Sounds like the slogan for a disability support group, in a universe where being sighted is considered a disability. And why shouldn't it be? Seriously... list some reasons.

Which brings me to another point. What if no one is reading this. And no one is out there to list reasons why sighted-ness is not a legitimate disability in an alternate universe?

And perhaps no one is reading this. I mean, I think Dawn and maybe Steve are checking in periodically. And maybe we'll eventually round up some readers at the meet. But, entertain this with me for a second. Or. y'know, if I really am just blogging to myself, then, uh, I guess I have free reign here. So, yes, me, go ahead, and I will entertain this for a second.

So, let's say that this is an alternate universe... or at least an alternate blog... or still this blog, only I didn't (and never will) mention it to anyone. What if I were just writing. And posting it on the internet. Isn't that a bit like chucking a thought scribbled on a napkin out the car window into a ditch... or firing a beacon into space... or, to use a more common metaphor, floating a message in a bottle.

(message in a bboootttlleee... thank you Sting)

It is a bit like that, isn't it? Because it's out there. It exists. It is accessible to whomever happens to stumble upon it, should anyone ever stumble upon it (just like a beacon in space!).

So, if I am indeed speaking to you, whomever you are, in whichever alternate universe you happen to be in, then I suppose this was all worthwhile. All of this musing. If, however, you are not reading this, then, I suppose, I should not have bothered to write it.

Moving On!

Things I Learned About America

The only things to do in Michigan City, Indiana are get married and close down your business. As we drove down to the beach, the streets were lined with "for lease" signs in windows, intermittently peppered with bridal shops.

Strange sort of ghost town.

Here's some picture based storytelling, which details the events of our first evening on the open road

This sign tells me that somewhere between the guest rooms and the courtyard is the Holidome...

"Wwwwhhhhaaaattt??!!" you say, "What in the name of St. Sheraton is a Holidome?"

"Well," I reply, "A holidome is apparently very much like a swimming pool."

"But," you retort, "there is also a foos ball table."

"Yes," I concede, "In fact, there is."

Then Julia and Steve risk their well-being in order to retrieve precious warm clothing from the van!

And on to dinner. Dinner, at a spot we affectionately call Lucifer's, because somehow that's what we perverted out of "Damon's". Of course, I am using the royal we here.

Oh! I forgot to mention that before this holidome business, there was a girl asleep on a chair in the lobby, clutching her cell phone as though she were either text-messaging, or holding stead while she exposes a mobile deguerrotype photograph. There would be a photograph of this, but my conscience (i.e. Julia) prevented this.

Anyway, at dinner there were these hilarious devices so that each table could get the audio from whatever massive TV screen they wanted.

But our table was apparently moved closer to an electrical outlet by some burly men, an act which in turn ripped out the wiring for this device. Said wiring remained cozily at our feet throughout dinner.

Highlights from dinner includeL

Andrew shoots lettuce out of his nose

Andrew's food tastes like band-aids

When Dawn mentions this to our server, he hears "mayonaisse" and agrees that it is not a very tasty or agreeable product

Then we go to the beach.

It is beautiful, save for the nearby nuclear power plant.

We are agreed that the Lanes are an ideal fifties-type family:

On a final note, there was a carshow... I think. Well, there were fancy cars in a parking lot. And there were also people drinking and smoking in the parking lot. I'm pretty sure that's what an all-american car show is about.