batesville part II, or two accidents in two days? really?

denise arrived in lisa's jeep and we headed into those same hills. as a local 'turr' guide denise was much more than passable. not for what she knew about batesville -- there wasn't much of a history review -- but for how she'd experienced it. in no particular order...ghosthunting is a popular pastime for arkansans. denise grew up with her grandfather's ghost, which not surprisingly inhabited her grandmother's house after his death. she saw him once as the vague profile of a man in the kitchen, but such sightings and affiliated sounds disappeared after grandma died. when not ghosthunting denise and crew tightroped along the top of a dam across the white river, fished from a sandbar the soft sand of which deterred meddling cops, and dreamed of careers as dallas cowboy cheerleaders. or playboy models. denise considered this a shrewd career move and had suggested the same to her daughters -- one centerfold spread and royalties set you up for life. not sure of the calculations involved. alas, denise's father is a very serious missionary baptist and frowned hard at this idea; denise in turn though pushing the playboy career was horrified that one daughter considered appearing on a girls gone wild party boat because the compensation wasn't sufficient. so with that in mind we discussed her theology/religion over chain steakhouse steaks without resolving much. she acknowledged that her beliefs were enforced mostly by guilt, but the existence of the supernatural and the fundamental truth of the bible were self-evident. that said, church didn't hold much allure, and there was a healthy dose of a much more general spiritualism (see ghosts above). after a second traffic-related incident on sunday night (see below), both denise and lisa were quite serious that I must burn a black candle to ward off whatever curse someone has placed on me. that commitment to the informal again...she saw no contradiction in dealing with (perceived) evil curses through conventional christian means and at the same time falling back on more voodoo-inflected strategies.

anyway, denise has also pursued more practical turns as bartender, bar owner, interior designer, housecleaner, hunting cabin builder/renter, and racecar crew member. batesville is the home of nascar semi-star mark martin, as just about everyone was keen to point out, but always with the qualifier that perhaps mr martin has grown too successful, derisively pointing out that he's built a turnaround in front of his house for photo-seekers to use. success and respect are tricky in the south...and so denise was proud that she really didn't have to work. she lived in her grandmother's house and had earned enough money bartending in indianapolis (while following an itinerant-welder husband) that she was set for life...and hence free to pursue the opportunities of the informal economy with abandon. she was proud of her soon-to-be anaesthesiologist daughter -- but more of the scholarship money she'd racked up -- and disappointed for her son who's sure to bounce around from tough manual job to the next, not because she's judging his ambition but because he'll have to work hard his whole life.

the highlight of this arkansas experience was of course the event that to denise suggested that I'm cursed. we had driven into the ozarks about as far as she wanted to venture...and I had suggested we could catch the batesville community acting troupe's performance of madagascar at the local college that evening. but she didn't choose a great place to turn around...from the right lane of a briefly-three-lane road left into a gravel lot. that took us right into the path of a beat-up cherokee passing us on the left. bam. the shocked-incredulous look on the other driver's face was unforgettable. his right headlight was busted and quarterpanel mangled, but miraculously lisa's jeep had only some scuff marks on the hubcap. slightly angry words were exchanged before the combatants retreated to their respective corners. and then it got interesting. lisa hadn't told her husband todd that she'd loaned out the jeep for this sightseeing expedition, so it had to stay on the downlow. that I understood. denise was furiously chainsmoking for another reason, though. when the cop sidled over to gather information, I was surprised to hear him calling denise 'lisa' and asking if I was 'todd.' mm-hm. denise was pretending not to have her license and that she was lisa. figured I'd roll with it but not too much -- I wandered off so I wouldn't have to participate actively in this ruse, especially since I had no idea why this misdirection was necessary. turns out denise had found out that her license was suspended -- er, expired -- a couple of weeks ago. a clerk had carded her at a liquor store and pointed out that the license was, oh, 10 months expired. (or suspended.) denise figured it was better to impersonate her friend (and implicate her in an at-fault accident) than take the driving-with-an-expired-license violation. I'm all about volunteering as little information as possible to a cop, but willful misrepresentation seems unlikely to end well. there was confusion over middle initials...but the trooper didn't catch on. and actually denise came off the more believable of the two drivers since the other guy was just a bit twigged out and was wearing a tshirt spoofing the eyeballs-on-money GEICO ad campaign in which the money-eyes were labeled 'the money you could be spending on weed.' in the end denise (lisa) was cited for an improper turn, and both drivers had serious problems with IN-surance documents. through all of this denise was in constant communication with lisa, but somehow the fact that denise was foisting her moving violation off on lisa didn't come up. even when we swung by the hospital for a damage inspection, lisa still didn't know that she'd picked up a ticket while sitting at the hospital admissions desk.

denise stands out, maybe because she conveniently illustrates my from-the-hip estimation of southerners...the informal economy, a don't get above yer raisin' mentality, satisfaction with what is, quirky independence on some things but docility in the face of authority on others. the collision meant we never did make the play. instead we went to the riverside park and watched water spill over the dam. there again southern (non-)contradictions. no bars in batesville, and a standard curfew for minors...but the park was apparently open at all hours. no fear-of-the-dark 'park closes at dusk' here. one place I did find a beer was josie's, a steakhouse on the river. locals have to sign up to join the drinking club, but visitors like me only had to sign the guestbook at the front. the moral fabric of the community is at stake, but what you do on your own time (esp if you're not staying long) is on you. get drunk and fall into the spillway? check. provide a place for unsupervised indulgence in vice? not okay.