Shell fragments, Driftwood and Vertebrae - Oh my!

My daughter's been requesting that I read her my "stories on the internet" a lot lately.   Especially the ones that involve... her.  

So it was not surprising when, as we gathered together (PILED) everything that we were going to take with us on our annual trip to MS gulf coast, she told me I needed to bring the laptop, so I could write stories about our trip.   While I didn't bother with the laptop, I did take copious mental notes....

Trip down was uneventful.  Fiona showed everyone her bear, and told them that I had gotten it for her, and I felt like a great dad.   While waiting to disembark the plane in Gulfport, she told everyone within ear shot about the St. Patrick's day party.   Glad she doesn't know grandma's address....

First day of spring, and we spent an hour or two on the beach, later in the afternoon, while grandma napped.
68 and cloudy, and it was 4pm, and I didn't even think about sunscreen for my bald head.
oopsie.
Lots of detrius down by the water's edge.
Shell fragments and driftwood and various sized vertebrae (no idea...) - Oh My!
Closer to the beach hwy, the sand was criss-crossed with bulldozer tracks, from the annual "rebuild the beach before spring break" efforts.

Fun fact - if they didn't bring sand in and re-build the beach every year... there'd  be no beach.  it would be silt and plants, thanks the row of barrier islands that line the water a short distance from the mainland, all the pretty sand stays well away from coast, and all the silt from rivers and such stays close to shore.
Do NOT swim in the gulf from shore, if you happen to be visiting.   Look, but don't touch.  You can, if you really want, but it's shallow, silty bottomed, crazy warm and... kinda ew-y.

Pockets full of "treasures", we walked back to grandma's and... sat around.

Day two... nothing.    Li'l Ray's for lunch at least.    If you find yourself in Long Beach, MS around lunch time, you can do worse.    They'll probably screw up your order, but once it's sorted... Fried pickles and po' boys and gumbo.... Oh my!

Day three - New Orleans.    I love New Orleans.   For a few hours, on a nice day...

Great to see the French Market fully re-opened and operational.  And up-scaled!  gone are the hot sauce stands and the boxes of random produce, replaced by... dining options and decent seating.   The back half is still a flea market full of tacky tourist crap, of course.  A gen-U-wine baby gator head will cost you $12.99, but you can get a plastic one for about 1/3 that amount.

Gatorheads, offensive T-shirts and cheap-ass sunglasses  - Oh My!

Jackson Square has gotten seedier, though the gardens are still beautiful.   Fewer street performers and fortune tellers and such, and more... un-washed, un-friendly people loitering on benches.
"Your bird's really pretty"  Fiona said to one of them, who happened to have a pet macau.
She received no pleasant answer.    Step away from the scary man, sweety,...
As we walked away, a N.O. cop came up to the bird man, and started talking to him.   We walked a way a bit faster...

Audobon Aquarium - our first time there.  Can't believe we've never checked it out before.   Seemed a bit pricey, for the size, and for what they have, but it was actually really cool.   It's designed to lead you from beginning to end, very organized in lay out.   Penguins were a big draw, as they liked to swim to the edge of the glass and stare at you.    Seems only fair....  Fiona's (and my) favorite -  There was an owl. Just kinda hanging out on some rocks near the end, where they were featuring local fish and flora.  

Fish and penguins and Owls... Oh my!

And that's pretty much it.  There was a very quiet, sparsely attended St. Patrick's party that weekend.  Elderly irish nuns hollered out requests to Betsy, the musician from New Orleans that comes over to play the party every year.    Betsy's fantastic, but doesn't play music full time any more, so has forgotten some of the songs...  
Everyone was gone by 9:05, sober and well fed.  
How times change....

Airports and such.

So, I’m sitting at C3 at O’Hare airport, waiting to fly to Detroit for a conference.

Aprox. 18 hours ago, I landed in Midway, having been on a trip to see my wife’s mom for a few days. 

By the time I get back to the office on Thursday afternoon, I will have been on six different planes in eight days.  And walked through 5 airports...

Between work and trips to see family, I probably only log 4-5 round trips via air a year, which isn’t that much flying, compared to many.

But the thing is – I hate it.   Not the “paralyzed with fear that I’ll crash and die and they won’t be able to find a big enough piece to ID me” kind of hate.

More the” hurry up and wait and take your shoes and belt off and lug your shit a city block through crowds of people that all appear to have their heads up their asses, so you go sit on a bench for an hour” kind of way.

Whilst spending large sums of money to be treated shabbily.   

Hey you just dropped $500 to fly with us.  Here’s a tiny bag of pretzels, a small plastic cup of water and…. WIFI will cost you.

 I live in fear of the day when they realize they can charge you for the security check,  and that toilet paper will be sold by the square. 

While not traveling as much as some, I sit here at gate C3, on the blue vinyl bench, having just ate my (overpriced) lunch out of my lap, pondering the numbers.

I’ve spent time, as far as I can recall, in the following airports.

Chicago O’hare, Chicago Midway, Tucson AZ, Hartford CT, Detroit Metro, Atlanta, Atlanta Atlanta..sorry.. St Thomas AVI, Miami, Memphis,Lansing,  Houston, New Orleans, Dallas (Love Field I think), Savannah GA, Indianapolis, Ottawa ON,Toronto ON, Shannon Airport in Ireland, Dublin Airport Ireland, Orlando FL, Pensacola FL, Gulfport MS, Washington DC (Reagan)…  

So 24 airports, and I probably missed a couple there somewhere.   Like it matters.   My point’s made.  

I’ve spent way more time in way more airports than I’d like.   Even though I like the convenience and efficiency of flying.

Lessee, so far today, just since clearing security…

I’ve had d 3 different people walk right into me in the last hour, because they were on their phones and can’t talk and pay attention at the same time.  I’d hate to be next to them on the highway.  I was standing off to the side at the time, near.. nothing.    I’ve had 2 people stop dead in front of me, in the middle of the concourse, in traffic in otherwords, to make a call.   Apparently the call could not wait for them to step aside, out of traffic. 

And while in security line, the woman behind me bumped into me so many times, I had to tell her to stop, and had to make sure she wasn’t trying to steal my wallet.   When I told her to stop, she acted surprised, like she had no idea she had bumped me >10 times in <5 minutes.="" nbsp="" o:p="">

Space people.  Personal Space.   You’re invading Patrick Land, and I do not like it.

Oh and I’ve eaten a crappy lunch from a restaurant I Never eat at, except when I’m at an airport. 

Soon it will be time to board, and everyone will surge toward the gate, regardless of whether it’s time for them to board.   There will be at least 2 people that will appear to have never ever been on an airplane before, and incapable of understanding how seats and rows are laid out.  The little map will confuse them.  They will sit in the wrong row AND the wrong seat.   It’ll be time to leave, they’ll announce that everyone needs to turn their crap off, and the flight attendant will still have to tell some self-involved jack wagon to… turn his crap off.

                                                                                               

My daughter LOVES to fly.   She loves the airplane ride, the airports, saying hi to…everyone.  She loves the turbulence, the view out the window, the take off, the landing..

 It’s all one big amusement park ride for her.   Whereas for me, it’s the 75 minute wait in line in 90 degree heat, behind some foul mouthed cracker, to get ON that amusement park ride.   

And I'm jealous, as I often am, of her simple and innocent and non-jaded outlook on life.

Many hours later.......   We boarded, three people didn't know their numbers or letters

Plane was too full for all the carry ons, so mine ended up being stowed in baggage. And then... we set for almost an hour, without access to electronic devices, and without any indication whatsoever as to why we were just... sitting there.  No extra beverage, no pretzels (at all, for the entire flight,cheap b*stards) , no cool air nor announcements nor apologies.....    

My daughter probably would have been cool with it.

When kayaks attack, or... I had it coming....

So, my kayak attacked me this morning.

I built it a nice rack to hang upon, on the wall of my garage.  

And there it was, laying in wait this morning.

And there I was, minding my own business, sliding by it to get into my car to go to work, like I have done countless mornings before.

All of the sudden, I found myself snared, entangled in the strap I keep on the front end of it.  It had wrapped itself around my lunch pail and neck.    

Keeping my cool, I spun myself free, and hopped into the car, quickly shutting the door behind me.  I looked out the driver’s side window, to make sure there would be no further aggression, and drove out of the garage.

Oddly enough, I understand.  I haven’t really been there for it.  I’ve not given it the attention it deserves.   We never go out anymore, I never take it anywhere nice…

Our relationship’s never been overly exciting, more a casual thing than any kind of serious commitment.   We go out and have fun together a couple of times a summer, maybe I’ll let it go on vacation with me if the circumstances are right.   But, up until now, it's worked for me, and I assumed for it as well.

But for whatever reason, it’s not moved from its nice rack, so far this calendar year.

If this is the kayak’s reaction to a year of me not paying it enough attention, I dread going anywhere near the corner of the basement where my fishing gear is stored.  

Yeah, we had a lovely weekend away together in Wisconsin, back in May.   But since then….

And since my fishing gear is full of pointy metal objects and knives and lead weights, I could be in big trouble, if I turn my back at the wrong time.     

Bad things could happen.

And my pristine, unwrinkled, so-clean-you-could-eat-off-of-it IL fishing license will sit on the shelf, laughing as it all goes down.  

On the other hand, my camping gear should LOVE me, as we dusted IT off, and took it away for a weekend in the woods for the first time in over six years, a few weeks ago.

And it was awesome, and smelled of promise of more to come.    

And wood smoke.

And Citronella oil.

Maybe that’s what promise smells like, to camping gear….

Anyhow, you’d think it would have my back, protect me from violent kayak-tic outbursts.

Where’s the gratitude?

get out the map, lay your finger anywhere down...

Another post about traveling.  Not interested?  thanks for stopping by anyhow.

What's 15 hours long and mind-numbingly dull?    The drive from Chicago to the MS gulf coast.

So, is it more or LESS god-awful, if you do it all at once, or you split it up into two days?

Doesn't matter, as it turns out.

Hit the road early on a friday morning, leaving Chicago in the rain.   Crappy, uncomfortable rental car full of snacks and good cheer and entertainment for a  four year old.    Just south of Kankakee, we spotted a wolf, prowling around in the median of the interstate.   Sweet!
Besides that, all we had was an ipod full of music, a cute kid, and watching for hawks to help make the miles fly by...

200 miles in, we stopped for breakfast,  At a restaurant chain known for it's rocking chairs; routing dining customers through their gift shop; and... gravy, I think.  
Tip for this restaurant chain - invest in smaller plates.  They'll make your portions LOOK bigger when you bring them to the table.

Oh, and run our damn bill up for us, please.  It's kind of annoying, making us go back to your gift shop to pay for our breakfast.  your restrooms were also located in the gift shop...

If we didn't know better, we'd begin to think you were trying to trick us into buying tacky crap in your gift shop.  
Fiona loved her new doll by the way.   At least for the first 48 hours or so.
Bastards.
Oh, and your Clove Gum was really stale.

We made it to our day one destination well within our target time, marveling at how smoothly the drive went, how easy it was, etc.  To the point that we were talking about how maybe next time, we'd go 11 hours instead of 7.5...

Blytheville, AR exists for some reason.   I'm not clear what that reason is, but in the middle of nowhere, it's a town that gets two exits on the interstate, and has every chain hotel and restaurant known to man.

And we were happy to be there.  

We explored the town a bit, being  turned away from the Holiday Inn because we were a half hour early and they wouldn't let us check in.

Almost immediately received a reminder about not judging books....  
At the local park.  Which was not in great shape.  
But it had lots of kids at it, and their moms, most of which did not appear to be in much better shape than the park.

Surprise!  they were all super nice.
The moms struck up easy conversation with us immediately, while one of the older girls offered to push Fiona on the swings, since she was pushing her little sister already.

We got more love from strangers at a park 500 miles from home, in 10 minutes, than we do at the nice parks in our middle class neighborhood at home.  

Talking in terms of getting love from strangers in parks... maybe I could have phrased that differently...

Similarly, we were treated with better customer service and kindness at the creatively named The Bookstore in Blytheville, than we receive at most retail establishments, hereabouts.  Including book ideas based on what THEIR children seemed to like, and tips on where to eat dinner.  Awesome place, The Bookstore in Blytheville, should you find yourself in the neighborhood.

The only other thing about Blytheville worth mentioning is that the coolest building in town is the one that is used to LEAVE town – the Greyhound Station.  Silver art deco, w/ a bit of neon.   It stood out like a piece of quartz floating in a cup of mud.  

Got up the next morning, packed the car, slid into the driver’s seat, and realized – all energy and “whoo hoo, this is easy!” from yesterday was gone.  

One day in a crappy, uncomfortable rental car was easy, two days… seemed like some kind of self-inflicted punishment.  

“Well, damn….” I muttered to myself, as I reluctantly turned the key in the ignition.

“this is gonna be a long day.”

TBC….

Oh, Canada...

Flew into Ottawa, ON on sunday.
Boy are my arms tired.


There's a whole lot of nothing to see out of the airplane window, for a very long time as you fly to Ottawa from Chicago.
as we got close, and started to descend, I really started to get a sense that I was in Canada.

Every creek, pond, river had squares of bare ice, where the snow had been cleared.

You'd think Hockey was a big deal here, or something.

And more so than the whole kilometer i/o miles thing on all the signs; and the gas prices listed per litre; it was the junior national Curling tournament on the TV at dinner that really hammered "You're in Canada" home to me.
Love nationally  televised sporting events where there's, like... 150 people actually watching it at the sports facility.
Woe is the Canadian sports network that didn't get the NHL broadcasting rights...

Then it was my cable tv at the hotel.   40 channels, several in french, over half of the 40 are news, sports or PBS-like.   A well informed, serious minded people, apparently.  Sports channels in Feb. in Canada show things like re-runs of old CFL playoff games; worlds strongest men competitions, Curling and... pro wrestling.  Woe is the canadian sports network that didn't get the NHL broadcasting rights...

TSN, by the way.    It's the real life equivalent of ESPN 8, "The OCHO!!!"

And given the apparent country-wide lack of interest in giving a creative name to anything, I bet TSN stands for...The Sports Network.    I bet they paid a marketing firm a ton of cash to come up with that name...

Lack of creative names... What am I talking about?  

There's a historical old church, dating from 1840 along the drive home.  It's light blue, and is the 2nd church built there, replacing the one from 1790 that burnt down.
What's the name of this quaint old church, surrounded by 200 year old grave markers?
The Blue Church.

And around the corner from my hotel, is a beer store.   Guess what it's called!
The Beer Store.

Oddly enough, the huge processing  plant with all the smoke and stuff billowing out of it, is not called "The Shithole" or "The blight on the landscape" or  "Icky". It actually has a corporate sounding name out front...


I have been driving back to my hotel along the St. Lawrence all week. Since I'm not in a hurry, have no place I have to be after work, no plans, no ideas... might as well take the scenic route.  

And it IS scenic.   A handful of picturesque (but not financially well off) old towns right on the water. Glimpses of 1000 islands around every curve. And a ton of historical markers, due to the fact that the area saw a lot of battles during Canada's fight to end English rule in the 19th century.

And French fry stands.
At least three of 'em between Cardinal and Brockville.  All of them closed until spring.  Each of them no bigger than a farmer's road side fruit stand.  

They take their fries pretty seriously, hereabouts.   A culinary specialty is Poutine.
That would be fries with fresh cheese curds and gravy.
I tried 'em last time I was in the area, and I'm still full, so opted out this go 'round.

As you drive along the water, you come upon signs, welcoming you to Johnstown, or Prescott, or Florence township.  

The usual artfully rendered wooden signs, with the name of the town, and a welcoming message underneath.

Like Johnstown's.    "We're Glad You're Here!" might be your guess for welcoming message.
OR
"Try our fries!"

Nope.

Welcome to Johnstown.
"Smoke Alarms save lives!"

a few Kilometers further east, you're welcomed to Historical Florence Township.

"Home of the AA Jr. Curling Champions 1987"?
nope.
"You're already home"?
Nuh uh.

Welcome to Historical Florence Township
"No Smoke Alarm?  NO chance!!!!!"

Unless you're driving the other direction, then the sign says "Have you checked your smoke alarm's batteries?"

And a bit later, you enter Brockville.
"Welcome to Brockville"
" Resort Liv..uh.. Do you smell smoke?"

Nah, I made that last one up.  

It's been fun running out to lunch with my coworker, in Cardinal.
Town's small.  REALLY small.  
And it's been a company town for a century at least.   At one point, 100% of the residents worked at the plant.   She's lived here her entire life.  

On the way to lunch today, she told me to watch out for the guy who was crossing the street, a block and a half in front of me.
"That's Earl.  Earl takes awhile to cross a street."
And he did.

And everyone in town can spot him from over a block away, and knows what to expect.

And to me, that's kinda awesome.  

You can keep your smoke alarm propaganda; your gut buster gravy fries; your lack of creativity in your naming of landmarks and retail outlets; and your lack of programming on your sports networks.
But I'll happily take the small town, the evening commute, and the idea of an Earl.

Three passports, a couple of visas, I don’t even know my real name...

So, I’ve been traveling a bit, on business. Not unusual for people to do this, but I’ve traveled more on business in the last 8 days, then I did in 5 years at my previous job.

And, should anyone from my work stumble across this, I want to state for the record that I AM grateful for the opportunity.

I’m a numbers guy, so, here are some numbers

In the last eight days, not counting the two days I was home between trips, I have:

Set foot in three states and two provinces. And set foot in two more, on one of the afternoons I was actually in town.

- Slept (very) poorly in one state and two different provinces
- Coincidentally, made hotel room coffee, tasted it, and then promptly discarded it, in one state and two different provinces
- Ate dinner in 2 states and two provinces. And ate well, thank you very much.
- Crossed the international border 4 times in 24 hours.
- Ate five hotel breakfasts. Complimentary breakfasts… not good as a rule. But probably won’t kill you.
- Missed three lunches altogether because of flight schedules
- Watched aprox. 6 hours of Canadian news on TV.
(I love Canadian news channels. They’re so much… quieter and calm than US news channels. And they assume you are relatively intelligent and knowledgeable. Crazy.)
- Attended 2.5 days of meetings (when you add ‘em all together); one plant tour; and got to drive a golf cart around a grain port located on the St. Lawrence River.
- Missed 3 nights of reading to my daughter, and two nights of walking my dog.
(I didn’t actually MISS the dogwalks…)
- Been to the gym exactly 0 times.
- Drank three different, very good beers, brewed in two different provinces, and Pennsylvania. (Yay, Yeungling!)
- Ridden in four hired cars, four taxi cabs and two rental cars.
- Made countless hours of polite conversation with folks I don’t know all that well.

So, those are the numbers, and I’ve friends who travel for business a lot, and they would not be impressed with these numbers. But I am. And I’m exhausted.

Let’s add the human element, the uniquely me voice to the numbers, in attempt to flesh out the tale a bit.

As you drive east out of Ogdensburg, NY, just past the Lowes, you see a road sign. It lets you know that you can turn left, to enter Canada, or go straight, to go to… a psychiatric hospital.
I’m not making this up.
We, logically, turned left.
At the Canadian Customs booth, the agent asked us why we were crossing into Canada today.
“Duh, because we didn’t want to go to the psych hospital. I think that would be obvious, officer Doo-Right!”

I didn’t actually say this to him. They don’t have much sense of humor, customs and border patrol agents. And honestly, I wouldn’t want them to.

Driving east on the 401, right after hotel breakfast #2, I saw, in the tall grass by the side of the highway, a donkey. I’ve seen deer before, fox, coyote, turkeys, woodchucks… this was my first donkey.
Coincidentally, there was a truck with a livestock trailer parked on the shoulder, and a number of harried looking individuals in the tall grass behind the donkey, and not gaining very fast.

I walked into the restaurant where we were all to meet for dinner the first night, and realized that I had eaten in this very restaurant, almost exactly seven years earlier, when in the 1000 Islands area on vacation. Pub food has given way to upscale Italian. By the end of that evening, the guy who was running the place was giving us all lessons on different ways to decoratively fold napkins.

1000 Island region – love it! Read my previous blog post for more about it.

Want fun? Have 9 Americans walk into a tiny, very expensive French restaurant in PQ, just over the river from Ottawa, ON, at the end of a long road trip, and have them decide to unwind, with many glasses of wine, beer, and apple cider martinis. If you’re lucky, you’ll have your back to the wall, and your face to the room, and you can watch snooty French people shoot little snooty French daggers out of their eyes at the backs of the increasingly loud people sitting across the table from you.
Hi, bon jour! We’re leaving your country tomorrow. Lighten up.” He says, followed up by an outrageous French accented laugh.

I walked around the nation’s capital after my conference ended today. Never been in DC before. My coworkers had the capital building and the white house all mixed together in their heads. They don’t tolerate dissenters much, and just about had ME convinced I was wrong, until I came across the map sign showing all the points of interest. Including of course the White House, which was blocks away from the “You are here” arrow in the map.
Check AND mate.

And now I’m home, unpacked, and eagerly awaiting the return of my wife and daughter from some pre-school function. My dog gave me 60 seconds of unbridled excitement upon seeing me, then quickly went back to eating her food, and laying on my couch.

My daughter will walk in the door soon, get really, touchingly excited to see me, and then start searching for the white plastic bag that signifies that daddy brought her home a “surprise.” Soon after, I will have the dog drag me around outside for a few blocks, come back, and fall into bed……
Cus it’s a work day tomorrow, and a boy needs his sleep.

One Foot Square and One Live Tree

Spent the last few days in Canada and New York, bouncing back and forth across the border on business.

I spent almost the entire time within a mile or two of the border, along the St. Lawrence Seaway, in the 1000 Island region.

I had the pleasure of spending a little time here in the past, on a vacation, and remember being dazzled by the beauty of the area. It ranks very high on my “If I didn’t have to work for a living I’d live here” list.

This go ‘round, my Canadian counterpart was nice enough to give me a bit of background information on the region.

For a piece of land to qualify as an island, in the 1000 Island region, the following criteria must be met.

1. It must be above water, 365 days a year. 366 days a year during leap years.
(This is specified, should the piece of land think it’s going to be able to submerge itself for one day during a leap year, due to some governmental loophole. Nope.)

2. It must be at least one foot square
3. It must have one live tree

Something about these very simple, likely very old guidelines, really tickled me.

One square foot and one tree…. Awesome.

And as we drove back and forth along the Promenade Heritage Parkway (look at a map, people!), I had to laugh as I saw many tiny lumps of land sticking out of the river, with one very small tree on each. No wonder they claim nearly 1800 islands in total.
Got a pontoon boat, a shovel, and a greenhouse nearby? Let’s go make 12 more islands today…

I want that job. I want to be the government employee who’s responsible for motoring up and down the river, counting islands. A tape measure and a boat is all I’d need. Stop, measure, make sure the tree’s still alive… Check, check and… off we go.

“How was work today, sweetie?”
“I…love...my…job…so…much…..” he answers, holding up the bag of fresh walleye, caught while trolling between the islands he had to measure that day.

You can’t be too careful, because trees do die, and ground erodes. All the sudden, your private island residence… isn’t.

“Tree’s looking a bit sickly, and the guy who counts islands is due to drop by tomorrow. Shit! We’ve some planting to do RIGHT NOW.” And off you go in your boat, in rain and 40 degree weather, to the mainland, where you get in your car and drive to whatever greenhouse may be open on a sunday, to buy whatever tree's available...

A house and a boat house and a tree and the nearest neighbor’s 500 yards of river away from you. AND A great view no matter what window you look out.
Sounds like heaven.

As long as you keep that tree alive.

Thoughts on Driving in OH, childhood stories, and “I’m pretty sure that used to be more fun…”

Spent the last couple of days in Sandusky, OH.

Met some friends at Castaway Bay resort and water park.
Spent a day at Cedar Point, and the rest of the time at the water park.

It was great fun, and I ended up feeling like one of those guys in the commercials; the ones where the dad comes away feeling more connected with his family than he was before they went.
And I already felt connected, before leaving. My daughter's a trooper and a half, and my wife's a great traveling companion.

Anyhow...

I think the last time I was at Cedar Point was…. 1987. I might have gone with my buddy, Dave Burke. Not even sure about that.
I just remember getting chastised by my bandmates, because I was going to miss one whole rehearsal, the week before our first (we only ended up playing two) gigs.
In a band that was, by design, only going to last until school started up for everyone in the fall.

I was young in 1987. Standing in long lines to get on rides that simulated car accidents was an awesome time. And did I worry about stuff like dehydration and sunscreen when I was 19 years old?
Puh-leaze!

So 43 year old me got to go with my wife and nearly 4 year old daughter. And hydration and sunscreen were much bigger deal. And standing in line was a much bigger deal.
And we had a fantastic time together, mostly hanging in the three different kiddy areas, with occasional forays to rides we could all go on together. We were all riding in a Model A Ford, when the sky opened up and poured rain down upon us, for instance, and all three of us thought that was pretty darn fun.

I hit three roller coasters in quick succession upon entering the park, with the other husband/dad. I described the third one we were on, The Maverick, as akin to ”Riding a bull, whilst getting punched in the face”.
Repeatedly.

Later in the evening, we went back to the park and got on a couple more. I found that, unlike when I was 19, I spent most of the time just holding on real tight and hoping for the best.

While I will continue to go on them, I’m pretty sure that roller coasters used to be more fun.

My daughter’s obsessed on hearing stories from our childhood. I’m not sure she’s actually listening, nor filing them away, but she has an unlimited desire to hear more and more.
I made some up.
Told her about how grandma and grandpa used to keep me in a cage when I was little.
Told her I was joking afterwards.
Last night we took my mom to dinner on the way home from Sandusky, and she told grandma she didn’t think I was joking, when I told her about the cage.
Uh…. Check please.
All the way home, she kept asking for more. I realized, fairly early on, that I didn’t have a lot of stories that I remembered from my own childhood, that she would find interesting.
I’d tell her a story, she’d want to know what toys I had during that story, if there was a pet involved, etc. I'd tell her about riding my bike to the park to fish in the creek with my buddy Rick, and she'd add people to my story, to the point where there were.. 5 of us fishing in the creek, including my brother, and also my brother-in-law, who I would not meet until I was in my 20's.
Or I’d finish a story, and she’d ask “Is that story over?”

Yep, it’s over.
Hey, if I’m boring you, we could listen to music for awhile, or drive in companionable silence…. “Tell me another story!”
Alrighty.

I forget, since I don’t do it very often, that driving on the OH turnpike…sucks. A lot.

Driving anywhere in OH can be interesting, as many of the folks there did not ever embrace the change of speed limit from 55 to 65 or 70 on the interstates. It’s like they still think it’s a trick, to hand out more speeding tickets. And given the reputation of the OH state police, they have every right to be cautious about it…

But the OH turnpike… extra primo bad.

The service plazas are, largely, dumps.

“Hey, this one says they have a Uno’s, an Einstein Bagel and a hot dog joint!”
And you pull in, get out of the car, and find that it has a convenience store, with a microwave, and that microwave is the Uno’s, the Einstein Bagel and the hot dog joint.
On the plus side, over 50% the toilets are NOT either bagged up or clogged. I like those odds!

But at least the actual driving part is terrifying and frustrating as well.

One person’s doing 60 in the left lane, the next person’s weaving back and forth across the center line, and 5 minutes later an emergency vehicle passes us on the shoulder, and keeps on driving up the shoulder, because noone will get over for it.
A greyhound bus literally ignores the lights and sirens and keeps it from passing and getting to… what ends up being a really bad accident.
There’s a van that looks like it was dropped from the sky blocking a lane, which angers truckers, apparently, because one of THEM in turn ran me off the goddamn highway moments later, because… he wanted to change lanes RIGHT NOW, and the fact that I happened to be in it…. Not his problem.

It’s the same guy who had just leaned on his horn and sped forward at the accident site, making sure that noone could get over in front of him to go around the van and emergency vehicles.

Of course he ignored me as I leaned on my horn as he steered me off the road, doing 60 mph. I had to gun it to pass him on the shoulder to keep from going into a ditch, and got the bird for my troubles.

So to sum up: crappy facilities, bad driving, psychotic truck drivers… oh yeah and multiple construction zones.
And you pay for the privilege.

Last time I drove this stretch, I watched the car in front of me veer off the otherwise empty highway, smack against a guard rail, bounce back onto the highway and keep on going like nothing happened.

It takes a special kind of driving experience to make me look forward to crossing the border and entering Indiana.

Winnie the Pooh, Stephen King and Ripon, Wisconsin

It all started innocently enough.

A few minutes spent looking at a map, checking out what was between point A and point B.

That's all.

We had slack time built into the drive, it was through a part of the country we'd never seen before, so we checked out our battered atlas.

"Hey, Ripon's kind of on the way, and only about a half hour or so south of our destination. Let's route so that we can check it out."

We had a week to kill at our cabin rental in middle-of-nowhere, WI, and a potentially cool town, a half hour away, sounded like something we should investigate.

Really, if we'd been paying attention, we were given a warning before it was actually too late. But at the time, it just seemed like one of those things.

Directions from the mapping website told us to get off the main highway, 151, and onto a secondary highway, 26.
Which led us through miles of farm land until eventually, after 30+ minutes, bringing us back to... Hwy 151.



Yes, we were instructed to get off the highway, for the sole purpose of driving through nothing for 40+ minutes until we were BACK to the same highway from which we started.

But, we continued to follow the directions as outlined, even while commenting on how odd they had been thus far.
We had a plan, dammit.
And we were gonna stick to it.

5 miles further up highway 151, we were instructed to get off, and onto highway 26, AGAIN. And we did.

Because taking 151 straight to the interstate and onto our destination from THERE would be BORING, and we were on VACATION, and we wanted to SIGHT SEE, mapping website logic be damned....

Anyhow, our second time on highway 26 was uneventful, and we eventually ended up in Ripon, just like the print outs said we'd be.

And it looked like a cute town, worthy of a return visit, and life was good.

For a moment.

But the moment passed, and everything turned bad.

We exited the west side of Ripon, and were immediately back in remote farm country, without ever having seen any signs for highway 44. Highway 44 was our alleged hook up, so to speak. It went north out of Ripon, according to our directions and the atlas, and would eventually connect us to 116, a road I'd traveled on before, and one that would lead us straight to our destination.

Highway 44 did not appear to exist, in real life. We were out of town, and there was no signs for HWY 44, and we were headed west through more middle of nowhere without a plan.
My wife looked at the map.
"We'll be ok, I think." she said.
"About 5 miles up, there's a north south, #71, that should take us to to Hwy 21, which we can take back east to 116. "

We were still lighthearted about our drive, approaching the bad directions and lack of signs with good humour.
For another 5 miles, until we saw the sign that our road would be closed, just ahead, and we were to turn south to detour.

The lightheartedness ended, as we detoured south as directed, further away from our destination.

My wife, always the trooper, checked the map.
"No, no. I think we'll still be ok, because we should still cross 71, and we'll just be on it for a bit longer."
2 minutes later, we came to highway 71, and....It was closed, too.
"Well, hell." My navigator said.
"I'm out of ideas, we have to go back to Ripon."

And we did.
And the round trip to end up where we started? 35 minutes.

My daughter woke up from her nap as we were checking out the map for our next attempt to successfully leave Ripon and ultimately reach our destination.

"Are we at the cottage yet?" she sleepily asked.
"Nope." I answer.
"When will we be there?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, darlin."

My navigator looked up from the map.
"County Road F heads NE out of Berlin, and will eventually run into Hwy 21....."

Which I know will lead to Omro, where I can pick up 116 to Winneconne....

Let's do it!

Except once I was on what appeared to be County Road F, it meandered in a SE direction, until we found ourselves... Back in Ripon.

I made a terse joke about how it was actually County Road FU....

For those keeping score.... 45 more minutes to end up back where we started... again.

We
Could
Not
Get
Out
Of
Ripon.

And it was beginning to be a bit unnerving, for a guy that prides himself on finding places, picking the right routes, knowing what direction I'm going, all the time....

I grew up on Stephen King novels and old Twilight Zone episodes, and I'd just ended up back in the same town for the 3rd time, unable to leave it.....

My mind started to wander.

Would we discover that the town itself was evil, and preyed on random travelers?

Would I come across a huge fertilizer plant with car carriers full of out of state cars parked out front, and make the horrifying realization that WE were the fertilizer?

Would I have to steal WI license plates to disguise my car from the local sheriff and his men (all possessed by a long buried demon of course), long enough to escape via some random country road to god-knows-where?


"Are we there yet?" my daughter asked again, pulling me back from my thoughts of demons and evil in America's heartland.


Another literary influence popped into my mind, and I started to smile.

I thought about Winnie The Pooh.
The story where Pooh, Piglet and Rabbit were lost, and kept on ending up at the same sand pit, when looking for a way home.

Pooh, the bear with very little brain, decided they should try to find the sand pit again, instead of a path out of the woods, and by doing so, guarantee that the would not end up back at the sand pit...
In other words, they should stop looking for a way out of the woods.

"That road, right there. It heads north, and looks like a major road." I tell my wife, as I put the car back in gear, and head out of the parking lot of the empty store where we had stopped to look at the map again.
.
"Ok..."
"We're taking it."
"To where?" My wife asks.
"Does it really matter at this point?" I ask in return.

I threw the Pooh reference at her, she laughed.

2 miles up the random road, we found out we were on HWY 44, the very road we needed to be on in the first place.

Lightheartedness returned.
Music was turned back on.

When my daughter asked me "When will we be there?" a minute later, I could actually give her an answer.

Hwy 44 did exactly what the map said it was supposed to do. We continued on without incident.

Our 2 hour trip did, in fact, take more than 4 hours.

We decided we did not need to visit Ripon again, though we figured we'd end up back there at some point, completely by accident.
But I was comforted in the knowledge that when this DOES happen, I now know what NOT to do to fix it.

Thanks Pooh.

Camo is the new black.

just got back from 3 days of fishing in Wisconsin. Things i've learned.....

1. Camo is the new black.
2. Sunburn's for people in a hurry. WIND burn takes way longer, but is just as unpleasant.
3. If the rain's blowing hard enough, you CAN actually get rain all the way into your ear canal.
4. You have fried fish on your menu? Really? It's tonite's special? what's your other specials? Other kinds of fried fish? Tough call... I'll go with the fried fish, I think. Oh, definitely want the fries with that....
5. OOPS. Sorry, I didn't see you there, what with all the camo and all. You blend right in.
6. Critters Sports advertises indoor archery range and full bar. All thisi time, I just assumed they were in the same room... I stand corrected.
7. I don't want to own a camo painted boat. I'd never find it.
8. Beer is so very cheap. and it goes great with fried fish.
9. leeches are nasty. Yeah, I didn't JUST learn this, but was reminded of it continually for three days. However, they're like...fried fish to the fish, so I endured it.
10. Pontoon boats and high wind and swift current do not go together nearly as well as...say.... fried fish and a 30oz mug of beer.....

Fishing wasslow, but steady. And the company was... AWESOME.

House On The Rock

Spent this past weekend in W. Wisconsin.

Decided 6-7 weeks ago to go to House On The Rock, in Spring Green, WI, this past weekend.
We've not done any traveling at all this year, save for annual jaunt down to my mother-in-law's house.

Hell, we barely went anywhere last year either.
3 days in N. MI sharing a condo with family, and a couple of nights in a bad motel in Holland, MI on the way home was the extent of it.

So was crazy-excited about taking this little weekend trip, even though we couldn't easily afford it.
6-7 weeks ago, we had no way of knowing that it would be freezing cold, or that snow (SNOW!!!!) was forecasted.
It did indeed snow on us a bit, as we drove toward Madison on Saturday.
And it never got above 43-44 degrees all weekend.
And none of this mattered at all, having no impact on our good time.

The House on The Rock, for those of you who've never heard of it, is a crazily-built home on the side of a cliff, in the middle of nowhere, WI.

Legend has it that the architect built it there, after being insulted by Frank Lloyd Wright, who had property and several (Beautiful) buildings just a couple minutes north of there.

I had never heard of it either, until it was referenced in what has become my favorite novel. In AMERICAN GODS, Neil Gaiman describes the House on The Rock as a place of power, one of the bigger ones. He explains that there are places that people find themselves attracted to, without knowing why, places where people will build a house on land they don't own, or create some random attraction that folks will flock to with great satisfaction and an underlying feeling of distaste.
And so was my introduction to The House on The Rock.
Imagine my surprise when I found out it was not a work of fiction. This piqued my wife and my interest, and when the time came to pick a getaway destination, we decided to go for it.

The original house is dark, and overly-ornate and strangely beautiful. It has no windows to the outside, save for occasional stained glass. A big waste of the panoramic view. After it became an attraction, the Infinity Room was added. It's a long, narrow walkway sticking out of the side of the house, several stories above ground. Walls are comprised solely of glass window panes. The view's amazing.

Also after it became an attraction, large warehouses were built, and the owner started collecting /creating a crazy array of.... stuff. Artifacts, forgotten amusements.... stuff.
Wonderful stuff.

You walk through a block of old storefronts, along a cobblestone street. go down a short hall, and enter a huge room where an almost life-size whale is battling with a gi-normous squid.
While an automatronic undersea band plays Octopus' Garden in the corner.
Because - why the hell not?

Feel free to wind a story or two up along the walkway that circles the outside of the room, looking at beautifully detailed model ships and other nauticaul items as the two legendary sea creatures do silent battle behind you.

Continue on, past the small room full of santa's, and you eventually enter a string of music rooms, each one containing a large and ornate coin-operated symphony. drop in a token, watch the Blue Danube Waltz being played on 60+ instruments. Go to next room, get another symphony.

Make your way out of there, and into a huge dark room that houses the world's largest merry go 'round. You find yourself standing in the dark, in awe of what you see before you, and wishing you could go back to stare at it some more, within moments of leaving it.

You simply cannot walk through the various sections of this place, and not experience a sense of wonder, unless you lost something, something important, as you left childhood behind.

Outside of the HOTR, that area of WI is pretty, but not a ton of stuff to do, though the various small communities will try to convince you otherwise.

Mineral Point is the cream of the crop, with cool looking little stores, and a # of fantastic and unique places to get a good meal. And after two days of dive-bar frozen pizza, and bad free continental breakfast at the hotel, you're SO ready for a good meal.

We had a great meal at a place called Cafe Four, after driving there to eat at the Brewery Creek BrewPub, and finding it closed on Sunday for dinner.

(a recurring theme for our weekend, driving to do something, and scrambling for a plan B when we got there)

The restaurant had a light, open dining area, a wood fired pizza oven, and a menu full of dishes made with as much locally grown items as possible. Body, meet vegetables.
Vegetables, meet my body.
Please be gentle.
Delish!

There's a gorgeous old hotel for sale, on the edge of town by these two restaurants. It was built in the mid 19th century, and looks like it would be fantastic on the inside. We found ourselves staring at it, before and after our dinner, and idly daydreaming...

Gov. Dodge State Park is also worthy of your time, if weather's agreeable. lots of beautiful trails, campgrounds and lakes, with woods and rock out-croppings and some of the biggest hawks you'll ever see, as back drop. Fall colors were just starting to really kick in as well.
nice.

The House On The Rock Inn was sufficient for us, and had a great pool area for little kids. A big submarine with fountains and waterslides coming out of it, set in 1 foot of water.
My daughter thought it was swell.
The hotel's about 10-15 years old, and probably hasn't replaced beds or carpeting since they opened. Our room actually had old cigarette burns in the carpet. But it also had a great view of the fall countryside.

Everything was spotlessly clean, and the desk folk were crazy-helpful. The free continental breakfast is almost, but not quite worth the price... If you like good coffee, you'll die just a little bit, drinking the coffee at their continental breakfast...

Overall- well worth the 3.5 hour drive and the reasonable expense. Might not go back to HOTR again for a couple years, as we've seen it now, but will probably camp at the state park when my daughter's old enough...


Caveats - Don't depend on locals for good directions to anyplace that isn't RIGHT THERE (It's the first road trip I've ever taken where I really wish I had a gps in the car),
and do NOT buy pizza from Dino's, in Dodgeville.

oddities in the heartland

The Indiana Toll Road, for those of you who're not familiar with it, is a very handy, very boring stretch of interstate that you can access about 12 miles into IN from IL. If you drive east long enough, it turns into a very handy, even more boring OH turnpike, which eventually turns into the handy, slightly more interesting PA turnpike.

Noone ever makes it to PA however, as they've fallen asleep long before they even get to Cleveland, and by the time they wake up, they don't remember why they were on the road in the first place; where they're actually supposed to be going; or even their own middle names.

As is the case with a thousand other miles of interstate in IL, IN and OH, you look forward to spotting the occasional bird of prey to break up the monotony a bit.

I mention this because:

1. I can.
2. I had occasion to drive a goodly part of the IN toll road this past sunday.

My mom lives in a small town in MI, right by the toll road, and because of this, I've spent quite a few hours driving to and fro along this stretch of highway.

You get excited, after awhile, a bout the prospect of stopping at one of the plazas that appear along side the road, as if by magic, every 45 minutes or so. There's people, and noise, and a bathroom that's probably fairly clean, and coffee.....sweet, sweet coffee.

And apparently, if you time it just right, you can be witness to the oddest assortment of god's children, gathered together in one spot, ever.

As I entered the building, I noticed an amish woman and what appeared to be her three daughters, standing by the door, watching the parking lot. it didn't really register, as I hurried by on my way to the bathroom.

Where, to my surprise, the guy at the adjascent urinal engaged me in conversation.

I'm not keen on talking to complete strangers while going to the bathroom. Call me anti-social.

But hey, I'm in the middle of nowhere, IN (a redundancy, actually) and pretty bored...

Turns out he's a truck driver. Dedicated route, keeps fairly close to home, which is good, cuz he's in college.
Not the regular kind of college you might be thinking of. Nope. He's in divinity school, studying to be a minister.

He seemed like a nice guy, and I wished him well as I finished up and washed up, and got out of there before there would be any laying on of the hands.

Wandered back out into the central area, and saw... three guys dressed in traditional indian costume. Because....why not?
One of them was talking on a cell phone, and I heard a quick snatch of the conversation on the way by. Apparently, they were waiting for another group of indians to catch up with them.
I did a quick look around, and noted that there wasn't a cowboy in sight...

But I did notice the amish woman and her daughters.
"Hey" I thought to myself. "They don't drive. Buggies aren't allowed on the highway. What are they up to?"

Got a cup of coffee at the Starbuck's, which was blaring country music through it's soundsystem. I realized country music at a Starbucks wasn't even one of the three oddest things I'd experienced in the last 8 minutes, and moved on.

To the convenience store, where I grabbed a pack of gum, and got in line behind an older guy. He was probably in his early 60's, and he stepped up to the counter carrying a 1lb bag of beef jerkey. He and the woman working the register were obviously familiar with one another.

I stood there, gum in hand, while he told her all about how he was tired of driving a truck, and was ready for the end of the world to come. The lady at the register clucked in a vaguely supportive manner, and the old guy with crazy eyes ( I noted as he turned away from the counter and walked past me), shuffled out of the store, assumedly to go back to his semi to enjoy some jerky, while awaiting judgement day.

She looked at me, and we grinned conspiraorially at one another, two sane people in the company of the insane. I paid for my gum, she wished me a good day, and I walked out, past the indians, pst the amish women, away from this Fellini-esque version of the heartland, and to the relative safely of my own car.

"Wow" I said to my wife as I put the car into gear, and accelerated away from that place.
"Just...wow."

Troy, OH

Found this in an archived email the other day. It's from 4/08. I'm editing the original as I enter it, as there are parts that applied only to that trip, and are not pertinent, like my daughter's inability to sleep when traveling a year + ago; info about funerals, etc.

Read on.

Troy, OH.
You know where it is.
Everyone knows where it is.

You mean, you DON'T know where Troy, OH is?
Don't get out much, do you?

Troy's 15 miles north of Dayton, right on I-75.
It was a sleepy town when I was a kid. is not a bigger, slightly more caffeinated town. A Honda plant and the realization that you can live in a nice clean little community and still work in Dayton, has caused the growth.

It was a company town forever, the company being Hobart Bros. My grandfather worked there for 40+ years.
Troy has a big Strawberry Festival every spring.
Kids ride their bikes in the street; walk to school; get ice cream at the United Dairy; smoke cigarettes on a park bench on the levee; and grow up either counting the days until they can get out; or not thinking at all about leaving town, for any reason, ever.

I spent countless weekendes of my childhood in this place. Riding my grandpa's old ballon tire, pedal brake bike.
Bowling, playing cards...
Stopped going there with any kind of regularity when we were old enough to beg off the trips down. Weekend jobs and then college allowed for me to skip out on the mind-numbingly dull drives through IN and west central OH.

It was cool, driving around, trying to find the various places my grandparents lived, and goofy stuff like
"Wasn't there a bike trail along the levee, that started right....There!"
"Holy crap, where'd the farmland go?"
"Remember when we hit Aunt Missy's dog with the lawn dart?"
(It was an accident of course. We loved Babe, who was a teriffic black lab...)

And I got to do this with my brother and sis, which made it more fun.

Apparently, the town re-configured the strets aruond the (round) town square. Now, to get around downtown Troy, you have to traverse the square by yielding to traffic from the left, scooting into the circle, and then getting out where you need to.
This is not rocket science. Folks in the UK have been not crashing into each other at these interchanges since cars were invited, probably.
My mom could not wrap her head around this, and would lead us on ridiculous detours to avoid it. We stopped letting her drive shortly after we arrived.

I can only imagine the outrage and the letters to the editro that the decision to re-configure caused. I can clearly remember my grandmother complaining about the hoodlums that would drive around the square on weekend nights, playing their car radios too loud, 25+ years ago.

Apparently, the town square is nothing but trouble, no matter when you grow up there.

The weather was great, spring was in full bloom, and I got my haircut at 8am on a monday morning, at Walmart. All talk was on the earthquake that occurred a couple of days before my trip.

Strangers said good mornig to me, just because our paths crossed. Unless it was after noon. Then they said "good afternoon".
Mostly they said "What a beautiful baby!" which always works.

unless you don't have a baby, then it's just weird.

Troy's a nice town, with NICE people.

See, you DO know where Troy, OH is.
It exists under hundreds of different names, all over the USofA.

And as I rode to work on the El train upon returning, in a train car that smelled of urine and disinfectant, I thought about how nice it would be to live in a Troy, OH somewhere.

Mississippi Gulf Coast - part 1 - 3.75 years after Katrina

Sitting in my M.I.L's office looking out at the Gulf.
I remarked three years ago that her view had improved, thanks to Katrina.

It's not changed much in three years.

For those that didn't know, her home was one of thousands completely leveled by the storm surge caused by the high winds of Katrina. All that was left were the wood floors and the in-ground pool. The pool was how they figured out where her house used to be.

You see footage of volcano-caused tidal waves hitting an unsuspecting third world country, on various cable channels? That's pretty much what happened here, in the good ol' USofA.

However, levies broke, flooding a portion of a larger city 85 minutes to the west, and most folks didn't hear much about the MS coast, in comparison.

We went berry picking this evening, as wild blackberries are at their peak right now.
We got a couple of big bowls, went out the front door, and..... walked to the lot next door.
We've seen folks stopping behind the house, up the street, etc, off and on all day, and finally figured out what they were doing.

Y' see, there have only been three houses rebuilt on the block in the 3.75 years since Katrina leveled everything. Nature has a way of reclaiming it's turf, if left alone to do so.

Past trips (post-katrina) have given us a riot of birds of prey, living in the neighborhood, and non-domesticated animal tracks in the sand on the beach nearby.

I'm a fan of nature, so got a kick out of this, while still being saddened by the fact that the area's been so incredibly slow to re-build.

But, dammit, you're supposed to go pick wild berries....in the wild. Not where your neighbor's house used to be.
A couple doors down on the other side of the street, there are 8-10 young fir trees scattered in a loose circle around the foundation of a house. A couple more years, you're going to have a small grove going. There are wild flowers everywhere.

And it's quiet. Really quiet.
Still.

I'm within view of the beach highway, it's not supposed to be this quiet.

Blah, blah. You get the picture.

Went to mass at the roller rink this morning. My church was on the beach, and met the same fate as so many other structures. God's house fared no better than my mother in law's.
Or, ironically, the priests' house, (they live next door, and were the 2nd house to rebuild on the block).

So they worked out a deal with the local knights of columbus, and an out of business roller rink was purchased (my MIL brokered the deal) and converted into a church and class rooms.
Lots of the conversion work was done gratis, by the Sea Bee's. I was down here when it all started, and was amazed by the way that everyone who could, just plain stepped up.

I still think that the removal of the disco ball was short sighted, as it really could have added a certain something to the catholic mass.

My vacation is just starting, there are many more days, and hopefully there will be more to write about.

N .O. part III

You want ME to play washboard for the next song, Oh random cajun band at unknown bar?
I'm so there.

And I rocked it, thanks much.

home safely from my night in the quarter.

Thanks to Zazoo's for 3 for 1 Dos Equis.
which turned into 6 for 2 by the time we left.
one of them ended up on my shirt.
thanks to my boss for that.

Thanks to work for a lovely meal before hand.

Thanks to Daisy Dukes for being open 24 hours for cheap breakfast, and for being right next door to the hotel. Darn convenient, when your travel companion demands food before going to sleep, and waited to do so until you were blocks away from where all restaurants are.

Good night, serbian test tube shot vendor - remember my advice, and get a new job back in Myrtle Beach before summer arrives in N.O.
Be happy in your endeavors.

Good night barbie and kimmie, hometown girls who pretended to be with my boss and I long enough to shrug off some skeezie guys. Be careful out there.
Good night, Steve, MSU alumni and Fed. great hanging with you. I can't wait to get home, but props to you for waitinng 'til sunday to go home, so you can watch the MSU game down here.

Hope you and your brother did well for yourselves. Hope your presentation goes well in....7 hours. You were hilarious.

Good night moon, good night mush, good night old lady whispering "hush".

New Orleans Part II

a woman came up to us and asked to sit at our table, first thing this morning.
Before even introducing herself, she told us that she had met up with friends last night, and next thing she knew, she woke up to find herself still in last night clothes, with all the lights on.
And was relieved to find her purse and credit cards.

I would have settled for a "Good morning, I'm ______"

Found out the conference is moving to L.A. next year. won't be as crazy, that's for sure.
And I doubt there will be gumbo.

Hoping to go out sans vendor tonite, and enjoy the quarter with the knowledge that we don't have to be up early tomorrow.

Cafe Du Monde for coffee, maybe a spot of shopping, and then a cab to the airport shortly after noon.
nice.

New Orleans, LA, 3/31 - 4/3 part one

part one he says, assuming there will be a part two. Pretty optimistic for a guy who's been catching up on work, and studying, and attending a conference, all at the same time.

In the very neighborhood, in the very city, that is LEAST designed for that kind of nose-to-the-grindstone work ethic.

I've a vendor who's attending this conference as well. He's a very nice guy, one with whom, as it turns out, has familial roots in the same sad city in OH that I do. A huge "No shit?!?!?" moment we shared over dinner.
He latched on to my boss and I this morning, and then wanted to buy us lunch. Only we picked possibly the only restaurant in N.O. that's cash only. So he had to borrow money from us to pay for our lunch.
He paid us back when we met him in the lobby to go out to dinner.

Crescent City BrewHouse. limited menu, but you can't choose wrong, cuz everything on there is good. Five kinds of beer, brewed right on the premises, and a location right across the street from the old Jax beer building, and the riverwalk. Fantastic seared Tuna salad and a bowl of gumbo. I was a happy man.

Weather was too nice, after dinner, to NOT take advantage of, three guys from the north like we are. So I played tour guide a bit, we walked off dinner, and our new friend started joking about getting thirsty, about the time we wandered past Bourbon street.

to back track a few hours, after meeting him for the first time, he mentioned his church in the second sentence of our acquaintance. Grammatically, the previous sentence is probably a mess, but I assume it conveys what it needs to.
"Oh, geez, another person I know from small town central PA, who's a little too into their church for my comfort zone."

So, after three tall beers at dinner, and a stroll around the quarter, he comes upon groups of revelers on Bourbon street, and starts making the comments.
Drunk-ish guy sees women type comments.
Seemed kinda stereotypical, really. Religious wholesome guy, turning lecherous after a couple of beers....

There are a lot of gent. clubs on Bourbon street, and each of them had a couple of the dancers hanging out in the doorways of the clubs, while guys stand in the middle of the street handing out discount admission tickets, drink coupons, etc.
Last trip down, one of them told me that if I came into his club, it would change my life.
I was.... dubious.

Anyhow, my boss and I kept walking( been there, done that) as these guys came up to us with their coupons and their vague promises of... I'm not sure what exactly.

Our new friend kept stopping, pointing to the young women in the doorways, making vaguely inappropriate comments.
Finally, he turned to us and said:

"You guys have amazing willpower!"

Not really. We just didn't want to be his excuse to misbehave; and didn't want to spend our limited funds on frustrating ourselves. Perhaps it was 'cuz we were still sober...

We kept walking right back to the hotel lobby, even though another beer and a bathroom sounded pretty good.
"so, you guys calling it a night?" our friend asked us.
as we were standing in the hotel lobby, after passing every excuse to NOT call it a night that you can imagine.
"Uh, yup."
We say our goodbyes, and get on an elevator.
"He's gonna be miserable tomorrow." we laugh to one another, with a certain air of superiority.

thoughts on driving through memphis

I'm traveling to new orleans soon, on business.
An old friend, who's afraid of flying, asked how I was getting down there.
Flying, of course.

Told her that I'd flown many times, and also driven through Memphis many times, and i find driving through Memphis to be more harrowing.

Which got me to thinkin' back....



Memphis.

Ah, Memphis.

A city known for social disease, vehicular homicides, and crimes against women.
I'm not making this up. these were factors that helped the city make the 10 worst places to live for women, a couple years back.

As outlined in Guns and Garden magazine.

Ok, I made that part up. Not the name of the magazine, it's a real magazine (see previous posts). But the article was actually in US News Report or something similar.

Memphis: Also known for good BBQ, Elvis, Sun Records, and one really good radio station, so it has it's good points, too.


Anyhow:

First time I drove through Memphis, we stopped for breakfast up the street from Graceland. It was about around 2am.
The woman working the grill at the Gridiron cafe (where Elvis used to go when he'd sneak out for peanut butter banana snandwiches, it said on the wall there) told us right off that she was into her third straight shift, cuz noone else showed up. She'd been taking orders and cooking for almost 24 hours straight.
And it was right out of My Cousin Vinny. We put our orders in, she turned around, got a big scoop of lard out of can, and threw it on the grill.

We'd been driving for many hours, so thought to relieve ourselves.
the men's room door was blocked.
With a body.
The body spoke to us when we tried to open the door.
"Use the other one" a demonic sounding voice croaked up at us from the bathroom floor.
A fine idea! Thanks for suggesting it.

Best part of that first drive through Memphis, besides the company I kept, was the security guard that came speeding up to us when we got out of the car at the gates of Graceland. We figured he was there to chase us away.
It WAS 3am after all.
He was a lonely soul, it turns out, and was happy for the company. Somewhere there are pictures of the me and my companions, posing in front of the Graceland sign.
At 3:00am.

In the rain.

2nd drive through Memphis was on the return trip home. We got sideswiped by a semi. That left a mark.

This was almost 12 years ago. I've likely driven through Memphis a dozen and a half times since then.

Each way.

It's the only city I've ever driven through, where you have to exit the highway 2x, to... stay on the highway.

I've seen semi tractor trailers lying upside down in the middle of an off-ramp. not tipped over, not rolled and mushed. Upside down, clean and neat. Like it was picked up by a giant hand, and turned over, and put gently back down.
Not surprisingly, there were a number of people standing around it, scratching their heads.

Only city in which I've consistently either missed or almost missed the exact same exit?
Memphis.
An exit, by the way, that you MUST take, to...remain on the highway you're already driving on.

The one time thus far in my life that my engine light's gone on, while on a big road trip?

7am on a Sunday morning in, drumroll please..... Memphis.
And just what do you suppose you can do about an engine light, at 7am on a sunday morning in Memphis?

Keep driving, of course. Always the best choice, when considering options in Memphis.

This is why we call my sister, every single time we make it through Memphis unscathed. She was driving when the semi hit us, all those trips ago. It's kind of a joke now, a joke that just never gets old.

"hello?"
"We made it through memphis!!!!"
"yay!"

Chicago to Atlanta to Detroit to Chicago (Boy are my arms tired)

Flew to Atlanta for the weekend at 7am Friday morning, with my wife and daughter.

Man, that's early.

My wife woke up with the stomach flu at 2:30 Thursday morning, and it really kicked her ass. We were not sure when we went to bed Thursday night that we'd be going ANYWHERE Friday morning.
But when the alarm went off at 4am (jesus...) she felt fine, had no fever, so... we were off!

Got bumped up to first class for the 80 minute flight to Atlanta. The extra room was nice, as we had our 15 month old daughter in our laps.
(no way she was gonna stay in a seat, so we didn't even bother with the pretense.)
She fell asleep as we were taxi-ing for take off, and didn't wake up until after we landed.

I was really, REALLY looking forward to several cups of coffee on the flight down.
First class, they'd be bringing me coffee in a nice china cup, standing at the ready to re-fill it....

nope. They announced that the water lines had froze (!!!) overnight while the plane sat on the tarmac, because, as the flight attendant said "it was built in ecaudor, what do THEY know about cold?" This meant no coffee.
sonofa.....

weekend was ok. My wife finally embraced solid foods Saturday morning, my daughter pulled her usual "I don't like sleeping when we travel" nonsense, then we came home.

To flesh out the weekend, I'll mention that..
My two nieces, 4 and 2 I think, thought my daughter was a wonderful toy. She had a great time, but would occasionally get tired of them, or the dogs, being in her face all the time.
We ate very well.
I haven't found a polite way out of eating homemade biscuits and gravy yet. They're made with such pride, with a dozen follow up "can I get you some mores?"
I just might have to break down and embrace vegetarianism.

Ohio State crushed UofM (good)
but
Penn State made my MSU Spartans look sick. (bad).

Wife's family were the usual assortment of cool, slightly snooty at times, and sit-on-my-ass-and-not-lift-a-finger. Pretty much like any other family, I'd guess.

We were unable to get a direct flight home yesterday. NWA combines with Delta, and we STILL can't get a direct flight from Altanta to Chicago?
WTF?

So our 80 minute travel to Atlanta, was a 5 freakin' hour travel home. 2 hours to Detroit, two hours layover, 1 hour flight home.
We planned it so that our daughter would be drop-dead tired by the time the flight to Detroit took off.
She was.
We fed her as we took off, she fell asleep, just as we planned.
She woke up 35 minutes later, not at all as we planned...
We had to keep her amused for almost 90 minutes.
She's a good sport, and we didn't incur the wrath of anyone on the plane.
which was the most crowded, uncomfortable plane I've ever been on.

But for $2.00, you could buy a pair of ear buds, and watch what ended up being one episode of a bad-sitcom, followed up by 90 minutes of what amounted to advertisements for Disney vacations and Delta flights.
Seems they should have paid us the $2.00.

We landed poorly in Detroit. We... bounced. Then immediately slammed our brakes, or whatever jets do to slow down RIGHT NOW.
Everyone gasped, a couple people yelled out. My daughter - cheered. And then clapped.

Whoo Hoo! best ride ever! let's do it again.

Detroit Metro has spent a lot of $$$$, I was told by my friend Neil, to rehab portions of the airport.

Money well spent!

Additional props to Neil for the heads up on the red trolley, the fountain and the coney joint (read on...)
He travels a lot on business which is why he's so familiar with the airport.
(I prefer that explanation, over any hint that he's been hanging out in the bathrooms there...)

He steered me toward the coney place, if I was looking for something with a bit more local flavor to it.
I asked him if they would also mug me, for a true taste of Detroit.


There's an awesome tunnel from concourse B to A(or A to B, depending on what direction you'r e walking), with surround sound and light shows on the wall. as we walked down the long hallway there, the walls flashed a lightning storm. we thought about just stopping in the middle of the tunnel, and sitting down, to enjoy the show, but kept going. Big eyes and pursed lips from my daughter. She was most impressed.

You come out the other side, and there's a fantastic water fountain, perfectly placed so that little kids can go up to touch it, and then get soaked when they lean up against it and find out that water runs down the outside in a thin, invisible stream...
oopsie.
It really was a cool fountain, though.

A red train rolls by overhead, every few seconds.

There're sushi restaurants, and an Irish pub, a spa that offers 15 minute chair massages (should your chair need a massage) and a place to get a (damn good) coney dog and a mug of beer.
Maybe I'm not ready for vegetarianism, just yet.

Basically, it's an airport for little kids and stoners, two demographics that are woefully under-marketed to, by the various airlines.

All that was missing were gatorade water fountains, a place to play frisbee, and maybe a big purple dinosaur....


We get to our connecting gate with lots of time to spare, at dinner from the coney joint (the mugging comes when you pay for your food...), and tried to tire Fiona out.
I ended up flying her all over concourse A, amusing both her and dozens of fellow passengers. I was the only entertainment to be had, apparently.
I'd fly her around, and bring her back to my wife, a little out of breath. She'd go right to Wendy, then turn around and yell (And sign) for "more airplane" (comes out as "more ap-pee") and then make the plane noise I as just making.
And off we'd go again.

Man, I love being a dad.

Our flight to CHI was fairly uneventful, save for when I couldn't get the battery pack to properly attach to the portable DVD player.
My daughter was just starting to come unglued, finally, after a very long day, when I got the DVD player out of my bag.
She knows what it is, and what it means.
She smiled and started bouncing up and down, signing and saying "Baby!" over and over, because she digs the Baby Signing Time dvds, which we'll refer to as "Baby Crack" going forward.

Then I couldn't get the damn thing to turn on.

Sorry, darlin. No baby signing time for you. I was just messing with you.
Ha Ha! (think Nelson from The Simpsons)

I felt like a total bastard....
But finally got the bad boy to work, she got quiet and happy, and I was not a bad dad anymore.

We finally pulled into the garage at 9pm, an hour and a half AFTER her bedtime.
We were beat.
left the suitcases packed, put the kid to bed, and fell over.

A good weekend. We traveled safely, got along with everyone, and no drunk jackass drove into the front of my house, like happened the last time we got together with my wife's family....

whoo hoo!

southern living with gardens and guns

First saw this magazine while waiting for a flight out of Gulfport, MS this past March.
My wife came back from her v. short stroll (not a big airport) laughing.

She assumed it was a joke at first, some kind of satirical publication, but discovered this was not the case.

http://gardenandgun.com/

Garden and Gun is a magazine that celebrates the soul of the New South. Southern culture, arts, food, hunting, etc.
I'm not sure where the New South is, or what they did with the Old south.
I know that old new york was once New Amsterdam, but that's off-topic.

The magazine has gorgeous photography, and decent writing, and is aimed at the wealthier end of the new south, the new south that quail hunts and cares about hand crafted wood kayaks and art exhibits and such.


But damn, couldn't they have come up with a title for the magazine that wasn't so close to punchline for a southern-stereotype joke?

Southern Living magazine is less obvious of a punchline, unless you're not from the south, and lived there for a period fo time, then fled back to the north.
like....me.


We lived in the deep south for a couple of years, and still visit multiple times a year.
I recall sitting in my converted chicken coop of a rental house, in the middle of nowhere MI, discussing the move with family members.
"how different can it realy be down there, all bullshit aside?"

So we moved, and quickly found out.
Again, not sure where the New South is, or what designates it as "New", but I'm pretty sure I moved to the old south...the really old south.

a week after we moved, we caught a free concert sponsored by the local modern rock radio station. Collective Soul at the gulf coast coliseum.
the attendees looked just like the friends we left in the north, at first.
Until a heavy set woman in a tube top climbed up on the shoulders of her skinny boyfriend, and started waving the confed. flag over her head, screaming " whoo hoo! whoo hoo!" over and over and over.

That was our first big clue that things were different.
A few nights later, we were harassed by local law enforcement for having glass containers on their litter-strewn beach, after we had fireworks shot at us by a fun-loving family celebrating the 4th, nearby.
we apologized for our error, and said we'd leave. He heard our lack-of-accent, and asked where we were from, with suspicion in his voice.
We told him, then asked him about the fireworks, he said that there was no law against fireworks, just glass containers, and mentioned that the dog wasn't allowed on the beach, either.

There were other dogs on the beach, of coruse.

While we lived down south, the state in which we were residing, was discussing the possibility of upping the age of consent from 13 to 16.
logic being that doing so would decrease the # of teen pregnancies.
I don't remember the proposed change passing.

The casual use of (to my northern ears) inflammatory racial slurs never ceased to shock me.
"which one of the _________ hit you with the forklift?" my white dock foreman asked me after I got sideswiped by a forklift that was not entering and exiting the warehouse door in the middle, as he should have been.

The same guy was sitting on the tailgate of his truck an hour later, eating lunch with the forklift drivers.

The guy that sold me my work boots had "reb" tattooed on his left ring finger. Yep, he was married to the rebel flag.

I can recall with clarity having lunch at Chimneys, a water-front seafood restaurant on stilts, when CNN anounced best and worst states to live in.
MS was 49th best to live in, and to raise kids in.
Thank god for Louisiana.

I could go on and on, and have done so in the past. Some of the stuff's just crazy funny, like news articles post-hurricane George about gator farmers calling on sherrif's dept to help them round up gators that had gotten loose and what I imagined their response to be.

But for every humorous moment, every cool new experience like gigging for flounder or scuba diving, every pleasant realization that folks tended to talk to each other more, and life was slower paced in a good way, there are three stories like the ones I related above.


So that's what Southern Living means to me, and I'd pay to read THAT magazine, instead of the one that gives you recipes for rolls that explode...

http://www.southernliving.com/southern/foods/tr_recipes/article/0,28012,605096,00.html

On the other hand, I'm the kind of guy that would try that recipe, in a safe environment, just to see what would happen...