Devotion to the Hot Sauce Potion

Tonight, I sit at a desk in my motel room on the outskirts of Shreveport, Louisiana, thinking about today's accomplishments and looking forward to tomorrow.

I started the day later than I'm wont to do on weekends, but still before 7:15. A quick shower, removal of facial hair with a sharp instrument, and brushing of teeth all worked toward making me feel ready for the day.

Last night, I'd responded to a car salesman's lies by calling him on them and telling him that I found them, and him, reprehensible. But, I said, if he'd never again mention paint and upholstery protectorants and if he would cut $2000 off the jacked up price he gave me, I would likely buy his Honda CR-V. I gave him a deadeline of 9:00 am today but never heard from him. Such is life. The bastard will hear from me again, but this time it will be through the Attorney General's office, who will receive this criminal bastard's emails, which prove beyond any doubt that he was involved in "bait and switch," which I personally consider a capital offense. The state does not, of course, but it's not the state this motherfucker needs to worry about, is it?

Back to happier things. I'm in Shreveport. Left Dallas rather late, but still stopped for lunch in Terrell, a town not far east of Dallas. The Mexican Restaurant served swill, and served it badly, but it was non-poisonous, so I forgive them and so will not behead the staff and their families.

We pressed on and decided, again early, to stop in Shreveport. A Hampton Inn, overpriced but able to provide wireless Internet access, was a good selection, I thought, so here we are. Shortly after we arrived, we went for a drive looking for likely prospects for dinner. We found several places that would have served a starvig family whose members have no taste, but they did not meet with our approval. So, we went back to the motel and considered places "not" on the original list...places we drove by on our return to the motel, as we wandered through a decidedly "nonprosperous" part of town. As luck would have it, we hadn't bothered making notes of the names or locations of the places we'd passed by. But we went looking, after dark. The places had disappeared. So, after gnashing of teeth, Johnny's Pizza House was called upon to deliver one of its infamous "Sweep the Kitchen" pizzas, which included not only jalapenos but anchovies! And black olives and ground beef and Italian sausage and god knows what else. It was, unfortunately, not delightful, but it fed the weak and weary, which is all that counts.

Tomorrow, we'll head to Natchitoches (pronounced "Nack-i-tosh"), a place some magazines call one of the best places in the US to retire. Then, after we debunk that myth, we'll head to Avery Island, home of Tobasco Sauce, where I will bow and scrape and pay homage to the great ones who came before us and left us with a legacy of heat, and pain, and sweating necks, foreheads and tastebuds.

And then? Nobody knows. We'll eventually visit family in Houston and Falba, but we're not sure when. We may go south, first, to visit bird sanctuaries. But maybe not.

And I may buy a new car in an unusual place in Texas on our way back home. Or maybe not.