Date: Thu, 6 Oct 1994 01:35:27 -0400
From: [g--l--n] at [falcon.bgsu.edu] (Metroplex)
Subject: FTP 500

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FIT TO PRINT
by cathrine yronwode
for the week of August 29, 1994.


THIS IS FIT TO PRINT NUMBER 500: This summer's road trip is different than
those in past years. For the first time in a decade, it does not center
around comics conventions. In fact, the focal point, a visit to my father in
Nogales is more along the lines of a family emergency than a vacation xbut i
am trying to look on the bright side.

My daughter Althaea had flown to Missouri after a year in Israel, bought a
1985 Ford Tempo, given it two week's worth of remedial wrenching with the
help of her father, the redoubtable wrencher Peter Yronwode, and driven West.
I flew to Albuquerque to rendezvous with her. And that's where we learned
that the Tempo's power steering fluid was intent upon achieving oneness with
the pavement. Oily puddles appeared below the car each time we parked.
Luckily, a stage magician named Rick Meisel-whose specialty is escaping from
whirling washing machines while handcuffed lent us a hand. A few pints of
pink fluid later, we hit the road again.

At Truth or Consequences (formerly Hot Springs), New Mexico, we drank warm
water from Geronimo's Spring across from the Post Office, where a 1940 WPA
mural depicts Indians performing the Bear Dance. The artist, Boris Deutch,
under the influence of Thomas Hart Benton, gave the dancers a skewed, spooky
look. Althaea relaxed in a park while i scouted a junk store and found three
jewels: Claudy's Introduction to Freemasonry (1931), Oliver's Masonic
Symbols (1906), and Mackey's 1869 Symbolism of Freemasonry (1945 edition,
revised by Clegg). Then we toured the historical museum, where the town's
namechange is chronicled and hundreds upon hundreds of ancient clay pots and
arrowheads are on display.

Next day, between Tucson and Wilcox, we gratified my long standing desire to
view "The Thing?" a roadside attraction i have passed at least two dozen
times in as many years. None of my lovers or friends ever pulled off the road
to let me indulge my interest; my daughter, i am proud to say, was not only
willing, she eagerly embraced this socio-cultural novelty.

At 75 cents a head, "The Thing?" was well worth the price, but best of all
was the "Gestapo Press" included in the treasure trove of oddities. As we
were leaving, we noticed a hungry half grown kitten, white, long haired, and
friendly. We bought a plain burger at the adjacent Dairy Queen and snuck back
into the exhibit to feed the poor creature. If you are travelling through,
look out for the little waif, will you?

After visiting my father, we headed Northwest, hoping to avoid the Scylla of
Los Angeles by falling into the Charybdis of Las Vegas. Lightning flashed in
the distance. The radio was tuned to KTNN, "The Voice of the Navajo Nation."
As "The Honor Song of the Northern Cree Band" by the Cree Singers sequed
seamlessly into "That'll Be the Day" by Buddy Holly, we hit the 15 mph
switchback that leads down, down, down to the crossing of the Hoover Dam.
Doubly lit, by lamps and by lightning, the dam was a streamlined moderne
power fantasy under a warm, black, rainy sky. We pulled over for a long look
and watched the cargo trucks downshift to make the hairpin curve at the
bottom. Then it was our turn, and we glided down the slick road, across the
gorge, and on into the desert.

Las Vegas was a scene of chaos. Lightning strikes had knocked out power
lines and street lights. Police cars were everywhere. We steered by the beam
of the Luxor Casino and arrived at the hulking, black pyramid at midnight. It
is an unbelievable place, with river barges; a replica of King Tut's tomb;
and a shake-up ride, "The Search for the Obelisk," that makes Disney's "Star
Tours" seem suddenly old-fashioned. The sundries shop sells "Chocolate Gods"
(Anubis, Sehkmet, et al) and the museum shop sells genuine Late Kingdom
statuettes of Osiris ("Prices Upon Request").

This morning, as Althaea  checks out the car, i sit amidst pseudo Egyptian
splendour, typing away on Fred Burke's Powerbook, and wondering how many of
the folks playing Keno downstairs know who Osiris is. Or Buddy Holly.
Precious few, i'd wager. But then, i'm not a gambler.

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