My first trip through Florida has provided me with more than enough reason to never again venture to that scary redneck state. Upon entrance, interstate 95 turns into one huge marketing campaign for Florida beaches and Disney attractions. It's pretty disturbing. Then there is a whole lot of nothing littered with scattered billboards campaigning for Jesus, firework stands and porn shops. What a gross display of ignorance. Kate and I suppressed our Deliverence-esque fears by working on our southern accents and averting our attention to the blue skies and good tunes.



By the time we stopped for dinner and actually did have a fearful backwoods experience we were too delirious to think. Our plans for a post-dinner stroll were squashed when things weren't what they seemed. The park across the road was actually someone's yard, and before we could readjust our plans, an oncoming vehicle slowed down to stir up a little conversation. We swiftly acted on instinct and fled from the scary scene certain the strangers intentions were anything less than honorable. We returned to the parking lot to recount the encounter and twist it into a horrible joke and another reason to hate on Florida. All in all, our stop at McLain's Family Steakhouse was like a B-rated horror flick.