Dating article numero dos

It has arrived…the article on “Lunch Date” at about.com.

Oh, and of course, the permalink.

I’ve tons to write about with Markos being on Bill Maher’s panel on Friday, the ridiculous debate and endless fake dust-up over Obama’s “religion and guns” comment, but Bean is making banana bread and I have laundry to do. Oh, and we got Juno today, so there’s that to watch.

For now, here’s Markos on Bill Maher:

Frankly, my dear

We drove yesterday to Cadiz to see the Clark Gable Museum. This after erroneously reading the hours and thinking it was actually open. Ha. I do those kinds of things fairly often, actually, getting older. To make matters worse, Her Beanness got a big bug over me peering in the windows, finding it the height of rude.

(No. The height of rude would’ve been breaking that glass pane above the door lock and letting myself in. Know this, because I contemplated exactly how statuesque rude could get before it would have to fear being arrested and jailed.)

But, as usual, I digress.

So, there I am, separated by highly-reflective glass and some timber, from a dream I’d had since 6th grade — here, at the house that Rhett built.

Let me just say this: driving through Cadiz, it becomes readily apparent exactly why Clark Gable left for Hollywood as soon as his gap-tooth grin and big ears were large enough to take him there. Small towns are one thing; I’ve lived in this burg most of my life. Cadiz? Whole ‘nuther thing. Very sad looking. Very small. Yet another coal town in search of a new direction since, oh, 1970 or so. Its nickname is “The Proudest Small Town in America” and also claims fame for being the birthplace of General George Armstrong Custer. (Knew we’d work in a little real Civil War history this weekend.) The signs directing one to Gable’s home are written thusly: Gable and Coal Museum — with requisite arrows. No, they do not share space.

Two signs would’ve been one too many, apparently.

The Gable Foundation and Memorial is not really the house that Gable built, exactly. More it’s the land that Gable lived on, once. The building itself (shown below, note the prominent “Closed” sign) was reconstructed in 1998, complete with a dedication ceremony featuring Gable’s son, John Clark. According to The Foundation’s website, it was painstakingly recreated to be an exact replica.

From Peeping Tom position, I could see lots of little tchotchkes and memorabilia directly inside. I could also see the reflection of one person who badly orchestrated her visit. But let’s forget about that, shall we? Because I spent most of yesterday afternoon being reminded, loudly.

There’s also a few neat signs:

and a nifty monument:

But this I liked best of all — the brick paving sold to citizens in order to raise money for the project:

Suppose I give a damn, too. Enough to make another trip next month back to the middle of nowhere, Ohio, past the scenic Tappan Dam (courtesy of the Army Engineers) and the Tappan River.

Don’t worry Clark; tomorrow is another day.