As the title indicates, me, Margot and the bros had decided to have a testosterone-laden Sunday; going to a shooting range followed by lunch at Hooter’s. This outing inspired many word puns that kept us entertained days before the actual event. “Shoot and Hoot”, “Guns and Buns”, “Barrels and Butter” and last, but not least: “Titty Titty Bang Bang”, which we crowned the winner (thank you Cate!). Yes, this is exactly the kind of kidney-rupturing hilarities you can expect from our household. Mike had two years earlier been to the Blue Ridge Arsenal in Chantilly, Virginia and had called ahead to ensure that it was alright to bring a foreigner. “She’s Swedish? That’s awesome! As long as she’s accompanied by an American citizen she’s welcome!”. Unfortunately he didn’t mention that you needed gun experience before you could rent a gun. We failed the ‘safety test’ (pointing the gun in a safe direction, loading the gun and secure it, unload the gun and put it back in the box). How will I ever be able to look the National Rifle Association in the eyes now?! Last time Mike went he was given a small introduction on how to use guns before being allowed onto the range, and we thought we’d be given the same thing this time around. Unfortunately, the management had changed and instilled a BYOG (Bring Your Own Gun) policy or pass a safety test-policy before renting a gun. As we had neither we sulkily escorted our liberal asses out of there.
Moments before our rejection. The shooting range is safely tucked away in a warehouse invisible from google maps and four minutes away from the nearest Hooter’s. Coordinates doesn’t really need to be more specific than that. When you step in you hear the muffled sounds of guns being fired and the whole shops smells of pine. All along the left wall there were rifles and, in glass counters underneath, ammunition and hand guns. On the right side there was a plethora of urban and rural camouflage- PJs. Above the ‘check-in’ counter you had a variety of paper-targets hanging; a man, a skeleton, a skeleton with a turban (terrorist-skeleton, so many of them around) and finally, Usama bin Laden. Nevermind that the man has been thoroughly executed and disposed of, he’s still a possible target and undoubtedly a top choice amongst leisure- shooters.
Moving on from the disappointment and me mumbling “But this is AMERICA! I should be allowed to fire a gun if I want to!” and acknowledging that the rule is a rather sane one, despite the fact that they could have provided the information more clearly on their website, we continued to the next stop of our manly weekend: Hooter’s.
An unfocused picture of fried pickles. Delicious!
I needed to use both hands to hold on to this.
The signature dish: Chicken wings rolled in cholesterol and guilt. We estimated that they probably have 20 deep-fryers in the kitchen. By now my food habits have become so American that if anything is fried, dipped in sugar and fried again, I’ll have it!
Me and my bosom buddies. They both smelled like spring flowers and posed like professionals. I’ve heard that there are two different recruitment criteria for Hooter’s, both involving the generosity of your… heart, obviously: Your mammary glands have to touch the wall before your nose does, or standing straight, your toes and beforementioned characteristics have to touch the wall. So for those interested, applications can be filled out here.
After lunch we decided to drive to the nearby Air and Space Museum (the second one) where the Discovery shuttle lives now. Being a bit of a space nerd, I immediately went to the space section and was all emotions as I saw the shuttle. I am, like so many others, fascinated by space and often toy with the thought of life on another planet. Being from a country that has very little space-presence, I found it jaw-dropping to see a real space rocket close-up.
Posing in front of an engineering master piece.
Space wear-and tear. The whole rocket is built of what looks like tiles, the above ones are from the ‘belly’.
Ain’t it a beauty?
In the space corner there were several satellites, missiles and space costumes along with tools and other space memorabilia. Among those things were copies of records and hard drives that have been sent into space in case they would run into any aliens. A sort of business card for Earth complete with samples of the many of the languages we speak, some of our greatest architectural feats and music. I don’t think Justin Bieber made it on the last one, sorry belibers of the outer spaces. If you want him, you can come and get him. Looking at all these attempts to market earth, Mike and I started to wonder what qualifications an item has to have to make it onboard a rocket our satellite. Relevance obviously, liked by the majority and maybe necessary for our survival? Being a bit tipsy after our boob-lunch I suggested chocolate. Mike looked at me and shouted with his broadest Staten Island-accent : “Put the Cadbury- boxes in the Space Machine and walk, pal! This is NASA and we’re on a schedule”. I don’t think I have ever laughed as much at a museum in my life!
The Air and Space museum also has a considerable amount of airplanes and war souvenirs. These are called Ho Chi Minh-sandals, are made out of car tires from the Vietnam war and are apparently very uncomfortable.
We rounded off our Sunday with a bit more violence, sex and food, with Only God Forgives (which could be one of the most pretentious and nonsensical movies I have ever seen, and I’m rather pretentious! Doesn’t qualify to be sent like the aliens at all. ) and True Blood together with some homemade Spaghetti Bolognese. Sunday at it’s best!