Hello from Rapid City, South Dakota. In my ongoing attempts to convince my poor dear cat that I don't actually live there (after three conferences, Christmas travels, taking care of my mother during her surgery, and a two-month business trip, all in the last six months), K and I have hit the road for our biennial vacation.
So far we have spent time in Ely, Nevada ("a full-service community," which means "We got brothels! Lots of 'em!"), the west desert of Utah, Green River, Wyoming, and now Rapid City. Everyone around here seems to call it "Rapid," but I prefer to think of it as "RC," just like the cola that goes best with a moon pie.
Yesterday I was in the RC Safeway, and the cashier -- a none-too-bright bulb but very chatty -- asked me where in California I was from. "Pomona!" I proclaimed proudly. As one does.
"Oh, Panoma!" he said, with an air of recognition. "We had someone from there in here not too long ago. Mexican lady, real nice. And her friend, who was from Corona, which she said was the next town down. The Mexican lady's somebody important in Panoma, but she's running for Congress, she said! I'll sure vote for her -- she was real nice."
My friends, it's a small, small world. If I run into Joe Romero in Ranchester, Wyoming, I will not bat an eye.