Strange Transitions

Last night we ate dinner in a cave. We woke up this morning in the DeVille Motel in Waynesville, Missouri, perhaps slightly hungover from the previous night’s bout of drinking at a local nightclub. Soon we were touring Onandaga Cave. Shortly thereafter we ate lunch at Homer’s BBQ, a little hole-in-the-wall in Sullivan, Missouri, where Homer himself said we didn’t have to pay since we were short on cash. And now I’m sipping chilled Chardonnay in an exquisitely appointed 9th-floor loft right in downtown St. Louis.

That’s the short version. When last I wrote, I was on a crappy metered dial-up connection. And I had to use Windows. But now I’ve got a Mac and some stolen high-speed wifi, so I can expand a little. Let me back up:

Caveman BBQ is a place I’d read about and wanted to visit because it sounded intriguing. It’s a restaurant in a cave, way out in the boondocks, a few miles outside Richland, Missouri. We ate there last night. It had a certain charm, and indeed it really is in a cave. Our server was a sullen teenager who seemed so utterly disinterested that it was actually a source of great amusement. Xy thought the barbecue sauce tasted familiar, “just like KC Masterpiece.” I almost pooh-poohed this as an insult to the integrity of the chef, but shortly thereafter I heard another patron inquire as to the provenance of the sauce, and the server (another person, not our sullen teen) replied with a chuckle: “Actually it’s KC Masterpiece!” I don’t know if he was joking. I suspect not. But I guess you go to Caveman BBQ for the experience, not for the cuisine. Verdict: provisionally recommended, especially if you can manage to canoe there on the Gasconade. That would be awesome.

It started raining, hard, after we left Caveman BBQ, so we pulled off 44 at Waynesville and stayed at the DeVille Motor Inn.

Waynesville seems to have an inordinate number of bars, tattoo parlors, and adult bookstores. Quite a few churches too. Perhaps it has something to do with the proximity to Ft. Leonard Woods. There were a lot of military types at Torches, the incredibly cheesy bar we ducked into for a few drinks. Loud, horrible music, overpriced drinks, obnoxious DJ. Verdict: avoid at all costs.

This morning: the Onandaga Cave in Onandaga State Park. Words fail me. Tres cool. We dropped our last cash on a guided tour. Verdict: Highly recommended.

Homer’s BBQ in Sullivan was, frankly, much better than Caveman. It’s bedecked with patriotic and religious slogans, and Homer invited us to a Bible study tomorrow morning, and spoke with evident sincerity about the prospect of eternal bliss in union with the godhead — and the peril of eternal torment and damnation. Perhaps he sensed we were heathens. He seemed a very sweet man. He showed us a photo of a wheelchair ramp they’d just built for a man with no legs. When I realized we were short on cash, he didn’t seem concerned. He said the purpose of the joint was more to spread God’s love than to make money. Nevertheless, or perhaps allthemoreso, I was compelled to find the nearest ATM and rush back to pay him. Verdict: Recommended if you’re passing Sullivan on 44.

And now we’re in St. Louis, visiting Xy’s college roommate, Lori Jones, a.k.a. LoJo. This loft is absolutely stunningly gorgeous, the kind of place you dream about if you’re an art-fag wannabe like myself. It has the kind of austere beauty that I’m not sure I’d have the discipline to maintain.

I note there’s some KC Masterpiece in the fridge.

And I just read that Sandra O’Connor is resigning.

Damn.