The faithful departed: It's sad, and I remember eating at every one of these places, except the Robert E. Lee ["Demolished: Five St. Louis Restaurants That Are No More," Robin Wheeler]. Now the riverfront is a joke; I was embarrassed after bringing friends up from Florida to show them that vast expanse of nothing.
I used to eat at Diamonds once a month or so when my family took road trips when I was a kid. They had some of the oddest tourist trap stuff there. But St. Louis loves to kill off its history. Soon it will be just like South Florida – a place with no history left.
SMDrPepper, via the Internet
Standing in for Wichita: Maybe they'll hire the firm that designed those buildings that took the place of the Arena. You know, the ones that are so bland that you can't tell if you're in St. Louis, Wichita or Naperville?
I applaud the region's efforts to erase any trace of history or architectural distinction. Eventually the entire metro area will be one vast expanse of McMansions, duplexes, strip malls and glass office blocks. The sooner the better, I say.
Brutus_Maximus, via the Internet
No tears for the Parkmoor: Call it sacrilege, and Walgreens was hardly necessary, but the Parkmoor was terrible, both food and service. Yes, it was old and part of the STL landscape, but it was hardly a loss from the restaurant scene.
KittyLitterKing, via the Internet
No thanks for the history lesson: I'm really not much of a fan of the RFT "journalists" mocking those of us who do care. I guess they have nothing better to do than rattle the cages of the few people left who still read their paper.
If I ever invest in a porn site, I'll be sure to consult you for advertisement rates. Otherwise, I'll stick to less satire-inspired editorials.
Midwest Mentality, via the Internet
The Provel litmus test: Isn't the RFT now owned by the Village Voice? That might explain why some of the RFT writers have to be snarky a-holes. After all, they are so much more worldly than us yahoos who live here in flyover country. They can turn up their noses and scoff at our version of interesting historic architecture until they possibly land a job in a bigger market.
Kind of like that smug-ass Ian Froeb, who takes every opportunity to let us rubes know that he hates Provel cheese. (I hate it as well, but I choose to not be an ass about that, since there are more important things to be an ass over.)
Ihatesuburbs, via the Internet
Hoop it up: Interesting study on downstate Illinois culture ["Hoop Dreams," Suzy Rust]. Thanks!
Have you seen the program about Irish Travelers and the amazing hoop skirts they buy for their over-the-top weddings and confirmations? The skirts are so heavy with fabric that they wear the resultant scars on their hips as a badge of honor. ("If ye don' bleed, it ain't a big enough dress!")
White Trash Peg, via the Internet
All the hoopla: My grandmother made my mother's dresses (Roxana High School, class of '77) and my mother made my sister's dresses (Bethalto High School, class of '05), not a Chinese sweatshop.
Although I obviously didn't witness my grandmother detailing my mother's dresses, I remember watching my mom make four different dresses over a four-year period for my sister. All were different from the year before, and each required hours of detailing (she'd typically start two months out and do the final fitting on the Friday before the event).
My grandpa worked at the refinery for 40-plus years, and my grandma worked as a seamstress. I had no idea this wasn't the tradition at every high school in the nation until I went away to college.
I made my escape, via the Internet