Yesterday was only mildly more entertaining, but today–hoo-ee. Hold me back. Rrrowwr. Crrrraaaazy times. Yee-haw. Etc., etc.

I’m in the cow town of Clayton, NM, just a few miles from the Oklahoma panhandle, and although I sound catty, it’s only to disguise the fact that I’m crying inside.

I just went to the Luna Theater to see the forgettable Step Up, because that’s what was playing, and it was only $5. Junior Mints were $1.50. There were only about five other people in this giant theater with a beautiful velvet curtain from the 1930s, and groovy Deco-era wall sconces and gorgeous hardwood floors. It was easy to find the theater, because Clayton has about two streets, and one traffic light. No one was at the movie, it turns out, because they’re all at the high school football game. And when we came out into the damp, cool night, you could definitely smell the cows.

What must it be like to grow up here? I was pretty isolated as a kid, but nothing like this. We could at least drive to Albuquerque. From here, the big city is Las Vegas–Las Vegas, New Mexico, that is. And that’s where you’ve got to go if you want to see Jackass 2. Believe you me, Beverly and I were quite bitter to be driving out of Vegas today when we saw that new movie on the marquee at the other theater (the one that’s open, not the Serf).

Also, as we were driving out into the open prairie, we heard, ever more faintly on the AM station, about the great mariachi concert we were missing, and the fiesta and parade tomorrow, and so on and so on.

By the time we rolled into Clayton, it was just static, and we had to entertain ourselves by reminiscing about the last time we were in this part of the state, a good 14 years ago. It was a day drive that’s stuck with us only because it was so monumentally boring: all we did was maybe climb over a fence somewhere, not get let into a bar in Roy because we had my under-18 brother with us, and then, right before we turned around in despair, ran over a snake by accident. I still feel bad.

But here in the present, we’re in Clayton for the night, and we’re staying in hands-down the nicest hotel around. It’s almost ridiculous how much nicer it is than anything else. And they keep laying on the details–like, do they really need the scrolling sign that crows, “Our staff has 160 years of experience!” Dude, you have a light in your reception, and the doors aren’t falling off the hinges–you win, OK? Just chill.

I’m leaving out the other nice hotel, the Eklund, because I haven’t checked that out yet, but honestly, even if it does have historic charm, it is still getting its ass kicked by the Best Western in everything but the historic charm department.

I haven’t seen the Eklund’s rooms because I found myself in a weird ethical bind earlier. See, the Eklund is also about the only place to eat in town, so I didn’t want to march in and ask to see rooms, and then go eat dinner, because my cover would be blown, and they might be all fawning at dinner (or worse, they wouldn’t), and it would be awkward.

But then we had to send the trout back because it tasted like dirt (what is up with that? Is every fish in the world now farmed in a squalid box of muck?), which no one could really grasp. “Well, uh, if you order the fried fish, it doesn’t taste so fishy,” said one waitress with an apologetic shrug. “Not fishy,” Beverly said. “DIRTY.”

Meanwhile, my steak, which had probably been part of a cow that contributed to the very manure I’m smelling now, was delicious. We ate our baked potatoes in foil, and drank our half-carafe of house red (we spent a little extra to get the next up from Inglenook), and reminisced about how this, plus fried zucchini, was the height of dining fashion in the 1970s. Then we tipped big and ran across the street to the movies.

But it was a minor scene. And seeing how there are eight people in this town, it’ll be a little weird to march in there tomorrow and ask to see some rooms. “Oh that’s why she thought our fish was dirty,” they’ll whisper. “She’s some big-city writer type. Mmm-hm.”

Oh well. Then we’ll blow on out of here, and they’ll stay right where we left them. I just hope some better movies come to town.