Towns and small cities proudly display their name on their local water tower. 3 examples from 3 States:
Towns and small cities proudly display their name on their local water tower. 3 examples from 3 States:
The Kansas leg of route 66 is very short, cutting a corner between Missouri and Oklahoma. I stopped in a small town called ‘Commerce’ to enjoy some of the well maintained services for travellers, before I lost the route
The Carterville website is worth a visit to see photographs of the old town and hear how the township sees itself. Here’s an extract copied from their website describing the town’s history:
Visitor’s from the U.S. and overseas seem to be especially interested in the older and smaller towns that reflect the values of America’s Main Street and Route 66, and Carterville, Missouri is just such a place.Having celebrated it’s 125th. Anniversary, Carterville’s colorful history was born in the early 1870′s and later prospered during the lead and zinc mining boom of the turn-of-the-century. In those days, the town’s population soared to over 5000. Two trolly tracks ran down the middle of Main street, and business thrived. Overcrowding and wealth, full employment, social clubs and the rowdy miners were common in those days, but the city did not diversify and depended on the mining industry for it’s survival. By 1920 the boom turned to bust, and Carterville’s miners moved on, leaving a dwindling population to deal with closing businesses and fewer income opportunities. The Great Depression would have finished the town off, except for one thing, a new federal road known then as Highway 66.Carterville’s Main Street bustled once again with automobile and truck traffic. In spite of losing over half of it’s population, the town now had ten filling stations in operation. Old buildings that once housed department stores, newspaper offices and banks were converted in hotels, auto service garages and cafes. Even though the town suffered another set-back when Route 66 was decommissioned in the mid 1980′s, Carterville had evolved into a quiet, friendly community…and seemed to be content. It can also be said today that Carterville owes it’s very survival to the Mother Road, Route 66.Today, interest in this most famous of all American highways is surging, and Carterville wants to show it’s pride in, and respect of, Route 66. Local residents display the symbol of Route 66 on their homes, businessmen have placed Route 66 banners on Main Street poles and painted the shield on the pavement for all to see. A Route 66 flag flies beneath Old Glory and events are held in the Fall to celebrate being a part of America’s Main Street.Carterville is now home to “Superman on 66″, a Superman memorbelia museum and ice cream parlor. The first Route 66 Visitors Welcome Center in southwest Missouri opened it’s doors this year in a 1937 era filling station, and several other old buildings have been purchased for a Route 66 themed Bed and Breakfast and restaurant. Plans are also underway to purchase a city block for use as a Route 66 Festival site to attract more regional visitors, and other Route-themed activities are being considered by the new “Festival Committee”.Everyone seems to be jumping on the Route 66 bandwagon, including the town’s police officers whose uniform shoulder patches sport the Route 66 emblem. Could it be that Carterville has the same spirit as the fictional town residents of “Radiator Springs” in the Pixar movie “CARS” had?
A lot of the drive through Missouri was like driving through south western English woodlands. Except for the almost completely deserted roads. To drive on such empty roads was a real luxury, I could drive as slow or fast as I wanted without worrying about irritating the car behind me….
5 days on the road and I’m only in my 2nd State, despite not exploring St. Louis or Springfield Missouri. It feels like slow progress and missing way too much….
Learning for next time: plan at least half a day each day for stopping to enjoy and photograph the local nature and small towns
As sundown approaches, driving west becomes more difficult
I’ve taken to rising early and getting on the road at day break with the sun behind me. Missouri is already feeling like it belongs in the wild west. I pulled-up in the small roadside town of ‘Halltown’ to enjoy the morning light and architecture.
The small, sleeping town, captures much of the feel of Missouri. The strong church presence in everyday life with multiple churches and a large cross on a store-front. A mix of old decaying buildings and modern immaculately presented buildings. Trees, telegraph poles and empty roadway…
For the first 3 nights of my road trip I treated myself to staying in USA ‘Bed and Breakfast’ accommodation. Each night I’d look online to find a place to stay at my next destination, then phone them using my USA SIM in my unlocked Nokia Lumina. This worked well for the first 2 nights. In Springfield Missouri I was one of 2 guests staying at the Mansion at Elfindale. The other guest was a visiting Pastor, I never saw him. The mansion seemed deserted apart from a very friendly kitty. It was very impressive. Before disappearing the receptionist gave me a full tour of the building replete with historical comment. Beautiful. In it’s lifetime the Mansion had been a private home, convent and a boarding school. It’s currently owned by a church, that has a church building behind the Mansion. They’ve raised money to refurbish and keep the mansion in good condition.
My room was above the main entrance way, with a balcony, and en-suite bathroom with original brass fittings and a claw foot bath. The floor-space on my room seemed larger than the floor-space in my UK Wendy home! Huge and luxurious.
It was another beautifully sunny day, but the ‘storm warning’ sign with directions on how to find the basement suggested that Springfield has more dramatic weather than the UK.
Tired after a long day driving, I didn’t drive into downtown Springfield, I took a long bath enjoyed the room and looked for a place to stay tomorrow night. Not easy, it seems as if Oklahoma city is full. After contacting 7 places, none of whom were ‘able’ to recommend an alternative, Rachel had a space for me in a town south of Oklahoma city, Norman. Maybe I should be pampering myself less and staying in Roadside motels? Maybe later on the trip…
Driving through the Ozarks was like driving through the Wye Valley. Gentle, rolling, tree covered hills with rocky outcrops and winding rivers. Incredibly beautiful. I wanted to take a couple of days break to just hike along the rivers and through the forests. Warm sunshine and autumn foliage, a fabulous combination.
Learning for next time: plan at least one day not-driving to hike in the Ozarks
This river bend is called the “The Devil’s elbow”. The road was ‘closed’ so I walked over the bridge. Several local(?) drivers ignored the ‘road closed’ sign and drove over the bridge while I walked it. The whole bridge shook and freaked as if the Devil’s elbow had a very bad case of arthritis.
I arrived late at night and drove past the large Missouri arch in the dark, while trying desperately to follow my Satnav directions to find a cute little B&B, the Brewers Inn, that I’d booked for the night.
As I check my route for the next day and upload the days photographs I realised that I’m too tired to want to go out and explore the city and I won’t have time to do it tomorrow morning. Darn!
This trip is quickly becoming a test run for doing it again, properly. Setting myself the 270 mile daily goal, that most the organised trips use, is not enough time to really appreciate the bigger cities that I’m passing through. Next time I’ll aim at staying at least one day with no travelling in each of the big cities. Next time?! Hooray, probably for my 66th birthday….
Learning for next time: plan at least one day off from travelling to explore the larger cities (St. Louis, Oklahoma etc)
My host at the Brewers Inn was a wonderfully friendly old man who’d retired from working at Macy’s and ran this business to supplement his pension. He commented that the English hunting scenes on the wall in my room should give it a homely feel for me! He said this was the best time of the year to see the ‘Ozarks’ because of all the fall colour in the trees.
I was the only guest, previously he’s mainly had guests from outside the USA and mentioned how they appeared to come in waves from different countries… …I very much enjoyed his fabulous collection of stylish things, the quaint old house and his easy company. It was like visiting an elderly uncle. The soft tones of his Missouri accent were very pleasing.
One of the advantages of travelling this route out of season is the relatively empty tourist attractions, including the road itself. It doesn’t always hold true, but it did for the outstanding Ariston café in Litchfield. They gave me a guest book to sign, other guests came from all over the world. People from Finland, Australia, Italy on just one page of the very full book.
One downside is that some attractions are closed, like the 1950s style Route 66 museum opposite, and a nearby drive-in movie theatre. At least this helps me to manage my time. I’ve quickly realised that one week per state would be a more realistic time to spend exploring. I’m leaving wanting more, always a good way to leave…
Cold, windy, raining.
The woodburning stoves with long black flu’s rising into the air/walls of the old State buildings fascinated me. Somehow they didn’t seem to ‘sit well’ with the other furniture. They are definitely needed. A volunteer in the Lincoln museum talked to me about the winter snows and getting snowed in/out of her home.
I decided not to join the very long queue to enter the current, impressive, State capital. The locals were demonstrating in the rain with rainbow-coloured umbrellas for equal marriage rights outside the Capital. The speeches and musicians playing for the demonstration were inspiring, clear and intelligent.
I joined in.
Finally getting over my jet lag, with a little help from my friends we worked out how to get the top down on the convertible. Not a trivial problem!
A day with pumpkins and corn mazes, Mexican food and wonderful home made gifts – 3 useful bags decorated with route 66 icons. I’m feeling homesick for the USA
Route 66 runs alongside a major Interstate, the I55. To the left are traintracks and telephone wires. To the right is the Interstate. The road is flat, and on Sunday afternoon near deserted, unlike the Interstate.
I left home at 4am UK time, I’m on the road in a (Chevy Camaro convertible) hire-car by 4pm enjoying the Illinois sunshine and autumn colours. Too tired to really take time to explore I drive to my friends home stopping only at the small town of O’Dell that calls itself a “Small town with a big heart”. It was beautiful and strangely deserted…where have all the people gone…?
On to my friends home in Morton where there was some serious barbeque preparation underway, I learned that BBQ is very complicated and time consuming.
The local cicadas were serenading the early evening. Some PG tips welcomed me and they found a shredded skin of a cicada for me to see what they looked like:
Apparently, I can’t write remotely readable blog posts while I’m on a road trip. Hopefully I’ll remember the details when I get back and start posting again in Mid-November.
Meanwhile, route 66 photo set on Flickr is expanding on a daily basis. Please ask questions about any photographs that baffle you. For example,
Cheerio for now…
An Italian, and American and a Wendy in a room together.
The American compliments the Italian.
The Wendy turns to the Italian, raises the flat of her hand into the air and smiles at him.
The Italian looks baffled, takes Wendy’s hand as if to shake it.
Wendy: High Five, slap my hand
American: Yo, High five man!
I really like the way USA people express compliments with this physical gesture. It will happen to people that I work with….
I had never heard of a Piñata when I moved to the USA. My manager was going out to buy one for a friend, I asked him what it was. He was gobsmacked that I didn’t know. How could I have lived a truly fulfilled life without knowing what a Piñata is? He explained that it was a colourful paper container, often shaped like a donkey, that is hung from a tree branch and people beat it with baseball bats until the sweeties it contains fall out.
wendy: so it essentially rewards people for being violent to something that looks like an animal?
manager: yeeeeaarrh (he’s Texan)
wendy: Americans are strange people
After work I’ll walk along to the local primary school “Alfred Sutton” walk up to a table that’s labelled with “H” for House, give them my voter card and they’ll use a pencil to cross my name of a paper list and point me to a little booth where I’ll go and put an ‘X’ next to the name of the person I want to vote for.
It’s all very quaint and has been the same since I started voting in the early 80′s.
Friends in Washington State (West coast USA) get to vote by dropping their papers in a large Ballot Box or the mail, it’s all postal vote for them. In this case, the family made a trip to the ballot box location and the children ceremoniously dropped their vote into the Ballot box.
BBC Breakfast news anchor man said:
“Like Americans, they carry their business cards with them everywhere“
Is ‘carrying business cards’ a euphemism for something like
The sound of the phone ringing gradually woke me. Nearly 6am (Pacific coast time), only UK friends would call me at this unearthly time in the morning. Sleepily I reached for the phone and pulled it to my ear only to hear the dial-tone. Who-ever called had hung-up. I never found out who called. Awake I decided to get up and make myself a cup of tea, to enjoy the sunny morning before setting out for work.
In my doziness I stubbed my toe on the half-packed suitcase, preparing for my planned sailing holiday in Greece. Scheduled to fly out on September 16th I was looking forward to a club holiday with English friends I hadn’t seen for a long time, a reunion vacation.
I put the kettle and TV on. The sound of emergency services, the stressful pitch of the voices, the urgency and drama was clear before I’d even realised what I was seeing. I watched as flight 175 hit the South Tower. I cried.
Nearly 3 hours later at work, not much work being done, by anyone. Many people just didn’t turn up, those who did were phoning relatives and friends, trying to reassure themselves that the people they knew who worked in the World Trade centre were ok. Everyone seemed to know someone who worked in the towers or lived nearby. The general sense of anxiety mixed with silence lasted all day and soaked into the future.
All flights in the US airspace were grounded. I never joined my friends in Greece, a small loss in the whole scheme of things. My parents, in Italy, had nowhere to stay because American tourists, unable to get home, were staying in the hotel rooms my parents had booked
That day changed my world
less than 2 weeks after arriving in the USA I’m in a project meeting with 10 Americans mostly wearing the pants (UK = shorts) of the khaki cargo variety
programme manager: wendy, can we get a time on that deliverable?
wendy: a fortnight
more silence, I have no idea what’s happening
team leader: did you say 4 days?
wendy: errrr, no! a bit longer, more like 2 weeks or 10 days if my weekend goes for a burton
programme manager: lets touch base after the meeting
This prompted much giggling from the team. I knew they wouldn’t understand ‘go for a burton’, I hadn’t anticipated that they also wouldn’t understand ‘bit’. Most British English speakers understand American English, many American English speakers do not understand quirks of British English.
I picked up and started using American English phrases while mostly maintaining my British accent. The Hispanic American staff in the canteen couldn’t understand my accent unless I used an American pronunciation. I started imitating American English to get tomatoes with my burger. Thinking about how to pronounce my vowels made my fake American accent delivery rather slow. Amused people in the canteen line (UK = Queue) commented that I sounded like a Texan, because of my drawl.
Since returning to England I have maintained many Americanisms, they are understood.
When I lived in the US my job provided comprehensive healthcare insurance. I fell over on a green slope while learning to ski. It felt like I’d broken my left, writing, arm. A friend drove me to the local hospital accident and trauma centre
It took 90 minutes to drive there, it felt like 90 minutes
The centre’s foyer was like an empty hotel foyer, large tropical fish tank, carpetted floor, quiet with easy listening music playing. A lady in a blue suit sat at the large oak reception desk opposite the double, automatic doors. The lady asked me what was wrong, to see my insurance card, then gave me two paper forms to complete and explained that the financial adviser would see me in a minute. There was no sense of emergency about the situation. When you’ve just broken your arm, it hurts and your sensible thinking can go to pot. Maybe she didn’t hear me the first time so I repeat:
wendy: I think I’ve broken my arm, its the one I use to write with, the form probably wont be legible
receptionist: do your best
She didn’t look busy, she could have offered to complete the form on my behalf. It fet impersonal, like my NHS experiences. Unlike the NHS, the environment screamed of wealth. I slowly filled out the form with my other hand, then waited
It was probably only five minutes later, but it felt like an hour…
Can we get money for this?
Where’s a doctor? I want to see a doctor! it feels like an elephants trampled on my arm
Clearly they needed these forms filling in and copying, my crying and screaming would just delay everything by making me incoherent and her difficult to hear. She took me back to the waiting room and reassured me that the doctor would be along soon. Pressumably they were flying in a doctor from another State
It was probably only five minutes later, but it felt like an hour…
Should we X-Ray the patient?
A lady in pristine blue lab coat introduced herself. Hooray! This must be the Doctor. She took me to a large room of empty trolley-beds and asked me to sit on one. She drew curtains around the bed, which felt weird because I wouldn’t need to take any clothes of and there was noone else in the room. Getting onto a trolley bed that is higher than your natural bum-height, with one arm, when you’re in shock and pain is not easy. She watched me struggle without offering help. It made me want to cry, but I wouldn’t be able to hear or answer her questions if I cried so I fought off the tears
The lady used a checksheet to ask me monotone questions… “no, I’m not likely to be pregnant“ …I giggled, a little light relief. The X-ray nurse would be along to pick me up in a couple of minutes, when the x-rays had been developed I would see the Doctor
wendy: You’re not a doctor?
nurse: No, I’m a registered nurse
It was probably only five minutes later, but it felt like an hour…
Get the patient to the X-Ray machine
Wendy: I’ve broken my arm not my leg
nurse: enjoy the ride
I felt bullied to conform to her expectation that I use the wheelchair. Asserting my preference to walk might lead to confrontation and cause tears, I wasn’t up to confrontation. She watched as I carefully slid from my trolley and moved into what looked like a racing wheelchair. 6 or 7 xrays later she unceremoniously dumped me back at the trolley. This time I stood instead of wriggling dangerously back onto the trolley. I suspect the hospital charged my insurance company for wheelchair and trolley rental – both unnecessary. As the nurse left I noticed the signs forbidding mobile phone use. My only entertainment device, forbidden
It was probably only five minutes later, but it felt like an hour…
Instruct the patient on proper behaviour
A Doctor appeared! He glumly showed the x-rays while announcing that I’d broken an arm. I think he was disappointed by my lack of of surprise at the diagnosis because he went on to chide me for not having made it more obvious that my arm was broken.
Apprantly, saying “I think I’ve broken my arm” to the 4 people I was required to meet before him didn’t count as making it obvious that I had broken my arm. He was quite clear about my poor performance as a patient, more crying was required.
I started crying about being reprimanded for failing to follow a hospital behavioural code that I didnt know existed. The Doctor demonstrated his skill of ignoring tears while he prescribed earth-movingly strong pain killers and talked me through the treatment regime. I never took the pain killers. If he’d waited until I had stopped crying I could have asked him not to prescribe pain killers, not to charge my insurance company for them. But he wasn’t there to listen or understand. The Doctor was all about delivering instructions.
The lecture probably only took five minutes, it felt like 5 minutes of detention in the headteachers office…
Get reciepts and discharge the patient
I’d collected an armful of paper forms at different stages in my visit. The discharge added yet more to the pile. Each form decorated with my, new, right-handed signature
A spider dance
It felt like being gagged, prodded, and pushed along a clean and good-looking production line. I was ‘the patient with insurance’ not wendy who believes that being aware of internal pain is mainly a good thing and conversations will include critical misunderstandings if one party is crying and ignored
If a miner incident like this is made distressing merely because the services are set-up to remove illness, not treat people – the prospect of a long term relationship with medical services becomes frightening.
Unlike people in the USA, at least I know that I will get some form of healthcare from the NHS whether I have an income or not
This is one of 16 placed around the city of Austin (Texas) as part Luke Jerram’s Street Piano’s project and Austin’s Art Week. The Street piano’s project has placed over 400 pianos with the simple instruction ‘Play Me, I’m Yours’ in cities around the world.
The piano’s are decorated by local artists, anyone can play them for as long as they want. On this blog post a young family plays on a bridge for kayakers and joggers. The pianos in public give people smiles, strangers talk to each other, people dance, people pull-out thier isolating headphones and listen to the people nearby. So very beautiful.
Each piano’s location was strategically chosen, Walker said, so that one piano is often within earshot of another. He said he hopes people playing will be able to respond to one another, a sort of call-and-return musical duet traveling above the hubbub of an increasingly growing city. A professional tuner is assigned to each instrument to make sure all remain in working condition for the duration of the exhibit.
But the exhibit goes further than simply adding a little flavor to downtown street corners. It is mostly designed to change the way people relate to their urban environments and to instigate a sense of ownership within local residents about where they live.
People grow used to how their cities and local environments look and feel, Walker said. “Play Me, I’m Yours,” draws people’s attention so that they can no longer ignore their surroundings, he said. The point of the exhibit is to disrupt that familiarity with both music and the curious presence of an instrument typically seen in people’s homes
Visitors to earth from planet Wendy see the marketing of high healed shoes as institutionalised violence, targeting females. For some inexplicable reason hobbling, the risk of broken ankles, is an attractive female characteristic.
Women are the only exploited group in history to have been idealized into powerlessness.
The majority of females are complicit in perpetuating this violence. Visitors from planet Wendy are baffled by this complicity. Visitors keep their befuddlement under their stylish hats lest they cause offense, identifying themselves as targets for the near ubiquitous, rigorous enforcement regime.
What shoes should I wear to demonstrate my lack of complicity without attracting non-compliance social penalties? My tastes rarely coincide with high street fashion. My criteria for yesterday’s shoe purchase trip, in priority order, were
I’ve wanted a pair of red shiny, low-heal, soft soled shoes ever since I first read the Wizard of Oz. This pair of Kansas hoppers closed the deal in the time it took to try them on. I only visted 2 shops, RESULT! All my criteria filled and MORE!
Waiting decades before finally meeting these shoes adds a special relish to our union
Unwrap the Edam, the cheese is on me!
The Pacific North West, and Florence, two of the worlds most beautiful places. Death Cab for Cutie came from a town in the Pacific North West and named themselves after a Bonzo Dog Doo Dah band song. So many good connections, there are more….
Death cab for Cutie sang Meet me at the equinox
trees are evil
with this one comment you intrigued me and raised the possibility that you were ever so slightly on a planet very distant from planet wendy
How does that work, how are trees evil?
With an earnest expression you explained how they obscured street-signs so that you missed your turning or got lost in unfamiliar areas. They dropped leaves on sidewalks making them unclean and more slippy than is acceptable. They harboured birds that could poop on you as you walked underneath. As you started the litany of tree crimes I had to work to subdue my smiles. As the list grew and your earnestness was maintained I felt the need to defend the behaviours of the trees, but decided not to take a contrary position on a topic that clearly raised strong emotions.
Later that evening you mentioned your allegy to mud, dirt. In the ensuing conversation I let a giggle slip through. Not good, from then on I became the accomplice of the evil conspiracy. You needed to aggressively eradicate me, like dirt. Luckily, you moved to California before I felt the full force of your hygiene enforcement
This is often the first question that I’ll ask the wait-staff at the door of a restaurant* in England. Many, probably most, English restaurants use a booking system where you phone the restaurant in advance and book a table for your party. In my early adulthood, I came to understand that if a restaurant accepted walk-ins that meant it wasn’t good-enough to attract sufficient custom to warrant a booking system. A restaurant worth avoiding. Promoting scarcity is an established purchase persuasion technique, for example, think of how airlines will often say ‘only one seat left at this price’.
Restaurants that accept walk-ins are becoming more common in England, reflecting the more American style of first-come, first-served, or take a ticket and wait inline. When I first moved to the US I found the fact that you had to queue to get into many good quality restaurants a somewhat irritating pactice. I never really got used to it. I find fun in the notion of booking a good meal with the company of good friends, several weeks in advance, adds to the excitement and anticipation. Being able to walk straight into a restaurant knowing you are going to be seated and fed in a reasonable time is also a very pleasing experience. Both the restaurant and the customer are being respectful of each others resource management, as customer, this is a good use of my time.
In the US it is an exclamation of disappointment.
In the UK it is a noun describing someone’s sexual proclivities.
wendy: i think I must be lonely
mary: rubbish, you are the least lonely person that I know, you just spend a lot of your time on your own
We met several months before. We both started a ‘mountain glacier hiking’ course. At 60 Mary was the oldest person on the course. She had not signed up as part of a couple nor was she treating the course as a mate-finding opportunity. How refreshing. I soon started to seek-out Mary’s company while hiking and during the rest breaks. I quickly tired of the chattering from other hikers, normally affluent couples considering what gear to purchase, what restaurant to recommend.
At 60 Mary’s love for her terminally-ill bed-ridden husband was not stated, but it beamed stronger than a lighthouse. She recorded our hiking sessions, the beautiful scenery and laughter, for him with her new digital camera. He could feel part of an active interesting life because she sought this life out and carefully bought it back to his bedside with love. What a fabulously generous heart.
I fell in love with Mary. Not the love that hungers for sexual validation. Not a love that needed to be returned. There was deep peace in her company. Knowing this I invited myself to her home in the foothills of Mount Ranier. The home she had built with her husband before his death so noticibly stepped towards him.
wendy: can I help you gather the leaves from your garden?
Mary: yes. they will fall as fast as you’ll be able to gather them
After a morning gardening, mostly in silence, we went inside and Mary finished the home made french onion soup. She talked while she stirred. Talked of how her father raped her and how the authorities didnt believe her story. Talked of how her sister committed suicide. How she left her bilogical family and built her own new family. How she worked to help abused children and beaten wives. Clearly she has known and seen more loneliness than I could feel.
The cedar dappled autumn sun played on her face. No tears, no frown lines.
It seems we have both found some form of peace amidst life, in the silences
wendy: it’s a birthday, maybe we can’t have fireworks but I’ve got some sparklers we could use
hostess: who’s birthday?
wendy: the USA, independence day. I’ve got a flag
hostess: please don’t bring it
One August we stopped in the small town of Chesaw that had a Rodeo ground, a bar, and half a dozen teenage smokers hanging around. A small town in Okanogan highlands (Okanonogan pronounced like tobogan).
We went into the bar an ordered the only thing on the menu – a burger. The 5 other people in the bar sat on high stools with their gaze glued to the TV screen showing a live Mariners game playing 3 hours south in Seattle. While waiting for our burgers a small dark object like an oversized fly repeatedly bashed itself against the window pain. I pointed this out to the barman and asked if I could open the window to let it out. The barman took a pint glass, placed it over the hummingbird, slid a beer-matt underneath then took it to the open door and shook it out, just as I have done many a time with a wasp, or spider.
I’ll always remember my first hummingbird
The upcoming cartoon ”Cheyenne Cinnamon and the Fantabulous Unicorn of Sugar Town Candy Fudge” is about “a Strawberry Shortcake pop princess that lives in a candy wonderland just outside of Detroit. She comes into Detroit and helps solve problems of racism and teen pregnancy with the power of love and teen pop songs“. The lead cartoon character lip-synch’s to sing the pop songs because the actress is a country and western singing star, not a pop singing star.
What a fantastic cartoon idea. I love it when the Americans self-parody like this. They are self-parodying aren’t they?