Unleashing the inner rennie. Twice. I feel so dirty.

- The Gnome Home. Rabid little buggers. -

This has been a summer of firsts for me. First comic con, first time through the Chicago museum circuit. Hear my tale now of the Michigan Rennfest.

I classify myself as a geek. I enjoy movies/tvshows/novels involving science fiction and fantasy. Video and computer games of all sorts. Science and history. Yet despite that I've been self-deprived of geeky gatherings, were my people get together and be what they are. Rabid nerds. The convention, comic or otherwise, is a hotbed of dorkery and a spectacle to be experienced. History and science museums. Both valuable, interesting and entertaining (with the right people). This is my birthright people.

- Gandalf the Potter, recognize! -

No. I'd never been to a rennfest. An admission that must crush my geek cred. I've been passingly curious, but not enough so to actually hit one on my own. I just don't really work like that. I hate to be the sad creepy loner out wandering around in crowds like that. Being a sad creepy loner in the comfort of my own home is fine. I just don't like to put myself on display. Also it was in part that there was no real festival in and about the areas which I lived. Sure, I could have driven several hours to attend, but damn that wouldn't jive with my laziness.

The American Renaissance Festival. I live in a nation that didn't exist when the European Renaissance was in full swing some 600 years ago. The continent was inhabited by civilizations newly discovered(in the minds of my European ancestors) and many of which are now long dead. Despite that, every year across the breadth of this nation there are hundreds of so-called Rennfests. Astonishing. We have about as much claim to the renaissance as Vanilla Ice does to rap music. Or crystal light does to calling a product “Lemonade”. Better to call it powdery water with a flavor reminiscent of citrus. A drink that is a vague childhood memory of what lemonade was actually like – yellow and bittersweet.

That is, we co-opted the European Renaissance and made it our own for the purposes of raking in the cash from suckers who are willing to partake in the spectacle. And spectacle it is. The rennfest is all about spectacle, and is centered on user created content. It's a mishmash of geek culture from the Goths to the furries. Somewhere in the middle lie symbols of the actual historical aspect on which the rennfest is supposedly based. I don't know if the peoples of Europe celebrate the Renaissance in our fashion. I have to doubt it. If anything they probably have festivals that are a mite less shallow and guady. Then again, Disneyland in Paris is the most popular tourist destination in Europe. Maybe it's just a common trait in humans, to take and transform the past to make it seem so much better than it was.

-Ye Old timey Goths. Not succumbing to pleasure. No I wasn't really trying to take a picture of that chick's chest. That was just a happy accident. -

The spectacle is about as historically accurate as a Disney movie. Watered down and made family friendly. Plague, pillage, rape and murder. Gone are the brutality of the times, and in washes a tide of color and idealized imagery. But then it is a faire or a festival. One should expect this. The rennfest becomes rather like a string of late summer Halloweens for adults. A chance to dress up and mingle with other members of an adopted culture. A gathering point for people with similar interests. The renfest is just a convention for a different subset of geeks/nerds/dorks. There is no real need for the festival to resemble reality. People create their own reality.

Then there are a bevy of women wearing scanty costumes and bosom enhancing bodices. Food is plentiful and very tasty and the atmosphere is curious and plesant. So as to say, Fuck accuracy. I really don't want to experience the real thing that badly. The historian in me is curious and a little annoyed at how the world is portrayed and exploited, as I prefer the cold hard facts to some sloppy fiction. But then again, scantily clad women.

The first thing one notices, if they're like me, is that the costume play is far more pronounced at a rennfest than it is at a comic convention. More importantly is the male to female ratio, which is vastly better than the showing at the comic con, closer to a 1:1 basis. Here is a great congregation of female geek folk. The cup runneth over. A big plus. There was a great deal of exposed cleavage, since either standard wenches or pirate wenches are a popular theme. Don't know what they have to do with the renn, but when in Rome appreciate female nudity as the Romans do.

Minuses? Yeah. Inappropriate costuming. Not just the unusual and inexplicable – Please, why were there furries? Were they representing the Japanese medieval period perhaps? – but rather a general disdain for the eyes of the fellow revelers. What has been seen cannot be unseen. Really, if you're 400 pounds and covered in hair, you shouldn't leave your house in a loincloth. This is just good manners. But the disregard seems to be part of the syndrome. Fair enough.

- That bodice is made of leather, and is restraining the goodies within if only just barely. Ensemble is kinda skanky in the Halloween tradition. All in all, I give it an 8. I really need to time travel to the period in history where she took her costume inspiration from. -

Personally I feel no need to dress up. I went wearing my usual adventure pants. Sturdy cargo-pants to soak up the abuse and hold my gear. I was wearing pants and that should be all that is expected. Though I did want to wear a kilt(one with cargo pockets in which to store my gear), but alas, the garment hasn't been finished yet. So next time. I figured the best I could do was to be an obnoxious time tourist, so I brought along a lighter so that I may tantalize the locals with my ability to conjure fire without the use of flint and tinder.

I actually visited the festival twice. Once with the standard crew and a second time to meet the lovely Em.

Evil, the Fat Man and Dutch are all long time festival attendees. Evil actually was active in the festival at her college for a few years. I had no real idea what to expect on going in, though I had heard stories. The stories abounded with crazy. Really, rennies, as Evil tells it, are the outcasts from high school. Outside of the misery that is high school, they gather together, wounded psyches and all, with others of our kind to celebrate their nerdiness...

- Nerds. -

Note, rennies, especially older rennies, don't seem to like the title of nerd. In these modern times nerd is a badge of honor. Of course some use it in a derogatory fashion, but who cares about those chunk-heads. During visit number two with the beautiful Em I learned that there is a special pavilion for the express purpose of holding weddings. My response was 'Holding weddings at a rennfest, now that is a new level of nerdiness.” A lady, possibly drunk, wearing the garb of an elf, that is a pair of cheap pointy ear prosthetics, accosted me. And then proceeded to lecture me on how the rennies were living happily whilst all the jocks and jerks who picked on the nerds in the real world were in cubicals crunching numbers. At least that's what I took from the rant. She was clearly less than happy and holding onto some of her past issues with a death grip.

Rule number one of renfest, don't pick fights with the hardcore. They carry weapons.

- A pretty redhead clad in tights and wielding swords. I am in love. -

So I smirked at her, tried to calm her down. This combination of tactics is mutually exclusive by the way, and weathered her tirade as best I could with out telling her that she was long past high school and she needed to just let that bullshit go and get on with it. I didn't want to get stabbed. She had the crazy and I have a good sense of what is conducive to long life. So I kept my smart ass comments to myself.

- Brother, I hope you didn't pay to do this. At least pay whilst you were sober. -

Back to the story. I visited twice in three weeks. The first time was with the usual crew, plus one. Evil, The Fat Man and Dutch. Evil and Dutch dressed for the event, partaking in the pagentry. Evil just threw on a regular skirt and a renfest-style bodice. Dutch went all out donning his happy pants, thick belt and other such garb.

We teased him for it of course. This is what friends do.

But getting dressed is all part of the fun, and they fit right in. There's a good mix of players and tourists that run a gradient ranging from the hardcore of the rennies, who come dressed in costumes that they spent hours, if not days, making themselves to be either historically accurate or just outright awesome. All the way down to the dude who showed up in blue jeans, flip flops and a cheap pirate hat.

In my opinion the latter end of the spectrum are somewhat insulting to the very concept. If you're not going to fully participate, then at least don't half-ass it and pick something up at Walmart on the way in. Anything less becomes a mockery of what is already almost a parody of actual history.

Michigan Rennfest is a huge business. The company that runs the festival owns the land and has erected permanent structures for the shops and shows. No tents for us, yessir. They claim that the facade represents that of a 16^th century English village or town. I've never been to one. Nor seen photographs. But I have my doubts about how accurate they are in their creation.

Regardless. The place is cool.

- Pink mead drink beverage, just like they made it in 16th century England! Only three bucks a bottle! Gets me into the spirit! -

The approach is screened from the eye by a wall of trees, through the first gate, you pay for your ticket, and then finally through the second gate you behold the modern idea of the said 16^th century English village. An enclosed village at that. It works like a giant loop, the roads/paths are lined with shops and stages. At one end lies what can be termed the village, while a open jousting field dominates side opposite.

For the first visit: We entered at around noon on a hot sunny day. Then we gawked until finally kick-starting ourselves and choosing a direction. Eyes were half on the stores as we passed. Leather works, sword sellers and potters mixed with food booths and stalls to buy trinkets and jewelery. The rest of our attention of course went to our fellow tourists. As I said, the faire is rife with user created content. One moment you might see a gaggle of hot wenches and then the next a man(or woman) dressed in full plate mail. No telling what might come around the next corner.

As a group we made a full turn of the loop, taking in all the sights and marking down the interesting points that we might wish to return to. First full stop was one of the shows.

- That is a whole lot of flaming on one stage. -

Manolette. Manolette was awesome. I won't give away much of his show, beyond to say that it was vastly entertaining and very funny. It was good that he kept it a bit raunchy for the audience even though there were children present. After all, if a parent objects to the content, they are always free to up and leave and allow the rest to enjoy the show. He was lewd and funny and we parted with some of our cash in the form of a tip. I don't know if the performers get paid to entice them in or if they work for whatever they can wring from the audience, I have to think a combination of both. At least with the professionals.

There is a wide variety of shows, though most seem to lean towards the comedic in nature. Don't know why this is. Perhaps a festival atmosphere is the perfect place for comedy. Even the dramatic shows had comedic aspects to them. Jokes interspersed with the action.

The second show we sat down for was The Ded Bob Sho, a ventriloquist act starting a lewd puppet that insulted the audience. Of course we loved him and laughed as he made fun of us even as he delved into the realm of the creepy. That's just how it was. Better yet, his show was stated as being rated pg13. So people, who had been offended in the past, could be warned that the content might not be suitable for their sensibilities. Maybe the warning was sufficient. I didn't see anyone get up and leave.

- Anti-goths or Zombies? Which of the possible answers is scarier? -

Ded Bob is rather a microcosm of the Rennfest experience. He demands audience participation to the point of bringing audience members up onto the stage to play their parts so that they are both being entertained and entertaining in the same breath. And then once the entertaining is done, he solicits for money. A free market at work because people gladly give him large piles of cash as they choose his service.

For my second visit, I merely went to meet up with a friend from school. She loves these things and invited me along for a meet and gawk. I of course said yes for several reasons. And important one being that she promised to wear a chainkini should she get her hands on one. I love to see beautiful women in chainkinis, as they are so very sexy. So I made one for her. At least the bottom half.

- So many dirty thoughts, so little time. -

Five pounds of interlocking galvanized steel rings. Four hundred feet of wire and several weeks work assembling the thing and it was all worth it. Em is quite a sight wrapped in steel. She wore the thing for the entirety of the afternoon, leaving me with wonderful images to keep me warm during the long winter months ahead.

The costumes. They were the best and worst part of the renn experience. By long and far away. Pirates and tavern wenches abounded in all ages shapes and sizes. Good and bad, the young and beautiful came lockstep with the old and saggy. Rennies don't seem to ever grow out of their favorite costumes. It's nice to see people that comfortable with who they are, and it sucks to see people that comfortable with who they are.

-Pirates? Tavern Wenches? Both combined to form lesbians! Glee! -

All in all, I live on the internet, and have seen worse things than people past their prime in revealing costumes. So, no big deal. Just squint a bit and keep on going and go on mining for the gold. It's there in droves. Like the lone Ninja who ignored the centuries long Pirate-Ninja feud and hit the renn on the Pirate themed weekend. The man had balls. I wonder if he was part of a show. And if not, some of the drunken pirates(It's a rennfest, there's a lot of drinking) got together and tried to pound the tar out of him. Either way, the dude is my hero for having balls of pure steel.

Advice? Sure:

→ Try the turkey legs. They're damned good.

→ Take pictures. People there don't seem to mind. They've spent a good deal of time on their costumes and want to show them off.

→ Make sure to bring along cash. I doubt that anyone takes credit or checks.

→ Remember it is a faire, so everything is going to be expensive. They have you by the short curlies.

Chicago part Two: Electric Boogaloo

In a face saving move, we decided to rename our first trip to Chicago. It's now called a 'Fact Finding Tour'. Everyone got that? Reconnaissance. We were there to scope the place out for further adventures. And so we did. Honestly, my only goal was Pizza. I achieved pizza. Mission accomplished.

-Pirates, we got pirates. Take that you ninja loving/buggery hating bitches. -

But we did want to see the Field Museum. I mean come on, pirates. Anyone who has spent more than fifteen minutes on the internet has had it drilled down into the depths of their soul that Pirates make every experience better. Real world or otherwise. That was all I really knew about the Field Museum, with the twin exceptions that 1) it held a exhibit on Pompeii in the past and 2) The frakking building looks a lot like the Museum of Science and Industry. Stupid Chicago, why did you have to use the same architect for both buildings? Couldn't you afford someone else you cheap bastards?

The adventure began as they often do, leaving town after work on a friday night. Once again we were headed to crash at the Fat Man's for an evening of movies and general geekiness. This time though, I planned to take a different route, something more direct. You know, fewer chances for us to miss a turn and end up spending the weekend hanging with the stone heads at Easter Island. Never underestimate either stupidity or incompetence as potent world shattering forces.

-The Masons, they're everywhere. Run for your lives, there really is a conspiracy! Ahhhhhhhh! -

Expectations and reality never seem to meet up. Instead of a quick and pleasant trip we ran into a traffic jam. Two lanes of highway came to a near complete stop. Half an hour or more we spent reliving a pattern. Lift foot from break, roll forward a car length, maybe two, apply break. Was it an accident? Construction? Hot as hell dance party with nude girls?

Nope. It was a bumpkin magnet. A drag race(or as I prefer to call it, dragshow). Every race loving red neck within a hundred miles seemed to be trying to take the same stupid exit to see the show. They packed themselves into those two lanes, all along the highway both north and south of the bridge. Yeah, it was that huge of a draw for the people in the area. And for those who have never seen a drag race, the festivity consists of a pair of cars starting from a dead stop and driving as quickly as possible, about five hundred feet and then stop. Over and over again. People pay to see it. Hell, they dragged their asses out into the middle of the countryside and braved miles long lines of cars to attend such a spectacle.

I don't understand my species.

- Stupid bald jokes aside, this was my favorite picture from the entire set of some 80+ we took that day. Dutch the magic comet, wrecking havoc in the dinosaur population. -

Maybe if there were swords involved. Chariots and bloodshed. But no, it's just a couple wigged out cars driving in a straight line. Repeatedly. Enchanting.

South Bend is a city I hate driving in, with it's wacky five-way intersections and multiple turnabouts. But now that I knew what to expect, it wasn't really that big of a deal, and in time we found ourselves watching Final Destination 3 with the Fat Man. Odd as that was since Evil and I had never seen the first two. But he does like introducing people to the series with the third movie.

FD3 is basically a hour and a half long excuse to make a film that involves the gruesome death of obnoxious teenagers in an overly elaborate and highly contrived manner. I'm all for teens dying in movies, and it was fun to watch the absolutely brutal fashion in which the writers concocted each and every death. A real gorefest. My only complaint is that they let the kids talk too much in the name of “Character development”. Just kill them and get it over with. Stop putting sentiments that don't belong into the children's mouth, that just makes the movie creepy in all the wrong ways.

With the movie over, we hit the sack. No leaky air mattress for me this time. Instead I took the pillows from the back of the couch. In the morning we sprang up and grabbed breakfast at a local place called the Skillet since the Original Pancake House was packed. The skillet was ok. People were friendly. Buffet was decent, I wouldn't go around craving the food, but I wouldn't veto a return visit either. French toast was awesome. I think they added a dash of nutmeg to their mixture to give it a unique flavor.

- Check it out, the Chefs look a lot like Steve Balmer and Bill Gates of Microsoft. They're diversifying into the greasy spoon market. It's amazing that breakfast didn't crash at least 3 times before we paid the check.

With breakfast behind us we stopped by Meijers to pick up the crappy adventure bling from one of the vending machines. What does it say about my taste that about the only jewelry that I own and wear comes from a vending machine when we go on one of these trips? Tacky? Whatever. A warning though, don't get into the habit. Freaking vending machines are addictive. You keep dropping your money in to see what little surprises that you get. For anyone with a steady paying job, a quarter is next to nothing, and I find it tempting to keep on going to see exactly what all secrets the little machine contains. As was, I spent a good deal more than I intended to, as I was looking for another ring to go with the rest. Took three tries and two cheap necklaces later I got something like what I was looking for. It resembled one of the rings from Captain Planet.

- Now to take these tickets back to the NPC that gave us the quest as proof of completion and get our well earned experience. 100 XP gained! -

With that, we met up with Dutch to start our adventure. The ride into Chicago was about like the first. Driving along in Dutch's car, listening to music as the Fat Man posed his questions of the day as he probed the inner workings of our minds. The first went about like this: (For the guys) You're in a movie theater on a date when a strange woman walks in and sits down next to you, through out the random jump scenes in the movie she shrieks/gasps and grabs your hand for comfort. She never says anything until the end when she gets up and hugs you and then leaves. What do you do?

My answer, Squeeze a breast and tell her that she was welcome. It would only be fair. More so with the awkwardness that she created between myself and my potential date.

Afterwards we moved on the the potential mix cds – this week it was Music to Rock to during the Apocalypse and Songs you should never bring up on a First Date. I am of the opinion that the Gary Jules rendition of Mad world fits well in both columns.

- He he he, Dinosaur Butt! Lolz0rz! -

Interesting conversation makes for a quick trip as we took the highway over the edge of South Chicago rather than just barging through again like last time. Methinks that Dutch and the Fat Man are a little shy of possibly meeting Leroy Brown. The highway dropped us right about where we wanted to be the first time we visited town. Lord be praised. And it was center to the original set of directions that the Fat Man printed off.

The day was drab and overcast and slightly cool, even through my adventuring pants. We bitched about the bad luck with the weather from the moment we stepped out of the entrance to the parking garage. Who wants to visit Chicago on a bland and overcast day? Fuck you nature! We had a two mile walk ahead of us, and the bitching lasted about the first fifteen minutes when our comments and thoughts turned miraculously to “Damn good thing it isn't sunny and 80 today. We lucked out. Thank you nature. Funny what kind of changes that a little exercise has on one's outlook.

- I bet it's one of those creepy ghost ships that appears out of the fog and attacks any poor soul that it comes upon. -

We walked along the lake shore, or rather along the concrete walkway that lined the harbor. The ground was covered with dozens of signs that alternately denoted that swimming and diving were both illegal in the area for whatever reason. But what if you fell in? We wondered. Or were pushed? Would you be required to either float or sink instead of swimming? Could you cannon ball? That isn't a dive. Ohh, check out the weird boat. This brought about the usual shift of my suggesting to Dutch that he do something stupid, which this time involved not only diving into the harbor, but also swimming out to the boat to see what sort of shenanigans that he could get up to. Dutch declined. I need to increase my charisma score and put a few more points into persuasion. That or find someone with severe brain damage.

- Skip ahead folks. This part is a lot like the LoTR movies. A lot of walking interspersed by homosexual midget orgies. -

We got in line and waited to give the City of Chicago our money in exchange for a day's worth of edutainment. Pirates fool, we were there for pirates. The lady at the counter happily took my money and queried whether or not we were part of a group, we were, but not in the manner which she was thinking. There were just four of us involved in the excitement. I told her that we had tried to visit in main but were waylaid by the evil Museum of Science and industry by manner of the fact that the buildings resembled one another.

And that we're retarded.

She just laughed and told me that that was a common error since both buildings had the same architect. No problem, we were here now and we were in. Time to take in the wonders held within the place of Muses.

The main hall of the Field museum is quite a sight A vast open space with a ceiling one hundred feet tall. The floor was speckled with exhibits that won't fit into any other space, from Sue the T-rex to some full sized totem poles. Very impressive and enough to touch off a sense of excitement in History and Science geeks of any age. Glee!

- Hey there Sue, I admit I'm a sucker for a girl with a pretty smile, but I don't like how you're grinning at me. -

Sue stands guard at the north entrance. The world's largest complete tyrannosaurus rex skeleton. Looking up at her, I hate to use a cliché, but I thought she would have been bigger. Maybe it was just the position they had her posed in, hunched over as if she were running to pounce on some unfortunate morsel. Or maybe the movies just gave me an exaggerated feeling of their true size. Whatever. I found myself looking up at the old girl and asking “Is this it?” True, I agree with Dutch's sentiment that I would definitely not want to have her chasing along behind me. Especially with all those years reading fantasy. Animated human skeletons

You might think that our first stop would be the pirates. Wrong sucker. It was the restrooms. A memorable experience that combined sticky floors with the smell of urine. I'd hate to be the custodian in charge of that place, with all the stupid kids coming in, and their inability to aim and shoot accurately. Ick. I doubt the poor bastard gets paid well enough to deal with that kind unintentional (hopefully) infliction of human misery.

I apologize in advance for the lack of photos of the inside of the pirate exhibit, I didn't take any. Not so much due to my immersion into the experience as the fact that photography was banned within, probably on pain of keelhauling. So you get Dinosaur pictures in their place.

- What is the plural of Triceratops? Triceratopseseses. Whatever. What I really want to know is why are the Jurrasic park scientists taking so long to pump these buggers out. think about it, the running of the Triceratopi in San Fransisco. -

The pirate exhibit follows the story of a single ship from its birth in England to its death off the coast of Cape Cod and then finally the enterprise of finding and recovering the loot from the wreck. They had hundreds of interesting artifacts raised from the ship's deathbead, ranging from cannons on down to spoons. The ship had been built as a slave transport, so the exhibit went into depth about the African slave trade and then a general overview of pirate culture of the period.

The creepiest object they had in their collection was a lone leg bone of one of the crew members. Said crew member happened to be a ten year old boy. Looking at the remains of a child pirate dead some two hundred years and entombed at sea is rather, not so much disturbing, but rather uncomfortable. I wonder if there will be stories about the bone being haunted by the child as there often are of various objects owned by the tragically dead. Maybe museum workers will tell visitors about how they see the ghost of a small boy walking around the exhibit at night, just out of the corner of their eye. Ohhh spooky.

- Quick everyone, Gather together like the tourists you are for the standard tourist picture! -

We wandered through the exhibit, reading some, but mostly just studying the objects. As the Fat Man pointed out, one can read about this any time, we were there to see physical artifacts in person. The Field museum has more than can been seen in a day unless you move fast and only browse. We probably only made it through two thirds of the exhibits, and most of those we didn't stop to read even a quarter of the information. This is good for the people of Chicago who have no end of time to visit(if not the money). It is a place of wonders, ancient and modern, man made and natural. Wish we had something as cool around here.

After the tour of the Pirate exhibit we hit the cafe that they 'provide.' Normally one would expect to pay insane prices for mediocre fare. We were all astounded that this wasn't the case. The prices were reasonable and the food was outstanding.

I am, as a side note, aware of cost and value. I have been so since reading Allegory of the Whistle by Ben Franklin. I usually ask myself if what I'm holding is worth what they are asking. It's a build in defense against collecting nick-knacks and starving on ramen noodles. Still, it leaves me looking cheap as hell. But I'm poor, so I have an excuse. I just hope that should I ever manage to strike it big, maybe by striking oil in my back yard, that I have the sense not to blow money like mad on worthless crap. Vending machine treasures aside.

Can't have enough of my precious. ****Warning Obsessive Compulsive behavior developing.****

- Terrorists fistbump in front of the magic mushroom. It doesn't get any geekier than this. -

Fed and happy we got back up and returned to our tour. First up was the section on the history of life as it has evolved on the planet earth. Evil pointed out that creationists should be forced to visit that exhibit if only to finally take away the proper definition of what a Scientific theory actually is so that they can stop using the 'only a theory mentality' to discard scientific data that 'contradicts' their beliefs.

Whatever. The collection was kick ass, with fossils that were hundreds of millions of years old lining showcases. This is where the Fat Man and I lost Evil and Dutch. The Fat Man and I agree on his stated sentiment about being there to see the artifacts. Dutch and Evil obsessively needed to read every single freaking sign posted within a five mile radius of the museum. Everything. It was insane, thought it gave me time to wander around the big room with all the Dinosaur skeletons on display (I doubt that they were actual fossils, but rather casts of the fossils). I got to see some old favorites. Rather one old favorite.

The triceratops has been, in my mind, the most awesome dinosaur ever to walk the world. I've been of this opinion since I was five and discovered dinosaurs. Raptors are cool, specially after the release of Jurassic Park, but the triceras will always be tops for me. Hah. Bad play on language. And you walked right into it. Pwned. I think it's their won't start none, but won't take none attitude that I always imagined them to have. As Teddy might say, they speak softly but have badassed horns. I'll likely forever have that image of them lodged in my mind. The prehistoric giant lizard equivalent of cows.

- Oh no! It's Airsquid! Someone get Godzilla! Ok kids, here's your motivation, that's a giant tentacled creature, and you're all Japanese school girls. alright, scene! -

We wandered through the rest of the upper floor, weaving in and out of exhibits, stopping to look from time to time. So much to see and try to absorb, which is hard when you see something else that is shinier and are compelled to move onwards to see what mysteries that the horizons hold.

We breezed through the morbid collection of dead animals to get to the Maneaters of the Tsvaro. A pair of stuffed lions whose story was featured in the movie “The Ghost and the Darkness”. The son of the founder of the Museum purchased them from the man who hunted them down and killed them sometime back in the 20s or 30s. They were a pair of big kitties and I can see why they would be frightening when on the prowl in the depth of the night. I think that in their own way, the two lions are even more frightening that Sue as they pad along silently in the dark. It would be ever so much more difficult to miss a six ton beast, should it ever decide to try and stalk its prey. Yeah, no dice there big girl.

Second in line for me was the Egypt expo. Hundreds upon hundreds of objects pertaining to ancient Egypt, dug up and then stolen for our enjoyment here in the states. I don't recall any Mummies, the Fat Man says there was at least one. My attention was on all the wonderful little works of art. The priceless trinkets that they have lying around like garage sale castoffs, only in heavy duty jewelry cases. That and dry humping the sarcophagi. Hey man, a man has his needs, and its been a while.

The day was winding to an end, at least for the museum. Bastards close early in the afternoon, which makes sense. I wouldn't want to be one of the workers there, stuck until nigh on forever as a bunch of gawkers wander around jaws agape as they try to comprehend the wonders that they are adrift between. Fuck that noise, better just to expel the visitors, clean up and then go home. So with that coming, we decided to take one last stroll around the gift shop and slip away before security was reduced to using clubs.

- This is a recreation of my favorite scene from Disney's Lion King. The part where the creepy hippy suduces the lioness, PETA style. -

We probably walked a good four miles that way. And that was just between the Museum and our parking garage. Who knows how many miles we put in while wandering the hall of knowledge. By the time we got back out onto the street the soccer game had let out. Going in we saw hundreds of people dressed in blue and white walking around town, they seemed to be congregating somewhere else so we ignored the, They were obviously fans, for Honduras I think, and that meant soccer. Against who? Who cares? It's grown men playing a game. We had better things to do, mostly meet up with my cousin Spank-daddy and find a place to grab dinner before we split back to Southie.

I wanted Chicago style stuffed again. One go six weeks before was hardly enough to satiate my appetite. But I also wanted to try something new. We failed in finding a suitable place within walking distance for a group of people who had already put in several miles and were thus tired and hungry. Spank-daddy suggested Miller's Pub which was close and he had heard good things about. Good enough for us, we took it.

- Yeah. It was tasteless, I admit. But then we are a bunch of big stupid kids. It is amazing that collectively none of us ever joined a frat whilst in school. -

- Goodbye last dollar. Goodbye! -

The place is a pub, a bar and restaurant combined, so I shan't go far into the decor. I will say that the place was packed, with who knows how many patrons enjoying a meal and conversation in the dim interior. People here were dressed for the night out, and the hosts wore what looked like Tuxedos. But despite the crowd we were seated in around 20 minutes. All that without being famous. Good service. I'm cheap, the menu was expensive, so I went with my usual standby. Hamburger. I do love the ground beef placed between a couple slices of bread and paired with some deep fried potato sticks. So simple but so consistently tasty and difficult to fuck up. Whatever, Miller's didn't disappoint here either. The food wasn't world shattering with a bomb of awesomeness, but it was damn good and worth a second look. I'd really like to try the pulled pork sandwich. Maybe next time when we hit the Art Institute.

- You know you want some of this. -

Back in the Fat Man's living room we exposed Dutch to Hudson Hawk for the first time. A crime of the capital order, that the man had never seen Hudson Hawk, as old as he is. Might as well not have seen Star Wars. Pokey, can you believe that kooky elephant?

It was a good weekend, capped off by my giving the race course the bird as we passed it on the way back north towards the homeland. No I'm not bitter. Fucking rednecks.

- The power of Ra compels you! -

So I plan to survive the apocalypse. Despite all the odds against me making it. But I've been a fan of the genre in general for far too long to believe myself anything other than woefully ignorant of the mundane tasks of day to day life after the end. I mean really, I'm totally out of it when it comes to building a McGyver like trap to take out the last of those bastard biker nomads who just murdered my beloved wife and child. I'll need a wife first. Any takers?

I'd like to take up sailing. Windpower is unlimited, if a bit unpredictable. And the world's surface is covered with water, at around 70%. Plus, and this is important, frakking zombies can't swim. Ok, the buggery tradition of the open ocean isn't so overly appealing, but then sometimes you just need to live by the unwritten book of the sea. Not just the sailing, but the entire survival at sea class of skills, from navigation to gathering food and facing storms.

Next, I'll need to learn how to enjoy fish and other seafood. I hate fish. And I'll probably be living off it for a while. Unless there's some genetic revolution in the meantime and seacows are created. In that case, fuck the Tuna Surprise Jeeves, I'll have the steak. Scientific establishment, get on that would you?

There will probably be other survivors, and life on the move is rather lonely so I really need to work on some better pickup lines. Though accurate(hopefully), I imagine that "I'm neither radioactive or undead! Do me!" Will fail to bring in the honeys for very long. Specially after the other male survivors pick up on those magic words. Eventually I'll need to admit that I just can't compete with the three eyed mutant who can say (and prove) I've got a six inch tongue and can breathe through my ears.

I'm not going for some McGyveresque feat of "I've taken this box of rubber bands, this ballpoint pen and a bag full of baking soda and built a nuclear powered air craft carrier. What'd you do?" No, I'd settle with being able to open the hood of a vehicle and not saying "Gee-willikers, there are a lot of hoses and stuff. looks Like we're walking buddy."

Run a still and make a decent vintage(one that doesn't make the imbiber blind). I don't touch the stuff, and will likely be less interested when I see what goes into the process. But folks do like their liquor and they might be willing to trade. Keep that eye on the brass ring. Remember on you way out to try some Suttonstein's 3 hour special brew - It probably won't make you crazy.

Blacksmithing. Not so much for the weapons/tools/art, but more for the bulging muscles. It'll also give me some affinity for the warhammer.

Land navigation and wilderness survival. If I don't take to the sea I'm hitting the mountains. Which means I have to get to the mountains. And then not die of gross stupidity (I'm betting against myself on this one). It's unlikely that I'll stumble on a goodwilled ole'timey trapper type who will take me under his wing and teach me everything I need after the fact. Nope, gotta be proactive here. I plan to spend the next week or so watching and re-watching Jeremiah Johnson.

Aikido. Nuff said.

Playing gameboy without throwing it when I lose my temper after the fiftieth time in a row where the damn game cheats and I magically get hit and die right before I beat the last boss again, fucking god damn it why does that happen every time who the hell programmed this shit-fest they call a game. Best Buys might be few and far between.

Gardening. Assuming that I live to a ripe old age. Gardening is what old retired people do. I like to leave my options open. Besides how freaky would it be to one day happen on a random plot of land out in the middle of nowhere where a crazy old dude is growing petunias?

Free-style running/parkour. What the hell would be cooler than a post apocalyptic event with a parkour style chase? Imagine my bad self, clad in football shoulder pads and chaps, running through what's left of Paris as a gang of biker nomad mimes try and hunt me down after brutally killing my wife and child. of course there are too many to Aikido and I have no ammunition left (wasted it on the first gang of biker nomads - fuckers) so I have to parkour my ass out of there to lick my wounds and come back and get them with my pointed stick of vengance.

Skill 16, manufacture of kickass pointed sticks.

Knitting. So, after I broke my leg from a misstep whilst parkouring away from some rather savage looking midgets, I'll really need to be able to form a rope and climb the hell down the rest of the cliff so that I don't have to go over the waterfall. I'll just need to remember to keep a pair of long needles with me.

Exotic dance. You never know when it might come in handy.

There are probably more. But I think I have all the major ones.

Ultimate half-assedry in adventure land.

-Fool! You have awakened Tripod the Devourer. Prepare to feel the wrath of the Elder Dog.-

Here is about the most half-assed adventure of them all. Probably not. There are a few more I could throw about that might not even qualify. Visiting the grand parents and going to an antiques fair, the excitement never ends. Stick around, you're in for some high adventure the likes of which Conan the Barbarian and Amelia Erhart combined have never seen. Sshoot, iffin you're truely lucky you might even get to come along on a trip to the supermarket. If you believe that, then I have a nice piece of real estate to sell you. You might know it, it's called Washington DC. I'll let it go real cheap.

It's roadkill season in Michigan, where the less than thrilling creatures throw themselves under the tires of passing motorists. Deer, raccoons and other creatures that are less than unidentifiable in their present state. Usually good decorum demands that nobody actually tries to figure out what the smears at one time were, at least in a vocal manner. The season itself never ends, but rather waxes and wanes. The major upswing comes about the middle of spring, where roadtrippers often get the wonderful and entertaining experience of playing round after round of “What's that smell?” It's a wonderful time to be alive.

Evil and I decided to spend the weekend visiting the grand parents in and about eastern Michigan. If the lower peninsula of the state is shaped like a mitten, and most agree that it is, then we were headed over towards the space between the forefinger and the thumb. The tri-cities area if you know where that is. We decided that on friday night we'd drive up, stick around until sunday and then head home. Talk, visit and all that sort of thing. Fan-bloody-tastic.

-'Buy the carton' Is this a command or an offer? An attempt at advertising that is so blatant that it becomes subliminal once again? It's like living in John Carpenter's movie "They Live"-


It was my idea, I wanted to drop by. They like to see us and I get along well with the grandrents. I share my sense of humor with my grandfather and my grandmother is the nerdy matriarch of our family (She loves to watch X-men, Spiderman moves and has been reading LoTR since the 60s). They're a lot of fun to spend time with. And it all gets me out of GR. So all the better,

The grandrents were gifted a set of free passes for the local Antiques fair in Midland. The even runs three times over the summer and they gather vendors from all around to come in and try to sell a vast array of stuff. I'm gonna spoil the ending here, most of what is on the plate can't be considered to be 'Antiques' by any stretch of the imagination. I don't care how battered that first edition of The Mighty Ducks two with Emilio Estaves on VHS is, it ain't an antique.

-A whole table full of Beanie Babies? I don't care what they cost! Get me my checkbook now!-

Here we come baby.

Like most such events, the hordes of attendees make up the better part of the attraction for me. Unlike most events I may attend, most of the people are middle-aged or later, the mean age being probably around 50 years old. As such, it holds a lot in common with Comic Cons, in that most of the con goers are rather unappealing, with the occasional pretty girl sprinkled into the mix to keep me interested. Oh, and by and large the antique's festival tends to be rather on the vanilla side of things. That's right, middle to old aged white folks. Hundreds of them. I'm sure that rule 34 applies somewhere here too. Damn I sound like a sex-crazed old prevert, exercising my preversions.

-Check out my friend Hu Nan Boo, a friend of all the children. That is correct, here stands a six foot tall chicken. Now that screams classy eating establishment. -

We started on the road at around 6:30 friday evening. There are a couple of landmarks along the way I've wanted to get a picture of for years now. The first is the giant fiberglass chicken statue outside some small restaurant named Tony's. Supposedly they have a world famous giant steak sandwich. I've never been, since I've almost never been around when the place is open. Sad to say, as I would like to partake of yon sandwich one of these days. Giant and steak are a good combination of adjectives when applied to sandwich so far as I am concerned.

One day. One day.

The second landmark was Crapo road. I know. Childish as all hell. But it's Crapo road. Who was this Crapo whom got a road named after him(her?)? A wealthy farmer? A great warrior? My guess was that he was the least popular of the Marx brothers. The plumber. You probably never heard of him. Funny guy Crapo. He brought a lot of toilet humor into the act. But then the damn censors got a hold of him, and banned his special variety of humor as crass and offensive, and now here we are with a road named after a vanished star. I drink to you Crapo, and keep that whoopie cushion away from me.

We hit the antiques fair early the next morning, around 10ish. Which isn't really that early in the morning. We drove over to the Midland county fairgrounds and attached airfield, bypassing the worst of the traffic. Might I add, free parking biznitches, yeah baby. You recall what I said about there being hundreds of white people going to these things? I have pictures of the line which stretches back about a quarter of a mile and is 3 to 5 people deep at any given time. That doesn't count the hundreds(thousands?) already inside partaking of the revelry and orgy of consumerism. Rule 34. Look it up at your own peril.

Five bucks a head means some pretty good business.

-An antiques sale is like a giant garage sale, with a creepy carnival atmosphere. I'm pretty sure that garage sales are listed on the Stuff White People like website. if they aren't, they should be.-

We split with the grandrents and wandered off to browse. My interests are books, which there are often sellers, and anything that could be of any assistance in the inevitable zombie apocalypse. The second category is sadly lacking at the antiques fair. Maybe we should hit a gun show. More on that thought later.

Evil on the other hand was attracted to the bling. Every booth that had jewelery grabbed her attention. In the end, I got sick of waiting and wandered off. Not a good idea considering that I didn't have A) a cell phone B) control of the ride home. But hey, I'm a wild man like that, and I take my chances. Getting lost in the sea of aging vanilla and left for dead by the grandrents. It would have been a fate to sing about for ages to come.

-Tempting. So very tempting. But I would only use it in a manner strictly outlawed by the Geneva Convention. A crimes against humanity conviction is a difficult one to get over later in life. -

As I wandered through the lanes, I kept one eye open for anything of interest, while the other one was busy picking out interesting folks. Yeah, I can do that, both my eyes are lazy. What of it? The rules are different here than say at a comic or anime convention. I'm fairly certain that it goes against the social mores of the event to take pictures of random people. Mostly since they didn't come with the intention of looking like buffoons, even if that was how the fates have so conspired to make them appear.

-This, wait... Nah, they're empty.-


My one regret in this is that I didn't get a shot of the dude with the Uber-mullet. Basically he had his hair high and tight for the front 80% of his head, in true mullet fashion. From the front he might have looked like a brand new recruit for the Marines. He even seemed to have had gel in his hair to make it spiky. Then there was the rear, where the mullet truly comes into it's own as a hairstyle. It ran down to the center of his back. That was merely the beginning. He had it tied in a pony tail, with addition four more rubberbands to... I don't know why they were there. Fashion perhaps? But then the be-mulleted generally live outside the realm of what is considered fashionable. They must have their own counterculture movement.

I saw another dude, Indian(of the American Aborigine variety) who had what appeared to be a mullet that he had braided. Didn't get a picture of that either, much to my current dismay. It did kick off a wonderful idea though: the great mullet hunt. Take the crew to an event that is in effect supermullety by its vary nature, and try to get pictures of the most exotic specimens. The Fat Man suggested a 4H county fair. I voted for a gun show. Another suggestion was a random racing event. The later would be out methinks. We want to hunt mullets, not drown in them.

So I kept an eye out of the be-mulleted among the community. Much to my disappointment, they seemed to have been lacking in number that day. There was an auto-show in the fairgrounds that very day, like a cancerous growth off of the antique fair. I spose I could have visited it, in search of dangerous game. With a flash of his mighty mullet, the predator moved into position to pounce upon his unsuspecting prey. Let's see what happens.

But no, I stayed away from the car show. Mostly out of a lack of interest on my part. Cars just aren't my thing. They're there, they're great tools. But that's about all. I'd rather dig through other people's rejected possessions in hope of finding a knife, or a sword or something. Anything to keep the hordes at bay for just a little longer.

No such luck Chuck.

I did happen across a stand that was selling flags. All kinds of them. I was sorely tempted to drop my eight bucks on a Fireworks flag, and hang it on our flagpole at the house. I resisted, since that would have required more effort than I was willing to put in. Not to mention the passel of neighborhood kids looking for cherry bombs and possible visits from our local police department trying to put an end to our criminal ways. All for naught.

With a heavy heart and an unchanged wallet, we left the fairgrounds for good and returned home for lunch. It was time to charge our batteries for the second half of the adventure. Our visit to Sam's Club. I tell you, life with the grandparents doesn't ever grow dull. No siree.

Actually the Grand parents seem to enjoy their little outings to Saginaw for the Sams Club visits. Riding with them is a blast, since both seem to need hearing aids, but neither like to wear them. This leads to some amusing conversations. Which lead to my statement that they're a lot like Laurel and Hardy. I was going to let them decide amongst themselves who was who in that arrangement.

-A giant inflatable waterslide jungle-gym deal? Why the hell didn't they have one of these when I was a 80 pound kid? Fuckers! -

Sam's Club is Sam's Club. They're about the same everywhere. I should know, I've visited stores in several different states now. Huge steel boxes sitting on slabs of concrete. The insides are lined with shelving units twenty feet tall and packed with jumbo sized goods containing more of any given product than a normal human being can use in a year or more. When the zombie uprising comes, I'm staying away from that place – It'll probably attract wannabe survivors like NASCAR Races attract stupid. I'd also like to avoid the warehouse type stores in zones susceptible to earthquakes. Those are some skinny shelves when the earth starts moving.

I was impressed this time with their 'art collection' Even if I didn't think to get a pic at the time. Sorry, it blew my mind. In the middle of one of the aisles was a large cardboard display packed with all sorts of framed prints. I was mightily tempted purchase their copy of 'Dogs Playing Pool' But couldn't find my way to spending 20 on something so very tacky when only a couple hours earlier I turned my nose up at owning a copy of the movie Robo-Vampire for a mere three dollars. No, I didn't deserve this little bit of happiness. I'm a cheap bastard when it comes down to pointless purchases. Mamma would like to believe that she didn't raise no fool.

We made our rounds and then returned homeward. No high speed chases or drawn out gun battles. Just a whole lot of back road driving.
-Look at that scenery, breathtaking how it's all just pancake flat. Just a whole lot of flat. Hundreds of miles of it. Just keeps going and going and going and going and going.-

My folks come from this area. They were raised there. Eastern Michigan is a world of flat. The only feature that keeps it from being as desolate and depressing as one of the plains states are the trees that the farmers left up as windbreaks. The kid in me actually wants to get out and explore some of the copses that lie between the fields. I would love to get a close hand look at what sort of memory of wilderness that humanity has allowed to cling to the land.

But having seen this part of the state, especially during winter when the horizon stretches so much further without any relief, I can understand why my father was so desperate to move out and visit Alaska from so early in his youth, Anything to get away from that sort of featureless wasteland. Having lived in Alaska myself, I can't imagine ever wanting to live in Eastern Michigan. Maybe if I received a nasty head-wound. Something. Under any other circumstances I think that I'd find a way out, even if it meant leaving everything and just walking away.

And yet for some reason many of the relatives seem to be willing to stick around. Maybe they don't really know any better. Or perhaps the draw of family is just that strong. Personally I grew up 4000 miles away from the extended family, so their pull is nearly non-existent for me just on basis of being related to myself. I only really like to see the family members with whom I share common interests and thus a bond beyond sharing some random genetic material. That really isn't much of a basis for a relationship by itself. You need the shared experiences with those people, which I lack. So here I am rather ambivalent to the rest of the relatives on the whole, preferring to spend my time with just a handful.

-St Francis hanging with is boy Sidhartha. Word. -

So an adverb modifies a verb. Why isn't an adjective, which modifies a noun, called an adnoun? We had this discussion as we made dinner and came up with the only viable solution to the problem. Time travel. Some beatings and a petition to fix the English language. Fix some of the silliness that is inherent to our language right at the source.

Dinner happened, as it usually does, around an actual dining room table. Crazy I know. My folks long ago gave up on the tradition and instead we ate in the living room basking in the soft glow of our television. The TV was always on in those days. I don't miss it. But it's strange to eat at a table without your plate perched in your lap as the idiot box entertains you and face actual forced interaction with your family. I think this might be the way I would like to have things should I ever get married. It would fall in line with my negative views of Television's impact on our society. Too hell with religion, TV is today's opiate for the masses.

After dinner came more visiting of relatives. Thus comes the part I hate most about going to see the relatives. Going to see the relatives. A visit back to the homeland usually entails a lot of driving around to see people who are generally disinterested in my company. We share some genetics by chance and that's about all. They don't crave my company enough to stop by my corner of the world, though they do have lives – which I don't. Yet at the same time we're expected to go out of my way to see them when I'm in town. To pay homage to blood.

-Sixty mile an hour out the window of the car sunset shot. Turned out rather well.-

The excess travel really eliminates any possible relaxation factor that the weekend might have had and draws out the weekend. Though I admit that I am a fan of putting off returning to work. Not so much so that I would wish to spend eternity traveling the backroads of Bay County if it meant never having to go back to my job.

We only stuck around for about half of the next morning before up and returning back to the castle and the return of reality.

Tards run amok in the Windy City, news at 11.

Our little group doesn't have a good record when it comes to the land navigation skill set. Really, if you gave us the task of "Walk down this straight hallway, the one with no doors or turns, to the far side." At least two of us would get lost, and the rest would arrive late. We decided to goto Chicago. Originally we were going to get a hotel and stay for the weekend. But the Fat Man was all like 'sod that, I live an hour away. Let's just day-trip this bitches.' this sounded better than laying out cash for a hotel in Chicago. We're cheap and they aren't.

-There we are kids, three of the four members of Brotherhood of the Anchor, we'll be spinning in your town real soon -

Back in 2005 I visited Chicago for the first time for a class trip. Two full classloads of art students from the back woods were packed into a pair of buses and driven around eight hours right smack into the middle of the largest city in the midwest. There are a lot of hickoid jokes that one might be tempted to make on our part, but doubtful that any of them would be overly accurate.

-Godzilla will make little work of your Windy City unless you pay me one billion Yen, and get me Morena Baccarin's phone number. -

True, it was my first time in the city of Chicago. But hardly the first visit to a major city. If one counts Detroit, Boston or Seattle. Yeah, I sound like a defensive bumpkin with delusions of sophistication.

We spent several days seeing art of various quality (the piece that sticks out best was a film that involved a hobo fucking a skull - I stuck around until he started painting on a wall with some nail polish and then I was out) in museums and galleries, being herded between one and the next by our professors/chaperones. In between events we were left along to explore at our leisure. The weather was amazing for October, high 70s, sunny and a pleasant breeze from beginning to end. When we got home we found that the summer had faded and that fall had finally taken its rightful place.

The high-points for me were two. Chicago Style Stuffed Pizza is the first. An inch of cheese mixed with various toppings in reverse Chicago order. We had it two nights in a row, and for other meals in between. I raved about it for months afterwards. And the second was the Blue Man Group. If you haven't seen one of the shows yet, go see them.

-This is exactly why Tim Curry was so damn creepifying in IT -

The Art Institute was killer, as were the legions of females, both the natives and our own contingent, who were still dressed in their summer clothes. I hate hot weather, but love all the girls in their summer outfits. Some things are just worth bearing if you get good enough compensation in return.

The entire class trip can be summed up as 'fucking awesome'.

So yeah, in Febtober of 2009 I asked the Fat Man if was down for a trip to Chicago one of these weekends. He was. Chicago after all, Fuck Yeah.

-Well fiddlesticks, what we have here boys and girls is a major case of historical language FAIL. Who wrote this? What it really should read is 'Fuckin-a G, your dope ride is the Shizznitt! Didja used to use it to cruise for pussy with your boys back in the hood?' Do some research damn it, you're working in a museum.-

I had one real plan at the beginning of our planning process. Locate Pizza. Acquire pizza. Eat pizza. Four years later, and I just wanted to get some freaking pizza. How messed up is that? Just hook it to my veins and I'll be happy! Sauce!

Really, Chicago is around 3 hours from here, and a mere Hour from the Fat Man. So why not kick in and have dinner. Head in the morning, and While we were in the area, we could easily kill time before dinner. Museums, Chicago has them. Lots of them in fact. We'll get back to this later.

The Field Museum was running a pirate exhibit. Goal number two had quickly emerged. See pirates and eat pizza. What combination could be more natural? In the mean time, we might throw in some dorktastic shopping experiences if we could fit them in. A used bookstore here, a gaming shop there. Chicago has a lot to offer if you're willing to look.

Turns out that we weren't that willing to look. Chicago also has expensive parking if your ass gets there late and you have no idea where you're going.

-Shiny things rule!-

The weekend started friday night. Evil and I made our way to Indiana with the intent of getting up early, breaking fast, and roaring into our funtastic weekend and making as much of the city visit as possible. That was the intent. Portents boded poorly for our trip from the getgo. We remembered the laptop/jukebox but forgot such important tools as our toothbrushes. Easily enough fixed. The dollar store has everything one needs to mount such an expedition. Including the hot pink star-shaped Hannah Montana bubble necklace which was bestowed onto the Fat Man. Mad props, the man wore the goofy ass thing through the entire weekend.

This was the high-point of the trip. Sad huh? The rest of it involved poor navigation, missing an exit and adding an extra thirty minutes to the trip. Fun fun fun! This does lead to a question. Along our route we found some kickass billboards advertising for an adult toy store. Vibrators and dildos and what-not. The whole array. Found them later on the internet. Stop judging me. Back to the store. Who are these billboards aimed at? Who is driving down the highway at 70, sees an attractive woman inviting them to a sex-shop and says to themselves 'I'm there?' Myself aside, who are these horny bastards? Kindly put your pants back on before raising your hand.

The reality involved our dumb asses staying up till two in the morning and playing the card game Bang. Wild times. After that I had all the joy of trying to catch some sleep in a warm room, wrapped in a warm sleeping bag, on an inflatable mattress with a slow leak. A combination that is mutually exclusive with a decent night's sleep.

After breaking fast we ended up succumbing to the temptation of material goods. Yeah baby those little vending machines in the lobby of the restaurant were our downfall. The Fat Man spotted one that was packed with rings priced at 25 cents a piece. He bought one. The rest of us were dragged along by peer pressure and a healthy sense of ridiculous. I wore mine for most of the trip. Bling bling! baby. I'll make Leroy Brown himself jealous of my pointless accessorization.

Northern Indiana is a depressing place, especially the closer one gets to the border with Illinois. Gary, what you can see of it from the expressway, is a real pit. Not the kind of town I'd enjoy getting lost in. The houses were rundown and decrepit. The same mess is mirrored along the so-called rust-belt. Saginaw, Flint and Detroit. Miserable places where the people seem to be trapped where they are. Like a pit of quicksand. This was a good time to stop watching the scenery pass by and close my eyes.

-Midair terrorist fist-bump for the win. Really, we fit right in with the 8 year olds who were running around the museum.-

Through the skyway and 16 bucks worth of tolls later, we were in Chicago on what would become Lakeshore. Success! We'd gotten so far without getting lost once. Mind you, it's basically a straight shot, once you get on the Toll Road, from Southie to Chicago. If you get lost here, well then we'll start a club for the dreadfully incompetence. A club with cake, supplied by people who aren't associated with the likes of us. It'll be fun. Except for our inability to conduct meetings or actually procure said cake.

Coming from the south, and I imagine any direction, you can see Chicago rise up out of the lake from miles and miles off. Majestic is way too corny. But the skyline is an impressive sight. A range of man-made spires. Or maybe a jagged cliff rising above the blue lake. I imagine that on clear summer days that the view is dazzling. For us it was cloudy.

We rolled up Lakeshore searching for two distinct goals. The first was Fields. The second was a place to park so that we could attend Fields. The Field museum is a giant concrete building designed in a neoclassical form that has been for so long popular with Western European cultures and their descendants. In America the style of architecture has been used to connect ourselves with the culture, learning and 'values' of the ancient Greeks(the democracy part, not the man on boy action). So, someone had the brilliant idea to mold our center of learning and culture in the style of the Greek and Roman buildings.

-Despite what you might think, this is not the Field Museum. In our defense, it is an actual Museum. And there is a field in front of it.-

And there it was. A giant concrete building in the classical style, with the Greek columns and the Roman domes sheathed in oxidized copper. Our collective reaction was a drawn out exclamation, probably in the form of a colorful metaphor. The building was enormous. We were going to need all day to explore it. Score one for the away team. Now to locate that parking garage that the Fat Man had found via the internet and we'd be golden.

We didn't come across the garage, as we circled the streets pulling further and further from the museum. So we backtracked and bingo, there it was, an underground garage attached right to the museum itself. What kin of luck is that? Not the good time kids.

I figured out we were somewhat off when I went to buy a ticket and it was ten dollars cheaper than expected. When I asked if it would get me into the pirate exhibit. The girls behind the desk stared at me and informed my pasty ass that this was the Museum of Science and Industry, I would find no such exhibit here. That sort of shenanigans was housed at the Field museum.

Fuck.

-Take that bitch. Always lock your wheel and frame to the bike post.-

So, we gathered our forces and exited stage three stories up and leftish. And then tried to find the Field Museum on foot via a tour of the perimeter. For those who aren't laughing along at home, the Field museum is around five or ten miles further north. Evil noticed a definite lack of Shed's Aquarium, which shares a space with the Field Museum. We had undershot our destination then payed for parking. With the Field nowhere in sight, we decided to surrender and check out the Museum of Science and Industry.

First thing one notices, the building is ginormous. And it's infested with a horde of monkeys. The bald kind that run around fully dressed. Make a lot of noise. And generally were rather obnoxious. We fit right in.

I was wearing my I Kill People On Weekends t-shirt that the Fat Man had specially made for members of our gaming organization back in school. It was intended to be rather catchy and on the edge of good taste as it referenced perceived social bias towards violent video games and those who play them. I've had the shirt for years, and love wearing it, especially on weekends. Well, this time I forgot what shirt I was wearing. It was black with white text, like 10 other t-shirts that I own. No, I'm not a goth.

But as such, with a legend like 'I Kill People On Weekends', on a Saturday, the shirt drew a lot more attention than was intended. The first instance was one of the workers at the museum near the ticket counter who asked about my policy. I was dumbfounded as I had forgotten I was wearing said shirt. In the end, the five bucks offered was not enough to kill his supervisor. Sorry to disappoint. Moving on. Cheap bastard.

First up, we hit the Uboat exhibit. Imagine a full sized German ww2 submarine residing in someone's basement, and that's about what you have here. Along the way from the main building to the hanger where the sub is housed, is a multimedia attraction about how the sub was captured intact by the allies. We skimmed right by it. Stopping from time to time when something caught our eye and then moving on without really waiting to absorb the entire presentation.

-That is impressive. Next, the full scale model of the USS Enterprise NCC-1701(I admit, I had to google that.)-

What we found was a living breathing WW2 era German Uboat. I mean we knew it was there. But really, most museums might be expected to contain part of such a machine, or a mock-up. This was the real deal. All one hundred and fifty feet of it. And it was quite cool. The walls were line with information about the workings of the sub and the daily lives of the crew. It's enough to dissuade me from taking up the submariner lifestyle. It looks a lot like being in prison, only underwater. And with more rape.

The museum offered the option to explore the sub proper. We didn't go inside, that'd of cost extra and we're cheap/poor. So on we went to kill time till dinner.

-Those wacky Germans sure do love their Skat.-

The rest of the museum is really just 'science' for children. It reminds me of the Imaginariam in Anchorage, only a thousand times larger. They had models by the hundreds. Not the good kind of models, the ones dressed in lingerie and bikinis, but rather the informative ones representing in scale real world objects that just wouldn't fit in such a small space.

The model that got the awesome vote for the day was that of the city of Chicago and how the railway system works in tying interstate commerce together. Yeah, pretty dry stuff. I had to refrain myself from Godzilling the model. Following through with the impulse would have involved some extensive fines and jail time, but damn it was tempting. If not for the destruction, just for a pic of myself 'attacking' scale-Chicago. Nothing can stop Godzilla! Might have been worth being expelled from the museum.

The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering around and posing for goofy pictures. If I have one disappointment, it is the Fat Man's unwillingness to Whinnie-the-Pooh the jet engine in the airliner exhibit. That would have made a fantastic picture, one to embody the entire trip. Damn that man and his pride. I suppose that I could have substituted myself, though my bony ass sticking out of the front of an engine as such would have lacked the humorous punch.

-You see, had he cooperated, in this space right now you'd be reading some classic Pooh-bear line like 'Ohh bother' or 'Mmmm honey'. But no, so all you get is some Weebl and Bob. Ready? "What the greasy poop going on here?"

Then there was the obligatory pass through the gift shop. Expensive shit. Some of it was passingly interesting, but not enough so for any of us to be willing to part with our cash for. Oragami Plane? Are they airworthy? I doubt it.

Finally we came to our true purpose. Pizza.

We grabbed the car, paid our fare and trekked north further into the heart of the great city. Yea and behold, there it stood, our original destination, the Field Museum. Bigger than life and far more intimidating, with banners proclaiming that the Pirate exhibit was located inside for those who dared to tread those hallowed halls.

I am a fat man at heart. Of all the pizza I've ever tried, I like the Chicago style stuffed the best. Fred's here in town falls into second place. I had spent four or so years building up the pizza we had had into mythic proportions. Enough to get me off my lazy ass and over to Chicago.

-You are correct. I am a schmuck. If we had been visiting Italy, I'd be the dufas who was 'holding up the Leaning Tower' in at least one of the photos we brought home. Can't help it, I just love cliches.-

We decided to hit up Giordano's, a restaurant that both the Fat Man and myself could swear by, and often did. This involved finding another parking lot, getting lost in said parking lot (we are a sad lot) and hiking down several blocks. About three blocks into our hike, it started to rain, and then it began to pour, then the level of rain ascended to whatever cosmic level is beyond mere cats and dogs.. I was greatly amused. Rain wasn't about to stop us. We just kept on going. After stopping to look up the address again, and then continuing on once more, we finally stormed the front of the restaurant and asked for a table. There was a 20 minute wait, the cute girls informed us.

Yeah. Twenty minutes, no problem. Well, if you ignored the fact that the the interior was roasting warm. Dutch held a plastic slice of pizza that marked our place in line while the rest of us were standing out front of the building watching the rain and talking with the other potential patrons. The hight point was a creepy bastard paced back and forth staring at us, he did that for around 20 minutes. That was the first and only “Wish I had a gun.” moments that I faced on this trip. I could tell that he was pondering the message of my t-shirt, and maybe considering testing the authenticity. Was it an idle boast? Or was it just a joke? The wheels were turning.

We met up with my cousin Spank-daddy about half an hour into our wait for the pizza, turned out that he had busted his face a week or so earlier with an alcohol fueled chance encounter with a similar storm and a local curb. Rather, half an hour into the wait for our table to sit down and order the pizza. What was taking so long? We found out when a stream of midgets(read children) passed through the door and was seated, filling the place to capacity. Bastard circus freaks had 'reservations'.

After our hour of penance for stupidity and failure to think ahead, we were finally seated. 45 minutes later we had our pizza in hand. It was as amazing as I recalled. Won't bother describing the experience here, go get some your own damn selves and stop your half-assed vicarious living through me.

Chicago's south side has a bad reputation for being rough and tumble and out and out dangerous. No doubt some of it is, especially to the obvious outsider (that'd be our dumb selves). Equally no doubt the south side has it's nice parts as well. At least according to the wikipedia article on the subject. Really South Chicago is like any other city. But it does have a reputation. We wandered straight into the northern edge.

-Origami airplanes? How well do they fly?-

The buildings and houses in places were fantastically beautiful, architecturally speaking.. Then a block or two later they were run down and depressed. It is like the city is rotting alive, with the dying and dead flesh right next to the healthy skin and muscle. Leperous.

Our first and most amusing taste of humanity came when we were stopped at a red light waiting for it to change. When suddenly someone pulled up behind and began to honk their horn and wave. We assumed it was an angry FIB(Fucking Illinois Bastard – which is apparently what folks in Wisconsin call people with Illinois plates) driver who didn't appreciate our stupid touristy ass blocking their road. That is the problem with being a tourist. You're forever in the purgatory of wandering the earth without knowing exactly where you are and how to get where you're going. Which tends to piss off the locals to no end.

This is what we thought we had on our tail. To the point that our Chauffeur Dutch tried to get the hell out of the way. Only to be tailed by a mysterious citizen who continued to honk and wave at us. It was like the urban legend about the traveler on the road being chased down by a car with ultra-high beams. No such luck here. It turned out that Dutch had a low tire, and concerned a citizen took it upon themselves to help a car load of confused tourists out. Most people, everywhere, would just look the other way and go on with their own lives.

Dutch decided to pull over at the nearest gas station and fill up the tire with one of the pumps. Usually they run $.75 for three minutes of time. More than enough. We pooled our cash, change was running short, and found a local BP. When we pulled up, there was a gentleman manning the air pump. He said it would be $.50 cents. As he was working his buddy came and hit us up for whatever he could, stuck his head in the car and wouldn't take no for an answer. With that kind of drive, if he had the education to match, he would have been a tiger in the business world.

Maybe he was, and panhandling on the weekends was just a hobby,

Here is the most depressing aspect of visiting Chicago. The homeless. They're difficult at times to pick out from the panhandlers who are just looking to make some quick cash off of the caring(or gullible). Whatever. A little spare change once in a while is nothing, and it might get into the hands of people who can use it. We're pack animals, social creatures, helping out a needy member of the pack is just the way it works.

But we ended up paying less than we had expected to for the air. So all in all it was a win situation. Later on it occurred to me to give them the final two slices of pizza that we took home with us. It had only been about a half an hour since we had left Giordano's, so the remaining pie was still warm. Afterthoughts are useless, unless you act on them then next time the situation repeats itself.

With our tire ready to go, and Lakeshore in sight, we were ready to head back to Southbend to rest and watch bad movies until the wee hours. And so we went.

Chicago day-trip number one, success mixed thoroughly with fail. Funny how a car full of college educated adults end up dumber than a sack of hammers at those basic life skills. The humiliation aside, it was a blast and we look forward to our next excursion into the west.

-Yep, waiting for the Never O'clock to come and end it all so I don't have to go face the humiliation of being a tard. -