microsuede for beginners

Today's post is a good jumping on point for new readers. It has almost all of the classic Microsuede staples (cliches), but you won't be confused by all the back-continuity. I think you can pick up the story right from here without having to consult the wikipedia page or go hunting for past entries.

Weekend! A series of happenstances between Emily and Tracy led to a plan to visit Heber City in pursuit of a corn dog. Legend has it that this corn dog is the best corn dog around.

I was excited to go because I've never spent any meaningful time in Heber. Aside from a recent night-time raid I've only ever passed through. It's a nice little burg, a true small town nestled within the Wasatch Moun'ains.


To the right you can see the corner of The Dairy Keen, home of the corn-dog. This apparently is the place to be on a Friday night. It was packed, and there were at least thirty high school kids working behind the counter.

The paging system seemed a little too complicated for a one-dollar corn dog. can't they just yell out "97!"?

When the dog is ready the pager beeps, vibrates, and a robot voice says "Your order is ready. Please return to the counter to pick up your order." Weird. Oh, the dog was pretty good by the way.

Post corn-dog plans involved a stop by the cemetery. I like cemeteries aesthetically, for the stories they can tell, and because they remind me of the circle of life and all that junk. The cemetery in Heber is particularly interesting though.

There's this guy:

I'm a wannabe WWII buff so I was fascinated by this one. I've researched Sgt. Edwards' division, trying to see what steps he took. From what I gather he would have gone from Heber to Camp Barkley Texas, Fort Dix New Jersey, England, Wales, Normandy, and finally back to Heber.

Presuming this guy was in combat, he would have landed on Utah Beach two days after D-Day, and been involved in some pretty fierce battles while trying to retake northwestern France. Again, presuming he was killed in combat, he would have died while the 357th liberated the prefecture of Mayenne. I don't know if this is interesting to anyone but me... I dunno. This twenty-three year old from sleepy Heber City, going halfway around the world and meeting his end to free people he'd never meet, then making the long journey back to Heber. It's something.

While we're talking long journeys, I like this headstone. "Died in this city."

Here's this.

Same stone from the other, spookier side.

Three children from the same family, all under the age of two.

Can you even imagine? My biggest struggle on any given day is deciding where to go to lunch or dealing with the hassle of my wi-fi not working.

[pause for dignified reflection]

Here's someone walkin' around.

At first I was pretty excited that I'd captured a ghost on film, but it turns out it's just Emily. I guess I should have been tipped off by the fact that the ghost was dressed just like Emily.

One more cemetery pic and we're done.

Okay! Time to see what the Heber night life has to offer, starting with a stroll down Main Street.

This is posted in the doorway of a sewing machine store.

Ken's a great guy, willing to accommodate an after hours sewing repair emergency.

Neon. This place carries parts for all cars.

This restaurant saloon is called the Spicy Lady.

It claims to be the oldest building in Heber, and the oldest bar in Utah. It was only refurbished recently though and made into a mostly family friendly affair.

My attempts to hit on the waitresses were unsuccessful.

"Are you a spicy lady? Did they name this place after you, caliente chicadilla?"

The important thing is that they serve kangaroo meat. I was almost going to order it even though it was $22 and I wasn't hungry, but luckily I could get my kangaroo fix in a more economic quesadilla format.

Tastes like marsupial.

Finally we ended up at a place called The Other End. Had there been a piano player he would have stopped playing as soon as we walked in, as every sleeveless shirted cowboy hatted head turned to glare at us. Not my usual scene, but it was a friendly enough place. At one point I found myself alone on the patio (not uncommon at bars/restaurant/social functions) breathing the fresh country air and looking up at the big orange moon (likely a product of the California wild-fires). Just over yonder a bull was grazing. It was nice.

I didn't take too many pictures as it didn't seem like a picture takin' kind of place, but I had to get my neon.

And that's that. So long Heber.

Nothing happened on Saturday that can be considered more noteworthy than this.

A long time ago someone thought that mixing clam juice and tomato juice would be a good idea. Then someone else thought that mixing this clamato with beer would be a good idea. Guess what? It's not. In fact it might be the worst idea anyone has ever had. I took a swig and reflexively spit it out. Yich.

Unlike Budmato, there's one thing that's always a good idea. Watching the Wire. Here's a B's eye view of that affair.

Sunday was the boringest day ever, the end.