Quaint towns, weird towns and the fried pickle

Today I read a Southern Living magazine from Jordan’s Grandmother. We visited her over the weekend and when she offered me my choice of magazines from a stack of about 40, I couldn’t resist. In all honestly, I wanted them all, but Jordan was giving me the evil eye from across the room, so I just took 10. (I later came home and looked under his bathroom cabinet, finding about 50 ESPN magazines…) So my two week trial that was supposed to rid me of 14 magazines has been overtaken. But it was nice to see that I wasn’t the only one with a stack of unread mags. This one from his Grandma is from Oct 09.

I like Southern Living because it is one you can absentmindedly flip through, without having to use your brain too often. There are lots of pretty pictures to look at, of houses, food, crafts, and there aren’t any really long articles. I can put it down at and given moment and not loose my train of thought. I thought about entering the contest to win a trip to Florida, but since it ended almost a year ago, I figured my efforts would be better spent cutting the grass outside with scissors.

There was a feature on “Trail Towns”, little towns that make for good walking tours. I now want to move to Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. It has an old fort, tavern, parks and quaint little streets. Don’t you just love a good, quaint, little street?

There is an article about why Houston is weirder than Austin (sorry, Jenna) including a Beer Can House, made by a man with – you guessed it – a big ole beer belly, an Art Car Museum (there is a car that looks like a roach, *barf*), and the Orange Show Center for Visionary Art, including an amphitheater, which took a postman 25 years to build, combining thousands of pieces of “found objects”.

The mag announced their “Favorite New Cottage”. Think about that word for a second: cottage. My mind conjures up a cute little rock house, with a small fire going in the chimney, books lining the cramped living room, maybe a short staircase to a loft. Cottage. Like something you would see in the outskirts of Harpers Ferry, WV. Certainly not this monstrosity:

That being said, I’d give my left arm to live there.

I also learned that The Hollywood Cafe in Tunica, MS along Highway 61 near Memphis, “invented” the fried pickle. God Bless, Hollywood Cafe. And thank you.

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