Theres something so unsettling and surreal about.. I’m not sure what the term is but towns and villages in North America with just like one main street running through em and a bunch of wildly different old houses each with two garden chairs on the front decking
Like, back home, villages with that kind of population are awkwardly laid out, but theyre still very dense. Winding one car wide roads and new property developments being built seemingly perpetually, but even so the town doesnt feel old or anything (unless its a rural welsh mining village or something)
Its like, despite being a small town, everything is *so far apart*. Theres not a single even semi-detached home, and it feels so isolated. The roads are massive and everything sits on a grid more like a bustling urban city than a village with barely a couple thousand residents, a hundred miles from the nearest shopping mall.
Its hard to explain and also incredibly fascinating, these places are both completely haphazard in the consistency of the home styles and viciously orderly in how they still have a dual carriageway road in the centre of a perfectly defined grid. Bizarre.
Keystone North Carolina Partner Attends White House Small Business Event
NORTHUMBERLAND, Pa.–(BUSINESS WIRE)–
On Tuesday, August 1, Dal Snipes, a Keystone partner in North Carolina,
participated with other business leaders in a small business forum in
Washington, D.C., at the White House. Snipes is a principal with Snipes
Insurance in Dunn, North Carolina, and a member of the board of
directors of the Independent Insurance Agents and Brokers of America.
The session, “American Small Business – The Engine of the American
Dream,” focused on the role of the Small Business Administration, as
well as reforms to spur job growth for Main Street America. The event
was attended by President Donald Trump and a number of U.S. senators and
White House staff.
After President Trump addressed the audience, the business community
leaders participated in a Q&A session with Small Business Administrator
Linda McMahon and Presidential Adviser Ivanka Trump.
“Touring the East Wing and the White House was an honor,” Snipes said.
“We were greeted by wonderful members of the military. I was able to
meet other small business owners with exactly the same concerns as I
have. When President Trump arrived, we were all taking photos with our
cell phones – nothing was pushy or rushed.”
About Keystone Insurers Group (Keystone) – Keystone started in
1983 when four independent insurance agencies teamed up to pool their
experience and expertise. Determined and scrappy in the face of a
difficult market, this small group believed that agencies could be
stronger and more successful if they linked arms – a passion and spirit
that continues. Growing to almost 300 independent agency partners in 11
states, Keystone provides its agents with a community of like-minded
agencies, industry expertise and access to specialized products for
their clients. Keystone is ranked number three on Insurance Journal’s
2017 list of Top 20 Privately-Held Property/Casualty Agency
Partnerships. For more information, go to www.keystoneinsgrp.com.
At the “Be Our Guest” restaurant, there’s a secret desert that’s not on the menu, which is mentioned in the song by the same name on “Beauty and Beast”. According to the song, “the grey stuff is delicious. Don’t believe me? Ask the dishes.”
When Pirates of the Caribbean was first being built in 1967, the Imagineers were rather unimpressed with the false skeletons placed around the ride. So, with the help of UCLA medical school, they were able to place actual human skeletons about the place. Most have since been removed, though the skull and crossbones on this headboard are still human.
When the park first opens, go to Main Street Station and ask for a reservation to ride in the Lily Belle train car. The luxurious car is named after Walt’s wife and seats are limited.
On the second floor of the firehouse on Main Street is the secret apartment of the Disney family, where Walt used to stay with his wife and children.
The lamp in the window used to be turned on when Walt visited the park. After his death, the light was always on, because Walt is always at the park in spirit.
Epcot was originally intended to be a model community and the home of some 20,000 residents. The diorama of Walt Disney’s vision is on display in the “PeopleMover” ride.
In Cinderella’s castle is a secret suite which cannot be booked. The only way to get in is to win a competition.
From the perspective of an adult, Cinderella Fountain seems sad. She’s looking down at the animals, and her face is hidden. From the lower perspective of a child, you can see that she’s actually happy and that the crown sits on her head.
Main Street is based on America in 1910, while Tomorrowland was designed to represent America in 1986. Both dates were chosen because they were years that the Halley’s Comet was visible from Earth. The next appearance will be in 2061.
There are several abandoned areas of Disney Land. A former wildlife attraction in the heart of Disney World, it is rumoured that Discovery Island was left to run wild after bacteria capable of harming humans was discovered in the surrounding water.
River County, was the first water park at Disney World. It opened in 1976, and it closed in 2001, because the natural water could be potentially dangerous.
Look down when in line at “The Haunted Mansion,” and you might spot a wedding ring embedded into the concrete. It’s believed to belong to the hanging bride who you see on the ride.
Disney Land has two main problems - rodents and cats. After unsuccessfully trying to scare the feral cats away, the staff decided that the enemy of their enemy is their ally. In exchange for keeping the park rat free during the night, the cats are spayed, neutered, given regular shots, and fed.
In the New Orleans Square area of Disneyland is Club 33 - a private club with a decade-long waiting list for new members. The club is the only location that offers alcohol in the park, and its members are allowed exclusive access to areas of the park, like the wheelhouse of the Mark Twain and the engine compartments of steam trains.
Inside the Matterhorn rollercoaster is a hidden basketball court for employees.
In the foyer of “Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln,” you can see the Griffith Park bench on which Walt Disney was sitting when he originally conceived of the idea of Disneyland.
The 14-story “Tree of Life” is actually built around an old oil rig that was on the site when Disney purchased it.
I have, in my 14 years of traveling the world in search of kicks, seen many things. But I want to tell you that my experience during the closing sequence of this episode of PARTS UNKNOWN was, short of watching the birth of my daughter, the most amazing. I hope your TV set is big enough to convey the sense of being where I was, and having something that….large…coming up at you from the depths. I suspect you’d need an IMAX. Absolutely breathtaking.
Those of us who were not born in Hawaii, who do not live there, can be forgiven, I hope, for imagining it a paradise. It has been sold as such to many a generation of white guys of a certain age: warm, “exotic”, festooned with palm trees both real and on shirts, populated (the brochures would have you believe) by friendly musicians, brimming with the spirit of aloha—and dusky skinned women who dance a lot.
As patiently, as often or as stridently as actual Hawaiians might might want to disabuse us of these notions, pointing out that unemployment on the islands is brutal, that young Hawaiians are finding it nearly impossible to find affordable housing in the communities they were born, that traffic gets worse every year, we have a hard time seeing anything but gin clear water, green mountains and the kind of place we’d like to die: drifting off in a hammock perhaps, the sound of ukuleles in the distance, the only immediate sign of death the shaker glass full of Mai Tai that falls from our liver spotted hand.
And it is those things, surely: a place where a gentleman such as myself might spend the rest of his years, padding about in a sarong, smoking extravagantly good weed, eating pig in many delicious, delicious forms. But Hawaii is actually much, much cooler than we know. MUCH cooler. It’s both the most American place left in America (in the best and worse senses of that word) and the least American place (in only the best sense). It’s Main Street America in so many ways—socially conservative, family oriented, fairly straight laced in its appetites, suspicious of outsiders, and shot through with all the usual suspects of American business you’d want and need and expect from Wasilla to Waco to St. Paul.
And it’s also, deliriously, deliciously, not American at all: its spine, its DNA, its soul, the descendants of warrior watermen—the original people who navigated their way across the Pacific and settled the islands– and Okinawans, mainland Japanese. Chinese, Filipinos, Vietnamese—a glorious stew similar to some of my other favorite deep gene pools, Singapore and Malaysia, where two people meeting at a party, have to inquire each others’ parents were—and where they might have come from to untangle the question of exactly who’s who. Everybody too mixed up to hate anybody in particular. This fits in nicely to my probably naive theory that we can all bone our way to world peace eventually, but thats another matter.
Point is: how can you not love a place that embraces Taco Rice? What a journey that dish has made: a fake Mexican dish created by Okinawans for homesick non-Mexican American GI’s, eventually embraced by the Japanese, the spoor then migrating back to America, to be embraced anew. Or SPAM musubi? Does mutated, cargo cult cuisine get any better? SPAM noodles? Chicken katsu with potato macaroni salad? Every great culture, eventually, throws a pig or other large animal into a hole in the ground—and the Hawaiian version is, unsurprisingly, particularly delicious, but it’s the beef patty with shiny gravy, the mash ups of Japanese and American diner, Filipino and Vietnamese that make me happiest. The food, at every level, from casual to fine dining, by fully exploiting the awesomeness of that cultural mix, gets better and better and better every year.
The placewhere I was happiest in Hawaii was the place everybody (native Hawaiians included) insisted that I would probably be least happy—or least welcome: Moloka’i. Those proud, tough, obstinate, mother****ers (and I mean that in the most admiring sense I could possibly use that word) are exactly the kind of people we need to save us all from the worst of “progress”. We need people like that in post-Bloomberg New York. Bubba Gump and The FieriDome would have never dared to soil my beloved city—and Donald Trump would be regularly punched in the face. In short, paradise.
I was treated with enormous kindness and generosity everywhere I went—nowhere more so than Moloka’i. My ignorance and naive preconceptions tolerated with patience and good grace. This is one haole who feels very, very honored and grateful for the many kindnesses shown me.
A special thanks to the man, the legend, Shep Gordon, talent manager extraordinaire, the man who can, it can be credibly maintained, single handedly moved chefs from their powerless huddle in the back stairs service entrance, to the big stage—and changed the world many times over. He was my host with the absolute most in Maui. If you have not seen Mike Myers’ film about Shep’s outrageously extraordinary life, SUPERMENSCH , you should do so immediately.