Ahhh, the great outdoors. It sure is nice to get away from it all, get out of the Big City for a change. But, is it just me, or does the quiet life sure seem to have a whole lot of strings going off in it? How am I supposed to relax with all this strumming and plucking and hammering and striking and picking?
That’s why we can’t have nice things once they’re printed in brochures. The tourists and transplants sniff ‘em out and start throwing money into the poor box, and before you know it, they’re selling hot dogs in church and charging fees to see the Virgin.
I suppose you’re right, honey. If we really wanted the quiet life, we shouldn’t have picked from NYT’s “Best-Of” list. I feel like that feline in the Far Side cartoon about to meet its fate in a dryer because it followed the signs for “cat fud.” Am I the only one expecting Dan Aykroyd to barge in any minute now, armed with a shoulder-mounted camcorder?