The road to Sparta is paved with poverty. [ 2003-07-23, 12:14 a.m. ]

I drove to Sparta one day to check out an old cemetery I remembered and to hit the numerous thrift stores in that town. On the way, I had to pull over and take a picture of something so simultaneously hilarious and sad that I couldn't describe it here if I tried. Suffice to say that some of you will be getting a really funny holiday card this year.

Sparta is the birthplace of Lester Flatt. If you don't know who he was, find out. It's built around a courthouse and town square that don't appear to have changed much since the last time I was there. There is a new restaurant and a tea room, but those are the only nods to "revitalization" I saw. The Hillbilly Amphitheater is still there on the main drag but they've changed the name to the Bluegrass Amphitheater.

The cemetery is on a high hill behind the courthouse and it was so densely overgrown and dark I didn't spend much time in it. I don't spook easily but it didn't look like a good place to navigate alone, so I took a few pics of the gate and left.

Found at thrift stores: Polaroid camera from the late 1950's that I know is worth at least $50. Price paid: $10. Set of Shawnee pottery drink holder/ashtrays. Huge bag of old matchbooks that yielded some truly freaky old artwork which I will scan and use for something. Full set of 1953 Popular Mechanics magazines. I bought them all, because I am just that much of a dork. There are some great ads in them and I will probably scan and use some of those. Plus, it's really fun to read about things like "the car of the future". (Okay, I am trying to make my dorkiness seem less dorky and am failing...)A few old shot glasses and pieces of pottery. A really demented, framed photograph of someone's dog; has to be seen to be appreciated.

On the drive back, I had to stop for gas and the woman behind the counter asked me if I was from England. This also happened to me in Texas and I cannot for the life of me figure out how a hard, nasal Chicago accent sounds British to anyone's ears. I tried to tune in some good country music but all I could find was something called "The Rock Dog" out of Knoxville and the thought of listening to U2 or some other such shit while driving through tobacco fields was too depressing somehow, so I just sang my way back.

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