I’ve only been to Indiana once, and that was an accident. I was on my way to the Kentucky Derby with a friend, riding shotgun and playing navigator as we drove from Nashville to Louisville.
I dozed off not far from our destination and awoke to my friend’s cursing a missed exit as we prepared to cross a large bridge. The sign on the bridge said “Welcome to Indiana,” which prompted me to exclaim, ‘WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK!?!?!?” because my sense of geography was so fuzzy back then that I imagined Indiana was hundreds — if not thousands — of miles away from Churchill Downs.
But as it turns out, it’s right across the river, so we made a U-turn on Indiana soil and then high-tailed it back to Kentucky for the Derby. We sat in the infield, which was like going to a concert with no band. I don’t think I saw a horse all day. But I saw lots of mint juleps and big hats.
Anyhoo, Indiana. As a citizen of the much-maligned and boycotted open-air insane asylum known as “Florida,” it’s a relief to see people heaping deserved derision on another state, and thanks to Governor Pence’s signing of the “Act to Protect the Extra-Dainty Feewings of Homophobic Bakers and Florists” law, Indiana now deserves it.
If I ever make it back to the Derby when that law is still in force, I will drive so we don’t get lost and wind up in Indiana.