Imaginary binky's Page

• bed bugs
• possible blood on the mattress
• suspicious yellow stains on the walls, remarkably urine-like in color
  
• air conditioner held onto the wall with duct tape
• large mold colonies on the ice cube tray in the refrigerator
• room smelled like a trucker drank PineSol, then peed it onto the walls
  
• bed bugs lived there long enough to have an entire life cycle then DIE
  
• window barely opened and seemed to have never been opened, preventing us from escaping
  
• pretty sure something died there (other than bed bugs). Dead hooker? Are there hookers in Lamar?
  
• possible peephole above the bed - spying hole to see trucker-on-trucker love?
  
• same wallhanging as American-owned motel, which aptly depicts some sorts of ruins
• part of the roof threatened to pull off at any moment in the crazy winds outside

Saturday: Little Britches pancakes taste good with cosmic PineSol.


As it turns out, Lamar is one happening place this weekend. We are in the midst of Lamar Days, a weekend full of events, a parade, pancake breakfasts, community college graduation, ham and bean dinners, carnival rides, and best of all: the Little Britches Rodeo.

We awoke with a hopeful gleam in our eyes, for today held promise of the Lamar Days Parade! Phil tried to negotiate another night of lodging from the American-owned motel proprietors, as they had screwed up our reservation and given up our second night's room to another rodeo/pancake breakfast/carnival enthusiast. The owners tried to set us up in more expensive rooms, but we aren't supposed to pay for our lodging. That was part of the booking deal for coming to Lamar in the first place. Part of their pitch is that, again, they are American-owned and "the cleanest motel in town, not like those foreigners." Phil and I were both left with a bad taste in our mouths at this awkward display of racism and patriotism.

Phil took a shower and packed up our American-owned belongings while I scooted Amos in the stroller toward the Lamar Days Parade. I took a bunch of pics, but alas, my card reader is not here. You'll just have to play along and wait for visuals in tomorrow's installment. I'll save my assessment of small town America for that blog. Lucky you!

After the parade, we dined at the fabulous Daylight Donuts. As we fed Amos and stuffed our pieholes full of fried dough, I stopped to whisper to Phil, "Look! The nerds are here!"

Luckily, the night before I had read up on an incredible event going on in Lamar, aside from the rodeos and parades. A giant parade of a different kind has invaded Lamar. The astrophysicists are here! A giant nerdfest has descended upon this small town. The Pierre Auger Observatory is being built in southeastern Colorado to study cosmic rays. Scientists from around the world are here to stand up for nerd rights and to build fluorescence telescopes in an array covering 35 by 35 miles. They even marched in the parade. In between floats full of boy scouts and the rodeo queen on horseback, those nerds took to the street with their banner and their cosmic knowledge. It brought a tear to this former scientist's eye.


The thing is, everywhere we went there were nerds. Amongst the donut eaters: nerds. Complaining about their taco salads at Taco John's: nerds. Filling up yellow school buses: nerds. Everywhere! Imagine a town of cowboy hat-wearing farmers suddenly invaded by emaciated geeks with glasses, and you've got your visual. It's sort of like what happened in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, but not.

Not to brag, but at Taco John's we were sitting next to a bona fide star of the Little Britches Rodeo. We know so because of his hat, his boots and spurs, and his jacket which proclaimed "National Little Britches." Indeed, his pants were quite small.

So, eventually we discovered that new lodgings had been provided for us at another motel. As we were warned previously, this motel is definitely foreign-owned. We chuckled that at least we wouldn't be forced to listen to racist rhetoric about how filthy "the foreigners" are.

Hmm. Well...

Let's just say that this room has seen better days and that despite their callous regard for folks from foreign shores, the American-owned motel definitely rates as being cleaner. In a scene from a bad sitcom, first I complained that we were told that the TV was broken. "No TV?!" I said to Phil. "You're not the one who must stay indoors tonight. What if the nerds attack?" So, Phil asked for another room. In a stunning move, the motel owner instead decided to give us her personal television.

So kind!, you say. Well... Installation of said television took half an hour, three people, and a great deal of restraint on my part not to laugh out loud at their bumbling. The owner mistook us for being a few of the cosmic nerds, so I guess we were getting the star treatment. Even the handyman said that he had never seen the owner give that much personal service to a room before. The room, however, smells like we are inside a bottle of PineSol. This might be because there is a distinct possibility that there is a dead hooker between the mattresses. But, it's a free room, we're near the Quizno's, and we have someone else's television. Not bad.

Now, I just need to make sure that the locks work. You can't be too careful with the possibility of a clash between astrophysicists and Little Britches. Is there a telescope for studying those kinds of particles?