Did I mention that I like ice cream?
Rita is a 4.
So Maybe I was Wrong…
Some New Orleans residents don’t want to evacuate this time around. I would have thought after the Katrina horrors that no one would ever want to ride out a hurricane again. But not so.
I Can’t Spelll
Kudos to everybody’s favorite fireman for catching yet another spelling error on my part. Bookfan/fireman noticed that I misspelled the Hamlet character in last week’s trivia question. But I’m actually going to try to wiggle out of this one. I don’t know why but for the life of me I have the word engrained in my head as Youric. Don’t ask me why. A quick google turns up Yorick, so I got desperate and made a library trip. Sure enough, the modern anthologies in our local public library show Yorick, and I’m not quite obsessed enough to make a trip all the way out to the LSU library. But I’m convinced this is one of those Middle/modern English issues because I usually never forget the spelling of so unique a word. So… you are jury.
Trivia Part II
Does anybody out there remember a Youric spelling or have I burned out all my brain cells on Ice cream?
Speaking of Ice Cream…
In my road trip details from the weekend, I have yet to share one dramatic escapade of huge, huge, huge significance. My reasons for taking the road trip (besides dedicated professional journalism, of course) was Dairy Queen, Dairy Queen, and Dairy Queen. I think you should know that ice cream is very important to me. In fact “Duct Tape, Dairy Queen, and Me” was a close runner-up for the blog title. Tragically, there are not many Dairy Queens (DQ) in south Louisiana. So a highlight of the road trip was to be a delightful DQ visit.
I have this weird thing about “saving the best for last,” so I reserved my DQ trip for the ride home. I made the mistake of waiting till after Pensacola to start looking for a DQ. After much prayer, we topped an overpass just inside Alabama and located the beloved DQ. As I pulled up, I noted that the drive-thru looked very closed, but because of my appreciation for effort conservation (aka laziness), I tried the drive thru anyway. A sign (with poor font choice) confirmed the drive thru was closed. No problem, it’s only 7:30 p.m. I pull around to the front slowly, being the safety-conscious driver that I am. As I walk to the door, a proud DQ employee races to the door, beats me to it, and locks it. Apparently the area is still reeling from the Katrina aftermath and had to close early. And thus I encounter my first true moment of suffering from Katrina’s wrath. I literally had tears in my eyes. Petty, you say? Well, my response was better than the lady that walked up as we were driving away and let loose (mad lady, not us) with a string of words I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have recognized.
Back in the car Cuz reassured me that there are more (figurative) fish in the sea, and that we’d find a DQ for sure. A half-hour later, our faith was waning. Cuz did some serious praying, however, and imagine our unfettered joy when we topped yet another exit ramp west of Mobile and spotted a precious DQ. “Run, run,” Cuz screamed, as Snowflake the Camry skidded to a stop, “in case they close too!”
I run-walk into the DQ/Stuckey’s (a Southern institution too unique to describe). As I heave my purse breathlessly onto the counter, the attendant begins, “Ooh, and I can tell you wanted ice cream the way you run up in here. Mmm, that’s a shame.” I was still trying to catch up with the conversation when she dropped the bomb before I could get a word in edge-wise, “Our ice cream machine is broke. I’m so sorry.”
I just slumped onto the counter and asked sadly, “Where is the next closest Dairy Queen?”
“There was one back at Mobile on 90 by the DMV. You could try it,” my new compassionate friend informs.
“Missed it. And we’re headed west to Baton Rouge. Are there any in Mississippi?”
And then she dropped the hurricane line on me. For the love of hot fudge, can’t we get generators to these people! I need my DQ!
Cuz and I conferred in the car and decided that the next best thing would be to make it back to Baton Rouge before 11 p.m. and hit up my favorite local ice creamery: Cold Stone (CS). I was a woman on a mission and Snowflake was feeling me. We made it back to Baton Rouge at 10:44 with a cool sixteen minutes to spare. I calmly parked and climbed out of the car, only to have—for the second time of the night—the proud CS employee bolt for the door, beat me to it, and mercilessly lock it. …Let’s just say it was not one of the happier moments of the trip. For the next hour or five, I flip-flopped between brooding over the stirring letter I was writing in my head to report these travesties to CS and DQ (respectively) and then several “maybe this is God’s way of telling me ice cream is ruling my life” moments. Luckily I always snapped out of the latter.
In CS’s defense, I went back the next night (persistence pays, or so they say) and a sign (with font choice equally as lacking as DQ’s) announced new fall hours that cleared CS from the previous night—I had arrived 14 minutes after they had closed. So I momentarily took back all the vicious thoughts I had against CS. Until… I walked in and without so much as glancing at the menu, placed my order—the one and only thing I ever order at CS—the “love it” size cake batter ice cream with cookie dough. To make a long story and a traumatic memory short, CS no longer carries cake batter ice cream. Something about problems getting the secret ingredient from vendors now, which I again blame on Katrina. People, I have a new passion to see the South recover from Katrina! CS must emerge from the rubble with the cake batter recipe intact!
So it has now been over two weeks since I’ve had a positive ice cream experience. I have to tell you that I’m going to have to make another DQ road trip this weekend. I would say “head west, young lady, head west,” but with Rita on the prowl, I may have to fly North. Any readers up North want a house guest for the weekend? C’mon, don’t you want to do your part to relieve the suffering of those affected by Katrina? Let’s start with the important stuff: how far to your nearest Dairy Queen, Braum’s, or Friendly’s? Better yet, do any prudent, opportunity-seeking investors out there want to open a DQ in my backyard, making loads of cash and a hurricane victim happy?
So Maybe I was Wrong…
Some New Orleans residents don’t want to evacuate this time around. I would have thought after the Katrina horrors that no one would ever want to ride out a hurricane again. But not so.
I Can’t Spelll
Kudos to everybody’s favorite fireman for catching yet another spelling error on my part. Bookfan/fireman noticed that I misspelled the Hamlet character in last week’s trivia question. But I’m actually going to try to wiggle out of this one. I don’t know why but for the life of me I have the word engrained in my head as Youric. Don’t ask me why. A quick google turns up Yorick, so I got desperate and made a library trip. Sure enough, the modern anthologies in our local public library show Yorick, and I’m not quite obsessed enough to make a trip all the way out to the LSU library. But I’m convinced this is one of those Middle/modern English issues because I usually never forget the spelling of so unique a word. So… you are jury.
Trivia Part II
Does anybody out there remember a Youric spelling or have I burned out all my brain cells on Ice cream?
Speaking of Ice Cream…
In my road trip details from the weekend, I have yet to share one dramatic escapade of huge, huge, huge significance. My reasons for taking the road trip (besides dedicated professional journalism, of course) was Dairy Queen, Dairy Queen, and Dairy Queen. I think you should know that ice cream is very important to me. In fact “Duct Tape, Dairy Queen, and Me” was a close runner-up for the blog title. Tragically, there are not many Dairy Queens (DQ) in south Louisiana. So a highlight of the road trip was to be a delightful DQ visit.
I have this weird thing about “saving the best for last,” so I reserved my DQ trip for the ride home. I made the mistake of waiting till after Pensacola to start looking for a DQ. After much prayer, we topped an overpass just inside Alabama and located the beloved DQ. As I pulled up, I noted that the drive-thru looked very closed, but because of my appreciation for effort conservation (aka laziness), I tried the drive thru anyway. A sign (with poor font choice) confirmed the drive thru was closed. No problem, it’s only 7:30 p.m. I pull around to the front slowly, being the safety-conscious driver that I am. As I walk to the door, a proud DQ employee races to the door, beats me to it, and locks it. Apparently the area is still reeling from the Katrina aftermath and had to close early. And thus I encounter my first true moment of suffering from Katrina’s wrath. I literally had tears in my eyes. Petty, you say? Well, my response was better than the lady that walked up as we were driving away and let loose (mad lady, not us) with a string of words I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have recognized.
Back in the car Cuz reassured me that there are more (figurative) fish in the sea, and that we’d find a DQ for sure. A half-hour later, our faith was waning. Cuz did some serious praying, however, and imagine our unfettered joy when we topped yet another exit ramp west of Mobile and spotted a precious DQ. “Run, run,” Cuz screamed, as Snowflake the Camry skidded to a stop, “in case they close too!”
I run-walk into the DQ/Stuckey’s (a Southern institution too unique to describe). As I heave my purse breathlessly onto the counter, the attendant begins, “Ooh, and I can tell you wanted ice cream the way you run up in here. Mmm, that’s a shame.” I was still trying to catch up with the conversation when she dropped the bomb before I could get a word in edge-wise, “Our ice cream machine is broke. I’m so sorry.”
I just slumped onto the counter and asked sadly, “Where is the next closest Dairy Queen?”
“There was one back at Mobile on 90 by the DMV. You could try it,” my new compassionate friend informs.
“Missed it. And we’re headed west to Baton Rouge. Are there any in Mississippi?”
And then she dropped the hurricane line on me. For the love of hot fudge, can’t we get generators to these people! I need my DQ!
Cuz and I conferred in the car and decided that the next best thing would be to make it back to Baton Rouge before 11 p.m. and hit up my favorite local ice creamery: Cold Stone (CS). I was a woman on a mission and Snowflake was feeling me. We made it back to Baton Rouge at 10:44 with a cool sixteen minutes to spare. I calmly parked and climbed out of the car, only to have—for the second time of the night—the proud CS employee bolt for the door, beat me to it, and mercilessly lock it. …Let’s just say it was not one of the happier moments of the trip. For the next hour or five, I flip-flopped between brooding over the stirring letter I was writing in my head to report these travesties to CS and DQ (respectively) and then several “maybe this is God’s way of telling me ice cream is ruling my life” moments. Luckily I always snapped out of the latter.
In CS’s defense, I went back the next night (persistence pays, or so they say) and a sign (with font choice equally as lacking as DQ’s) announced new fall hours that cleared CS from the previous night—I had arrived 14 minutes after they had closed. So I momentarily took back all the vicious thoughts I had against CS. Until… I walked in and without so much as glancing at the menu, placed my order—the one and only thing I ever order at CS—the “love it” size cake batter ice cream with cookie dough. To make a long story and a traumatic memory short, CS no longer carries cake batter ice cream. Something about problems getting the secret ingredient from vendors now, which I again blame on Katrina. People, I have a new passion to see the South recover from Katrina! CS must emerge from the rubble with the cake batter recipe intact!
So it has now been over two weeks since I’ve had a positive ice cream experience. I have to tell you that I’m going to have to make another DQ road trip this weekend. I would say “head west, young lady, head west,” but with Rita on the prowl, I may have to fly North. Any readers up North want a house guest for the weekend? C’mon, don’t you want to do your part to relieve the suffering of those affected by Katrina? Let’s start with the important stuff: how far to your nearest Dairy Queen, Braum’s, or Friendly’s? Better yet, do any prudent, opportunity-seeking investors out there want to open a DQ in my backyard, making loads of cash and a hurricane victim happy?
posted by Lee Ann @ 7:22 AM
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