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Mark Twain Fried Chicken
Chicago's been kind of a lonely place lately, so I decided to turn 36 in Hannibal, Missouri. I didn't meet any ghosts, but I saw a lot of statues and several young fellows who may or may not aspire to become Huck and/or Tom. (Apparently, there is a tradition in Hannibal where a boy and a girl of the appropriate age are chosen to be Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher for the year. Hm.) I did not spend $70 on a set of Tom Sawyer/Huck Finn volumes illustrated by Norman Rockwell. I did go to the Mark Twain cave. I did not ride on a riverboat. I did eat a steak at a restaurant that was once a whorehouse. Also, I did take pictures, so my Flickr account actually has something on it now.
Also, ouch.
Also, ouch.
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Happy belated birthday, Huck.
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Did you enjoy the various places which claimed to be "Becky Thatcher's ACTUAL House"!1! etc?
I bought a bonnet and a river pilot's license. And two very, very obscure Twain books--Christian Science (I was raised such) and Joan of Arc.
Hurrah for weird vacation stops!
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