  She said when she first arrived she lived in a boarding house between the Baptist and Presbyterian churches.  “You can’t miss it.  Blue with white trim, right between the churches on Mains Street.”  My walking tour of the town included her old home, known as The Magnolia House.  It turns out that during the renovation, they discovered a trap door and tunnel, believed to have been used as part of the Underground Railroad.

After we finished touring the Rogers House, she took me next door to the Rose House, which was built by Adeline Rose in 1891.  It is a small and simple home, but what is most impressive about it is Adeline, who was born into slavery, but “was the hardest workin’est woman” in town according to everyone Betty talked to. Betty said she use to hear about Adeline all the time when she first moved to town and set out to meet her.  She never did, but discovered, “She worked for one family, but did the laundry and babysat for nearly everyone in the county.”  She lived in the house she built for 68 years, until her death in 1959.  She had a boy and girl but outlived them both, so in 1966 the city purchase the home and moved it to the present location. As the brochure says, “It was felt that it was very important to save this little house built out of the labor of love of a woman who was born into slavery.”

As we toured Betty asked where I was from, and when I told her Wyoming, she said, “Oh, never been out that far, but I hope to take a road trip with my boy one day.  He’s 53, but he’s still my baby boy.  Maybe even out to Washington, and then we’ll loop back down and come back another way.”  

I said, “Well you should take a little vacation, and get on the road.”  

“Ah, maybe next year… or the year after that.” 

She then went on to tell me, “My husband use to drive long haul.  Every time he went on a trip our boy would say, ‘Can we go momma, can we go.’  Well one time the brakes went out on the truck.  We were stuck out on the side of the road overnight, and trucks didn’t have air in those days, so we had the windows down.  Boy, those mosquitoes ate us up.  After that, every time he had a trip, our boy would say, ‘We can’t go momma.  The bugs will bite us.’  I guess the brakes going out was a blessing in disguise.” She chuckled.

Well Betty, when you take that road trip, I hope you enjoy Wyoming as much as I enjoyed talking to you.

From Russia with Love?

I'm crushed.... I thought I had an impressive blog following from Russia, but it appears they may simply be trolling blogs for contact information for phishing scams.  As I mentioned in a previous post, I enjoy the stats that Google provides for bloggers on their site.  They not only let you know how many views your blog/posts have, but also provide information on which countries readers are connecting from and what websites/search engines are leading the most readers to your site.

On my blog, my second highest 'readership,' after America, has come from Russia and the most common referal site has been yandex (a Russian version of Google).  I was flattered, until I took a look at my spam e-mail folder and discovered many 'love letters' from yandex users like Juliya, who wrote:

Hi. I write this and I believe that you answer me. I hope you will be an interesting conversationalist and a good friend and maybe more. Many Humans began their relationship through correspondence. And so I decided to try it.
I am an educated, active, ambitious ... I appreciate in people a sense of proportion and the ability to laugh. :) But most of all I appreciate the confidence and the willingness of men to a new relationship. You are ready to start a new relationship? What do you think about this? Write to me. My email pinace@yandex.ru I look forward to a response. Best wishes, Juliya

'Her' e-mail sounds innocent enough, but also came with a warning from my e-mail spam box that the e-mail was similar to other e-mails associated with scams/phishing, and recommending I do not respond or provide personal details.  Such a shame, I thought Juliya and I could have been something, "and maybe more."

Meanwhile, I assume Tonya had been love struck by two of Cupid's arrows, because she sent me two e-mails... each from different accounts and with different contact information.  I liked her first subject line: 'Lets Talk More My Bunny.'  Aawwwe, we already have pet names.  In that e-mail she told me a bit about herself:  "I am 25, I have finished medical university in our city and now I work as the children's doctor. My free time I spend on a hippodrome, as I 7 years am engaged in equestrian sport.  I think more about my appearance will tell you my photos."  And in the second she focused more on me: "I would like to start correspondence with you, i have seen your profile and I'm very interested. I'm looking for loyal, romantic and intelligent guy for serious relations."

I'm sure we would have hit it off, but I think she should focus on giving great medical care to the children, rather than our long distance romance.  Although, I did appreciate the fact that she knew the way to my heart was talking about how awesome I am.  Thanks Tanya, I'm glad you noticed. 

With all the love interest from Russia, news of cyber attacks on the US from China, recent cyber attacks on S. Korea's banking and media industry, and a recent flair up in e-mail hacking on my friends' accounts, I thought I would also offer some computer/Internet security advice:

1) Not everything you read on the Internet is true.  Shocking I know, but please do a search before forwarding that warning or government conspiracy e-mail, or reposting it on Facebook.  Snopes.com is a good place to start for those.

2) If you receive an e-mail from a friend with a hyperlink or attachment, be suspicious first. (This is also true for social media posts)  If it contains no personal message from your friend, or the message is very generic, contact them and ask if they really sent it, BEFORE you click on the link or open the attachment.  This is a common way viruses, trojans, worms and other malware/spyware is spread. 

If your e-mail account is hacked and this kind of e-mail is sent from your account, or if you click a link or attachment on an e-mail like this you should:

a. Contact everyone in your contacts and tell them not to open attachments, or click on hyperlinks.

b. Delete the e-mail

c. Update your anti-virus/malware software and run a virus scan of your computer. 

d. Change your e-mail password from a separate/clean computer.  You may want to change other passwords you have for other accounts/services as well.

3) I could go on forever, but instead, here are some other good reference sites to learn more:

As I mentioned above: http://www.snopes.com/  Interestingly, snopes started as a 'mom and pop' website founded by Barbara and David Mikkelson, who did it as a hobby because they enjoyed researching urban legends.

Hoax-Slayer: http://hoax-slayer.com/ which "is dedicated to debunking email hoaxes, thwarting Internet scammers, combating spam, and educating web users about email and Internet security issues."

The FBI e-scam alerts: http://www.fbi.gov/scams-safety/e-scams Although, you know how efficient the government is... so if you find it here, it is probably already too late.

And, if you dont have anti-virus software, get some ASAP. If you use Microsoft software you are at greater risk because they are the largest target.  Also, for mobile devices Android platforms are more risky because their APP vetting is not as controlled as Apple.  If you are big into Android APPs watch your bills (phone and credit) closely, because free APPs can cost you big, when they are a scam.  But I digress... Here is a review of Antivirus software products with some good links for discount purchase: http://anti-virus-software-review.toptenreviews.com/ppc-index.html?s_kwcid=TC-17158-13623072708-bp-1466630141

4) Did you click those links on number three?  If so, please review number two?  I'm kidding, but seriously, be suspicious of links.  

5) If you read this far and you are actually a legitimate Russian who enjoys my blog, tell Juliya and Tonya I said Hello, from America with love.

Coffee and Music in Colorado Springs

Since I'm currently anchored on American shores, I thought I'd write a little more about the local scene here in Colorado Springs.  I guess that would make it Random Ramblings of an American, which is three out of four unitl I can get abroad again... or return to writing about previous travels.  At any rate, I hope you enjoy the ramblings...

COFFEE

In yet another study, they have determined that coffee is awesome, and drinking large amounts is not only unharmful, but may extend the life of drinkers.  I drink coffee, and I didn't need another study to motivate me to drink more, but in a recent visit to a local coffee shop I was humbled by true parishioners of the cult of coffee.

Urban Steam is a new coffee shop in Colorado Springs.  It doesn’t have the best location, tucked away on a side street behind a power plant’s billowing steam, which may have inspired the coffee shop’s name.  Inside, the shop has an industrial chic look with light fixtures you might see in a mine shaft, classic pictures of workers lunching on a sky-rise I-beam, exposed cinder-block walls, and concrete floors splattered with colorful paint.  On one wall, they have several colorful posters explaining the various attributes to coffee flavor surrounding a 'Coffee Taster’s Flavor Wheel' that looks like a round periodic table for a chemist studying the flavor and aroma influences of coffee.  Meanwhile, their menu was fairly stark with black and yellow large font lettering, reminiscent of a construction sign.  Unlike Starbucks’ wide array of flavored concoctions, Urban Steam would only deviate as far as offering a mocha. 

I got in line behind a local girl who was chatting with the proprietor about life and coffee and after she ordered I stepped up, ordered a latte, and asked if they could add a shot of caramel.  I could almost detect a slight wince at my request -- like the response one might expect at a fine steak house if you asked for A1 -- but he said he could do it.  I took a seat and he and the local girl began chatting again.  The first thing out of his mouth was, "I'm glad to see you’ve moved away from the flavored syrups." 

Ooh, nice jab. I thought as she replied, "Yeah, I really noticed how the flavored syrup was concealing the nutty flavors of the coffee."

I would have accused her of cheating by using the periodic flavor poster to bolster her response, but it was across the room, so I sat quietly, buried my nose in my book, and waited for my drink to arrive.  Meanwhile the next customer arrived and again struck up a conversation with the barista, like he was catching up with an old friend.  He too was a coffee connoisseur, and began discussing the various beans on offer noting, "I liked the coffee I had last time with the leathery notes." 

Taking this feedback the barista went down his shelf of bean jars and pulled one down, like a classic novel from the library shelf.  "You'll like this one then, it is a dirty bean." 

What?! Dirty? Are we talking about martinis or coffee here? 

My latte arrived and I must say it was flavorful. He had also gone light on the caramel, so I could appreciate the nutty flavor of the coffee.  However, I dared not compliment him on the coffee, for fear that he might launch into Quentin Tarantino’s coffee diatribe from 'Pulp Fiction':  "I don't need you to tell me how fuckin' good my coffee is, ok? I'm the one who buys it. I know how good it is."

Instead, I quietly enjoyed both the coffee and the friendly 'Cheers'-like banter in the coffee shop where everyone knows your name.

MUSIC

I arrived at the 'Black Sheep' to find a line wrapping around the building and down the street to the neighboring bar. The crowd in line made me feel like I was crashing a high school dance, and as I made it inside I found close to half the crowd had X's on their hands to indicate they were underage.  The venue has been a 'Best Live Music' winner in the local Independent paper for years, which accurately describes it as "vaguely dungeon-like."

The interior is painted in all black, except for the white venue logo in the middle of the side wall. The whole venue is about the size of a basketball court, but with ten-foot ceilings, you’re not going to be putting in a hoop.  Except for the benches lining the two side walls, the place has no furniture and consists of a long bar running back to the end of the building, on your left as you walk in 'at half court,' and then the standing-room only section on the other half court in front of the stage.

The pit quickly filled to near the 400-max capacity before the first act, Motion Trap, sauntered onto the stage.  Like the crowd, they were young and looked like they had dropped out of high school to come on tour.  The band was dressed in buttoned-down shirts and thin silk ties, and started us out with an electronic jam session. 

Their lead had a Justin Beiber haircut and a baby face.  He was so committed to his electronica art that he even arrived on stage smoking an oversized electronic cigarette, which seemed almost like a prop and reminding me of the hookah- smoking caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland.  During the set, the lead worked the computer mixer and played bass accompanied by two more guys on guitar and one on drums.  

The young band had not developed a strong stage presence and didn’t have lyrics for any of their jams, so it felt a bit like we had snuck into a garage session among friends. Their music was well received, but the audience was obviously more interested in the upcoming performances and I heard several comments from the crowd like, “I have no idea who these guys are.  I finally asked a bouncer, and he said they are 'Motion Track.'”

New Politics were far more comfortable on stage and quickly got the audience jumping with their deep bass beats and lyrical rap anthems.  The lead singer had incredibly high energy and as he danced, jumped and sang across the stage.  I began to wonder how he could maintain this energy and performance level through a set let alone an entire tour. 

At one point in the show the lead singer asked the crowd to create a circle in the middle of the venue and then asked those closest to the circle to kneel down so others could see.  "A little bigger or I might kick you guys in the face." he warned before he did a back flip off the stage to start the next song, followed by a break dance routine in the middle of the crowd, before returning to the stage to sing the tune 'Just Like Me.'

The bands lyrics seemed to be tinged with American political themes, like guns in schools in their song 'Dignity,' so I was surprised when the band announced they hailed from Denmark and touring America was a dream come true for them.  They left the crowd pumped and the bar raised for the main event: Twenty One Pilots.

As condensation began to fall from the rafters like rain and the temperatures climbed in the packed house, the lights dimmed and the crowd cheered in anticipation of the Pilots’ entrance.  Drummer, Josh Dunn, entered the stage in the bands Skeleton suit and began the first bass track before the singer, Tyler, leaped over the piano in a blaze of lights and smoke to open their set with 'Ode to Sleep,' which served as more of a wake-up call to the audience.

Their songs are laced with hints of suicide, but the band focused on overcoming the hard times. Between sets, Tyler took this to an evangelistic crescendo in a ‘Come to Jesus’ like moment.  He said, “I know I’ve asked this already, but I’m going to ask again; and only answer if you mean it; but I want hear you.  Are you happy to be alive tonight!?”  As the screams of affirmation died down he continued, “I know we struggle and may be facing the same struggles, but when you are down remember this night, this energy, this crowd.” And as the crowd roared, and the bass beat threatened to rattle the rivets loose in the rafters, they got the crowd jumping with their next song.  

If the Black Sheep is a dungeon, than a life sentence sounds pretty awesome in the company of bands like these.