I don't know what it's like to visit Mecca but I have been to the Vatican and now I can say I have been to the most resplendent, opulent, audacious, crustaceas and all them other flamboyant adjectives that you encounter when you enter the inner-sanctum of Mormon-ville: Temple Square in Salt Lake City. If there is a God looking down on all this, He or She has to be scratching His or Her head and wondering, "What in my name is going on here?"
Of course the Mormons eschew alcohol, tobacco, and other stimulants like Coke and coffee, but you will find state-operated liquor stores. And oh, that's a Costco there in the background. That's our temple. We dropped into the liquor store and asked how often do Mormons come in. The clerk (non-Mormon) winked and said every day some will come in to buy alcohol for their "rheumatiz" and he winked again. The "medicine" of choice is gin. And don't think they don't smoke 'cause they damn sure do. And they drink coffee. So what in the hell is this Mormon thing really all about?
Oh, you'll see a few signs like this along the interstates in Salt Lake City and other parts of Utah. Yes, them Mormons lap up lap dancing.
And speaking of lap dancers, here's one right now. No, that's my mom with Daisy. She's just flown in from San Diego and she'll join us on our journey north to Jackson Hole and Yellowstone. Oh, and Daisy, too. Can't forget the poor damn dog who leads the life of Riley on the road.
Paul checked out a couple of lap-dancing places and said they turned out to be a bunch of sister-wives stripping off their pioneer garb and magic underwear. When they got down to bare bones it was not a pretty sight so we returned to Temple Square, the real focus of Salt Lake City.
As soon as you enter Temple Square you're met by young Mormon missionaries who are very lovely, speak very softly and are very welcoming. Much like the white-robed "greeters" who welcomed you to the "euthanasia death temple" in the 1960s movie "Soylent Green". It was the last stop before you were converted into a Big Mac. (Plot spoiler alert: "soylent green" turned out to be ground up human beings who provided the future world's only food source.) Of course, beneath all this, like Mormon missionaries spread throughout the world, there is an effort to convert you. They will tell you otherwise but make no mistake. That is the real Mormon mission. Of course, you can say the same thing about Catholicism (the one true church) or fundamental Christians or Moonies on worldwide crusades. Paul says "why can't people feel the presence of the Lord within by looking at the natural beauty around us, go to the Grand Canyon, the unpopulated California coast, the scenic wonders of the Shenandoah or the wine aisles at Costco." Why in the world do we have to build these monstrous monuments to a man (Christ) whose mission in life was really very simple? He wandered the deserts of the Middle East wearing only a robe and sandals and preaching the gospel of peace and love. Now we go to war in His name and we have taken the mutterings of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John and twisted them into something that doesn't resemble what Christ was really all about. That's just our way of looking at it. And what's up with Mel Gibson?
And here's inside the old Mormon Tabernacle...blah...blah...blah...
Inside the Mormon museum at Temple Square this painting tells the story of the Lord appearing to Joseph Smith in the 1820s and saying something like, "Hey dude, all these other religions have screwed up my gospel so don't you screw it up." So Joseph gathered up some women and headed west. Of course, you have to remember there wasn't much to do back in the 1820s but smoke dope, make up stories, and round up women. But for many men that sounds like a pretty good proposition.
Here's that lap-dancing mom of mine again standing in front of a Mormon pioneer cabin, built recently from Home Depot construction material.
And then there's this. Anybody know what the hell this is?
And then there's this much-revered spot where Mormon couples kneel and are bound together forever. Or until they divorce.
These are the remnants of a long-ago Tupperware party at Temple Square. Actually this display depicts Mormon food storage. It is said that a good Mormon will store up to two years' supply of food to survive a natural or man-caused catastrophe. This is a good thing for a Catholic to know because we're just a bunch of damn thieves and Irish Catholics are a damn sight tougher than any Mormons we've met. So if there's a catastrophe you can bet we Cat-likkers will be snaggin' your cache of chow because let's face it, Catholics will inherit the earth along with cockroaches and styrofoam.
And speaking of the real Mormon mission, "Who do you think you are" says it all. Mormons claim to have the largest genealogical data bank in the world. Somewhere in your heathen past you may find a Mormon. But likely not. So the Mormons will baptize your dead relatives and make them Mormons in good standing. THAT IS THE SOLE REASON FOR WELCOMING YOU TO THE GENEALOGY CENTER.
Here's a photo of dead baptized relatives on sale at the gift shop.
Dead relatives are baptized by proxy. So someone stands in the baptismal pool playing the part of your great grand lap-dancing granny. By doing this the Mormons increase their numbers and they actually think they will take over the world. But we mackerel snappers still have the edge. Don't you forget it.
By the way, there was a straw poll the other day as to who the top three Republican presidential contenders are. Mitt Romney topped the list followed by Sarah Palin followed by that Ichabod Crane-looking creature from Louisiana, Bobbie Jindal. Let's face it. Bobbie's too homely, Sarah's too stupid, and Romney's too Mormon. Who does that leave? Your guess is as good as ours. Of course, there's always Fred Thompson who's busy right now selling reverse mortgages on television so he can provide for his 13-year-old bride. Wait...that makes him a Mormon!
So enough about all that. Here we are at our RV park in Salt Lake City. Me, Daisy, y mi lap-dancing madre. Even at 86 this woman has moves. And how do you like that hat?
While we slept in the damn trailer with a damn dog, mi lap-dancin' madre enjoyed all the comforts of home in a one-bedroom cabin on the grounds of the RV park.
The cabins were so upscale that they wouldn't even allow a regal pet like Daisy visit.
We were told, of course, that the park was about a half-mile off the freeway. You exit the freeway, turn right, turn right again and then you end up about fifty feet from the off-ramp. Big rigs do not make for a good night's sleep.
The RV park had a swimming pool with an interesting written rule. If you've had diarrhea within the past two weeks, no pool for you. That excluded about half the old timers in the park and Paul. He crapped his pants the day before which is not unusual for him. Must be all that Activia.
Next, with mi lap-dancing madre in tow we're off to Dick Cheney country: Wyoming.
This big antler arch and super-sized tourists prove that we've finally made it to Jackson, Wyoming.
Since we were here last year I'm not going to say too much about it except that it was very, very crowded.
The local Virginian Lodge comes with phones, TV, a pool and karaoke and even has an RV park behind it...
And since it includes a drive-up liquor store, we decided to stay.
Voila. The Virginian.
My sister Marisa showed up with her husband Gary and we devised our own walk-up liquor window.
Here we are doing what we do best: chowing down while drinking vino.
Jackson is just a few miles south of spectacular Grand Tetons National Park. Two days ago (I'm writing this on July 23rd) seventeen climbers were struck by lightning on the highest peak and one climber died when he fell off the mountain. So like the Grand Canyon, all this beauty comes with risks.
That's why we decided to tempt fate and cross one of the crowning jewels of the Tetons, Jenny Lake, in this leaking vessel.
Gary was convinced we would sink. My sister thought that was funny.
Meanwhile, Paul and Daisy prayed that we would indeed sink to the bottom so he could inherit my fortune and find a young chick or two.(This is actually the Episcopal Chapel of the Transfiguration which has been a Tetons landmark since the 1920s.)
Anyway, this small cabin/store near the Chapel is where we went after we survived our Jenny Lake cruise.
Since the weather turned chilly Marisa stole these historic long johns 
while Paul y mi madre did what they do best: sit and stare.
Nearby, an old cable ferry run by the National Park Service offers rides across the Snake River. At one time this type of ferry was fairly common around the United States but now only a few exist. The ride was free and since we love "free" we hopped aboard.
Gary, still scared, and clinging to his life jacket.
Turns out that our captain (Ranger Mike) took something of a shine to me. He was tres cute.
That ranger hat, life preserver and white work gloves sent my failing libido into overdrive. Adios, Pablo y Daisy! I'm hitching my wagon to a new dude.
Marisa growled "cougar"... but as it turns out, Ranger Mike and I weren't meant to be. He said he was born and raised in Ogden, Utah (just like the Osmonds) and that screamed "Mormon" to me. Since Mormon and Catholics don't mix, I high-tailed it back to former altar-boy Paul. Goodbye, Ranger Mike. It was sweet while it lasted. All ten minutes of it...
In case you're wondering, this cable ferry had an accident awhile ago. Another ranger was taking visitors across the river when the cable snapped and the ferry floated downstream in the fast current. It became lodged under a bridge a quarter mile away and everyone had to be rescued. Now that would have been something to write about. 
