A Review of Dodge's Chicken & Gas in Troutville, VA

7/25/2012

Oh, my bad; guess I'm the only person alive to review this place. Errone done died and went to heaven from eating this freak of goodness finger food.

For real, though...you know, you stop by for some gas, thinkin' this jaunt is like some 7-11 or somethin'. You scope the finger food and are thinkin' "shoot, this is like that tacquito bullsh*t, huh?"

Nah, playa.

The chicken is top notch, and I love me some chicken. Like, WTF, how a simple gas station about to serve me up some coma food? Fosho, the pizza bites are yumz death waiting to happen.

Sometimes, I don't even stop there to get gas 'cause the food is legit bomb dot com amazing.

Yaknow what? I don't even care if this jank is frozen before gettin' cooked. If I had to die and the big man upstairs was like "yo, whatchu tryna eat before feastin wit kings on the permanent?" I'd be like "Dodge's Chicken."

Son.

Transcribed directly from Yelp. Link here. Review of Sweetfrog Frozen Yogurt also a treat, ya dig?

Mondays, lately

Week 3

Monday: 3 miles + strength training 

Pack backpack with sweater/ID/credit card, run 1.5 miles to Schneider's of Capitol Hill, purchase 1 bottle French Malbec and 1 bottle Barbera D'Alba [approx 5 lbs total], roll bottles up in sweater/stuff in backpack, run 1.5 miles home.

Wednesdays, Lately

Last Wednesday I made lamb chops and a Julia Child baked spinach recipe. This Wednesday I had a bag of microwave popcorn at 5:30 and scrambled eggs in bed at 10. GUYS SOMEBODY HAS GOT TO LEAD THIS LIFE.

Charleston, South Carolina

Clockwise from top left:
Unmilked Mexican coffee
Shadowy Vines in the Battery
Folly tidepool
School Spirit on King Street

Quiet moments are often what I remember most when I travel.
Quiet moments can find you on the busiest, loudest street of New York when the enormous magesty and agitating lights overwhelm the nosie and the people and suddenly you are alone and it's silent. It's quite cinematic.

In some places, however, quiet moments come easily. This was true of Charleston, where it felt as if the city was resting after a few hundred years of Revolutionary and Civil battles. In Charleston, there were small quiet streets that cornered into cobblestones and porches and graveyards of Spanish moss. There were empty porches you could imagine yourself sitting on with a tall glass of grits (HA! you thought I was going to say iced tea there, didn't you?). There was a small coffee shop with delicious Mexican coffee into which I stirred copious amounts of whole milk. Sitting there every morning, looking over our itinerary of past, present and future pie, markets, strolls and collard greens, I felt I was in a familiar place. That solitary and quiet place that is familiar to traveling.

San Francisco

Sundaes in Bed

This is what I thought being an adult would be like.

And sometimes, it is.

Cape Charles, forever ago

Clockwise: 

Over-milked coffee, as I like it

An old house in a godforsaken place
John Kane in the rippling twilight of the Chesapeake Bay
A quiet moment

I don't think Cape Charles is for everyone, but its isolation created a surreal atmosphere-an atmosphere that allows for a suspension of reality and anything that doesn't have to do with drinking coffee and catching crabs.

Gin Rummy in the Bistrot

Storms and Ankle Tans

From the beach, weeks ago.
Actually I'm at the bay now. It's hot and sleepy and a little bit creepy.

Frustration in Black and White

This is the black and white concept for my collage project.
I decided to focus on the idea of a frustration with technology, which is ironic because most of that frustration burgeoned from the digital design class itself. Tinkering, constant tinkering, it never felt quite right. The outcome was never worth the effort and the motions would be convoluted to the point where I was almost thankful my Photoshop shut down. Frustration, with more than just technology. More than the endless updates, the amassing of unread messages, the repetition, more than the dwindling attention spans and the repetition.

I'm not sure what they say your life is supposed to be like after you've graduated college, but to me it seems like a lot of frustration. Maybe frustration is not a perfect word, perhaps paralysis is more apt. I feel like a computer that has frozen, unsatisfied with my last action but unable to move forward. It's a time of uns, a time of compromise when I feel like I should be building up the foundations of a good life. Each decision is seemingly weighted like an anchor to my future. People keep telling me I have a lot of time left to find where I belong, but that is not a consoling thought. To me, time seems to be growing exponentially smaller, as if you could mark it on a ruler until I only have an eighth of an inch of time left.

The phrase "trust the process" comes to mind. It's hard not to look at everything as a mistake, but rather as an exploration. Taking the digital design class was not easy and ultimately wasn't something I decided to pursue, but I took the chance. I think maybe this time in my life just takes some bravery (and a lot of Trader Joe's wine).

Wednesday Night in the Kitchen

 

  

Tomato, love, I've missed you. Come back into my summery arms and we'll make caprese salads until the leaves begin to fall.

Tecate, Señore, one is never enough.

And you! You arduous bastards, you cashew cookie scoundrels, you took me all night to make (but I like you, oh I do).

The Hirshhorn Couch

Before I let things slip away from me, there is something really important I want to tell you.

On the top floor of the Hirshhorn Museum, there is a couch next to the room with all naked ladies with abstract boobs. It is black, it is leather, you sink deep into its plush expanse-elbows perfectly propped-and you have a crowning view of downtown DC. I suggest you go and have yourself a sit. While you're there you should also check out the string and light art.

Apparently people do not appreciate my self-deprecating humor, so I can't mask my scant comprehension of art or my lack of interest in googling the names of the exhibits-but obviously I can use a thesaurus (lack of=scant and knowledge=comprehension). Girl has got to prioritize when she is already dedicating 40% of her brain space to why they killed that wolf dog on Game of Thrones and another 10% to art of dick pics.

sometimes i get really really really nervous that nothing else is going to mean as much to me

when it's all over (which it really is and has been for nearly FOUR YEARS. now it's like we are separated, just biding our time until the divorce is finalized. okay actually some movie were pretty good.) when it's all over i'll probably shuffle around this earth, never able to finish a book or make real friends. all castles will be hogwarts, all owls will be courriers. so get your time in while you can, i guess. i'm usually free on tuesdays.

The Projects

So I took a class this spring. Documentation of my whining about how time consuming it was can be found on this blog. Now, however, I find myself missing the busy/tiring/frustrating monday/tuesday/wednesdays.

I mean, I'm sitting here on a Thursday drinking a bottle of prosecco and eating potato salad to avoid cleaning up the plaster dust that is currently coating my entire room like a thin layer of powdered sugar. The only reason I'm not watching Netflix is because I've already watched everything I wanted and I'm too lazy to search for new stuff. Dark times my friends.

But back to my class. We completed two projects, the second of which was a collage. We were to come up with two concepts based on a list of words; one was to be in black and white and the other in color. For my color concept I chose the words "existence" and "reality".

That's Lauren sleeping. Obviously it's a little more playful than you would imagine based on my word choice. I wanted to do a dream sequence because I honestly have the craziest dreams and I'm sure I've forced most of you to listen to my painstaking descriptions and analysis at least once. It was a lot of fun talking to people about dream images (Drew-chicken eggs with moths inside them, Alli-a dinosaur eating a dragon). I couldn't decide if I should keep or ditch the mountains until the very end, but everyone in my class suggested I keep them. It should be noted that everyone had also drank quite a bit of wine by that point, but isn't it kind of nice to picture yourself soaring over mountains while you sleep?

Aw You Guyz Part II: The Future has an Ancient Heart

Today I saw a girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, with braids in her hair and a poster board bigger than her younger brother.  I felt her excitement-the excitement of standing up in front of the class with my braids, the excitement of the summer and running around barefoot, even the excitement to go to school that day. It made me sad to be a grown up with all of our doleful grown up troubles and worries. In that moment I considered being a teacher, if only to stay young at heart. I have contemplated teaching many times, as I'm sure all English majors do, but I especially find teaching enchanting because I see first hand how much my sister loves her kids and how they love her in return and what a simple joy that brings her.

When I was young, very young, I wanted to be a marine biologist. I wanted to be a marine biologist for two primary reasons. The first was because my best friend Beth wanted to be an astronaut and had found an astronaut school in Florida. I was sure that was the perfect place to be a marine biologist, even if it was a little far from Disney World. We planned to live together and eat pop tarts for breakfast and salisbury steak for lunch and dinner every day, or whatever kids imagine adults to do. The second reason was that I was excellent at drawing dolphins and it's important to be able to doodle what you love all over your notebooks.

Since then I've wanted to be an actor, journalist, children's book writer and professional reader and if anyone knows if professional reader is an actual job, please let me know. My point is that I've never had any sort of path that bellows and squawks for me to take it. The tone of jealousy I set in my last post about Lauren's graduation runs much deeper than an iPad. But jealousy isn't quite the right word. Jealousy implies I want what she has and for her not to have it, but that is hardly the case.

Recently I read a graduation speech that defines what Lauren has and what you have and what I have, but what I have (and maybe you have) yet to find out.

"There’s a line by the Italian writer Carlo Levi that I think is apt here: 'The future has an ancient heart.' I love it because it expresses with such grace and economy what is certainly true—that who we become is born of who we most primitively are; that we both know and cannot possibly know what it is we’ve yet to make manifest in our lives."

When Lauren was young, very young, she set up a blackboard and desk in the corner of our room. She would mostly teach Teddy but I believe a few neighbors got roped into taking tests at that desk. There's been no ambiguity about Lauren growing up to teach young kids. Even on the longest days of student teaching and babysitting and school and work, she'd come home exhausted and a little pink in the cheeks, but also with a cache of adorable stories about her kids. I'm very happy for Lauren, the kids deserve her. I hope everyone finds what they knew they'd always do, if only so y'all wouldn't be so grumpy on Mondays.

Aw You Guyz

 

We are too cutsy, no?

Yes.

But um, congrats Lauren on graduating...again. 

I'm definitely not jealous of all the attention your getting, which I think is clear in the photos above. Or you know, sad that it's been 2 years since my own graduation.
Oh and the iPad, not jealous of that either. Is that thing like, cool or something?

I find it necessary to apologize for the gap in posting, I was busy growing my hair out and sweating my hypothetical balls off. Swamp city 2011.

Memory

Plum, my Grandma, once taught me a trick. She told me to create a house in my mind and place things I wanted to remember in very specific spots within the house. Thomas Jefferson and John Adams both died on July 4th in the upstairs hall closet next to my old bed sheets. It's an association trick with a twist to organize your mind and it works, it really does.

I don't have a great memory. It's been this way for as long as I can remember (ha, ha-I couldn't resist). Sometimes I even make up memories, confusing things other people have done for something I once did. I'll steal your memories, even the bad ones, like Lauren getting caught coloring the sitting room couch with markers. I would have sworn to you that it was me who had colored the couches if my Mom and sister hadn't corrected me. Even then, I still didn't believe them (and still don't).

My less than sharp memory is often quite embarrassing. I imagine people think I'm dumb but I'm not, I promise. I also saw that movie and probably enjoyed it just as much as anyone else, I just can't remember who directed it and might even mix up the actors' names. People are quick to point out my mistakes and it usually makes me angry. I know it shouldn't, it would almost be more embarrassing to have them not correct me because they feel sorry for me. I immediately go into defensive mode because I believe memory is something that makes people look smart. Knowing and being able to rattle off facts sounds impressive, gives support to what you are saying and generally gets you grades (but not in English, thank god).

I've come to realize that while I may not have the best factual memory, I have a very acute sensory memory. Yesterday evening I was walking through my neighborhood to go to class. The sun was fading, it was warm, I took my time. Every so often I would smell honeysuckle. The scent is strong and sweet and I almost believed I was playing in the creek behind my neighbors house where honeysuckle grew wild and we pulled the stems out of the flower to suck the nectar. I passed a man who smelled softly of a detergent my Mom must have once used to wash clothes. It was comforting. Certain smells, songs, articles of clothing and inflections of light can sweep me into a bright nostalgia. It usually makes me very happy and sad all at once.

Reading Faulkner stimulated thoughts about my own memory and how it works. In college I took a course where we were encouraged to leave the classic notion of reading behind. Instead, we were to absorb words, phrases and images and take what we could from the text. This is how I've been reading The Sound and the Fury. Faulkner uses certain words and images to evoke memories, memories that are scattered throughout present time in a very associative but non-linear manner. I've heard that Faulkner is a very daunting author to read, but I felt a certain ease while I've read this book. I don't think he intended for the reader to put every memory in its rightful place or remember what happened and when, exactly. He writes to create a feeling or a vague but pressingly important memory.
I'd like to think Faulkner would never correct me.



Last night I was looking through some of my old photos to work into a project. When I saw these pictures,  I was vividly taken back to a memory of two years ago. I was taken back to the warm light of the sun going down by the train tracks. I remembered Drew taking pictures of Kevin smoking a cigarette as the train roared by. I remembered balancing on the tracks, wondering how far I could walk and if I should find out. I remembered the deer and how it ran off into the woods (I promise). And remembering all those things, well, it makes me happy with my blurry and whispering memory.

Goodbye Lake Anna

We already said goodbye and made toasts and poured really nice champagne into the lake on a bright Easter morning. There's not much else to say here that hasn't been said and remembered with the people that made me laugh so hard I cried about the. stupidest. things. Even really not very funny things, like the lake eating my sunglasses, firework accidents and belly-flopping from a rope swing into 3 feet of water.

I'm going to miss that nervous rush right before jumping into the cold lake. I'll miss pushing marshmellows onto a stick, swinging in the hammock until I was slightly nauseous, sleeping in a bunk bed made of fake logs and canoeing zig zags to buy ice cream sandwiches.

The thing is I've really only been going to the Lake House for about 4 years, but it seems like something more than a time frame or a vacation house. Something more like a place where I could act like a kid and Mrs. Kelly would make us lasagna and we'd fall asleep to the Disney Channel. Something more like a haven where you forget about the pressures of finding a job after graduation to sit around a bonfire, drinking a case of really really cheap wine. Now that it's ending, I feel like I'm being forced to grow up but I'm just not ready.

I think I'll always feel like I'm 12 when I'm with Monica and that's probably better than a Lake House, but I'm going to miss this place for realz guys.

Hey Hey Silver Diner, I wrote you a song

Not really but I probably love you as much as Bob Dylan loved Woodie Guthrie!

You make me feel like I'm 17.

Wednesdays, Lately

It always rains on Wednesdays. There was a considerable amount of lightning and it smelled like over-ripe strawberries in the streets. I asked them to put more whipped cream on my frappachino at the Starbucks near my class. I was in a terrible mood most of the day. It probably had to do with being behind on everything and my computer's start-up and scratch disks being full. That, and I'm technologically incompetent. Well that, and a few other things.

I realize I haven't posted anything in a while, blame it on my camera cord. How is someone to remember their toothbrush, iphone charger, book and camera cord every time they go somewhere? I've left The Sound and The Fury in three different locations in the last week, but he has been pretty good about finding his way back to me. If you're reading this Fury, come back to me-I'm waiting! I think the start-up disk in my brain is full.

The top photo is Brian riding my grandparent's bike into the Atlantic Ocean. The bottom photo was taken Tuesday night in my backyard while my mom was grilling burgers.