We stopped in at Milktooth to get some waffles, grits, and pancakes before hitting the road back to Madison. But there was a huge St. Patrick's Day march/walk going on when we got back to the car, and we drove way down a one-way street before we got to where the police had blocked the street off. It wasn't enough that the nice Indianapolis cop was able to give us permission to drive the wrong way on a one-way street, there were all kinds of roadblocks keeping us from escaping from this area of town, and the cop spent 10 minutes looking at his information trying to figure out what else we'd need to do. It involved finding a sequence of alleys — things that are not on Google Maps. And we had to remember these weird, winding directions.
I photographed the low-level chaos from the car window.
You know, in the movies, protagonists in strange towns — in a panic, and going at high speed — are able to find these secret escape routes.
At one point, we needed to make a left turn across the lane that the marcher/walkers were on. We were coming out of an alley, so it was not blocked off, and the cop had told us to cross in front of them — the same cop who was preventing us from cutting through from the street he was guarding. When we reached that point, there was a woman in a car in front of us, and she seemed as though she was going to hesitate forever, the stream of marcher/walkers being endless.
Meade got out of the car and — risking seeming threatening — approached her to explain what she had to do and stopped a few walkers and motioned her out before getting in the car and nudging into the left turn and over to the on-ramp to I-70 just a few feet away.
पोस्ट्स
३५ टिप्पण्या:
I thought all you had to do was honk your horn and all the pedestrians would scatter like wild Geese.
Maybe the French Connection gave me the wrong impression.
Houdini escaping from New Jersey
https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/proxy/xslYaIh73bmnHCj4QIW0nEJfW4Sii9y7xD-yIW3zGXB9Lw5vOupTjP6dpvYXAvTj6KF6KiBoWwUOleHtTjrLnSPWfvoTAUCzvH_lmf8s92JV=w530-h325-p
Imagine if you had blundered into Charlottesville!
A St. Patrick's Day march/walk/stumble.
"I photographed the low-level chaos from the car window."
Chaos!
I didn't know they served grits in Indiana. Bet they add something gross like sugar to it.
The Irish of Indianapolis. Who knew they had that many. I suspect most of them were honorary Irish for the day.
Meade should have danced a jig to appear less threatening.
I didn't know they served grits in Indiana. Bet they add something gross like sugar to it.
Indiana has long been known as the Northernmost Southern State.
It's all them bitter, deplorable people.
"They get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren't like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations."
poor anne, who doesn't consider she could drive away from and around the St. Patrick's day parade, instead drives through it. Does she have an "E" on the back of her car?
I didn't know they served grits in Indiana.
They do. But my people still call it mush. With a hoosier drawl.
A hoosier drawl, a pat of butter and syrup.
Mush or grits, it's all just amaizing.
Grits: odourless, colourless, tasteless. What's not to like ?
I must be doing it wrong.
Could me your pronunciation. Try it like this: gree-its.
Or: muh-ush.
Grits: odourless, colourless, tasteless. What's not to like ?
I must be doing it wrong.
Call it polenta and pay ten bucks for a dish of it at a nice restaurant. You'll be much more impressed.
You need to carry a piece of cardboard when you go places, then you could have written “Free Beer One Block Back the Way You Came” and, it being St. Patrick’s Day, why Faith and Begora, you’d have no more people blocking you.
But seriously... it needs to be excellent corn obviously because that's basically all it is. Hand-milled. And fresh.
If that doesn't work, just pile on a bunch of crumbled bacon and 10-year old cheddar. Mmmm... mama!
By the way, I'd like to propose a revised motto for the city of Indianapolis: The Pothole Capital Of The Crossroads Of America.
Catchy, no? No? Well then how about: We Will Fill No Pothole Before Its Time.
Out: waffles, grits, and pancakes.
In: Ham and eggs, grits, coffee.
One of the many small things I find super sexy about my husband: his ability to be both courteous and decisive in traffic situations/getting us where we need to be. Looks like Mr. Althouse has the same quality. Nice!
Go Zags!!
Pray let us distinguish between cornmeal mush and hominy grits. Not quite the same thing.
Maybe, but nine out of ten orphans can't tell the difference.
More, please, sir.
Meade said...
Maybe, but nine out of ten orphans can't tell the difference.
3/17/18, 7:33 PM
Don't drink the milk!
Why?
It's spoiled!
--Little Rascals
I thought gruel was made from British corn.
Where's Mr. Woodhouse?
Meade saves the day or is this story an anecdotal display of male privilege? The female driver stuck at the intersection was too afraid to assert herself in the situation. The female passenger, possibly also too afraid to assert herself in the situation, deferred to the male to take charge, despite her misgivings that his aggressiveness might be seen as threatening. What if Ann had gotten out of the car to take charge and direct traffic? (And I'm not saying she should have, because sometimes there really are advantages to being female. It's easier.) Would she have been as successful?
So much for "feminism" in real life situations. When the situation is important you "Call in the muscle." Remember that professor in the BLM demonstration in Missouri? She got canned because she was pushing for violent confrontation, not because she was a feminist hypocrite.
My father really liked corn meal mash, used to get very excited when my mother made it, which was rarely. No one else really like it, I never saw the appeal. Probably had to do with his childhood and that his mother cooked it often.
"What if Ann had gotten out of the car to take charge and direct traffic?"
File under: Things that never even crossed my mind.
And yet... if I had been in Indianapolis alone, breakfasting with my Hoosier son and then leaving on my own, with my car parked on the blocked street and then drove to the end of that blocked one-way street and I had had the 10 minute conversation with the extremely nice cop... maybe I would have done exactly the same thing he did.
maybe I would have done exactly the same thing he did.
Nah, you'd have showed him your tatas and he'd have arranged an armed escort to steer you to the Interstate ;)
Hoosier son
Hoosier daddy?
He was just being hoosierly.
risking seeming threatening
Truly, Madly, Deeply
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