Ode to the 'Sha

Welcome to the 'Sha . . . "the Kickin'est Place on The Planet"

While mechanical issues on Flight 1185 kept be grounded in Connecticut this week, nothing can diminish the civic pride that swells in my heart when I think of my hometown. It is, as my brother often declares, the 'kickin'est place on the planet."

Don't believe me? Listen to this sample from A Prairie Home Companion (real player required) and enjoy the photos of the majesty of that is Waukesha.

Waukesha, it means 'by the little foxes.' True story.

The afforementioned 'Little Fox,' river that is.

Historic downtown Waukesha, now with streets that go both ways!

Old buildings abound, not 1701 old, but old nonetheless

Kim's Five Point Cafe. Home of Finger Licked Food.

Waukesha's Grand Old Courthouse & Museum. G-Ma H. volunteers here.

Proof, gathered by some MN-kids, that the 'sha is indeed kickin'!!

Bikes, Birds, and Gangs

Long Island Sound, with downtown New Haven in the Distance

Today was a great day. The mercury hit right about 60 degrees and the sun was mostly shiney. Trying to ditch the Boyz (W2 & EZ) I hops'd in my ride and took my bike out to the Farmington Canal Trail, having enjoyed my first trip on it in the fall. As far as bike rides go, it was a pretty sweet one. All in all, it was a successful day in the out-of-doors. Much better than yesterdays endeavors. . .

Living up on the hill I often forget that I'm in an Ocean Town . . . home of the largest deepwater port in all of New England. True Story. Yesterday I decided to venture down to the shore to embrace the ocean and all of its soul-stirring majesty. Instead of a well-stirred soul, I wound up with a massive case of the creeps.

I'm a realist. I knew I was heading down to the less than pristine Long Island Sound on a mid-March day. There were no delusions of finding a beautiful sandy beach or lots of fascinating sealife. Really, I didn't expect much more than water gently lapping the smooth stones of the shoreline. What I found blew my mind. . .

Dirty Bird

Sure, there were some stones there . . . but they were buried underneath a Flock of Seagulls (the non-musical variety). Birds creep me out in general. I think it is because they have scaley legs. Flocks of birds creep me out even more so. I was tempted to keep on driving when I saw all the birds staring at me from the beach, but I decided to tough it out and face one of my irrational fears. Walking out to the pier to take a good long look at the sound I saw a couple gulls on the railings and thought "Quintessential New England Seascape" and busted out my Canon A520.

I busied myself finding the perfect bird, perfect angle, and perfect composition. As I was clicking the shutter button I noticed something odd through the viewfinder. The bird was staring me down. Then, when he knew that I knew that he was staring me down he proceeded to hork-up something utterly nasty on the rail (see the slimy thing in the picture? thats what I saw the gull heave forth). Just then, there was a large amount of flapping and several of his buddies landed on the railing just behind me. Scenes from Hitchcock's The Birds ran through my mind and I got the heck outta dodge.

Dirty (?) Birdz

On my way back to the car I noticed something even creepier than the thing from the bird. All the cars lining the sound were occupied. Not with people smokin' stuff. Nor with couples schmekin' around. But with lots of old men . . . just sitting . . . silently. One or two serene sea watchers I'd be cool with, but a whole convention of them? I'm sure it was just a bunch of nice, kind, grandfatherly Old Men getting their Hemingway on with the Sea. Still, questions plagued me . . . Was this some sort of old man gang I'd accidentally crossed? Was I on their turf? A car door opened. Scenes of the Creepy Old Dude from the Family Guy ran through my mind and I, again, got the heck outta dodge.

Based on todays events I've come to realize that a) The Sea and I Don't Mix and b) I've got a lot of pop-culture inspired fears.

C'est la vie.

A Day at the Park

My brother (front and center as usual), Mom, and I outside 'SWARM' a flippin' sweet (pun half intended) inverted coaster.

Its 3 pm. A few hours ago I sat down to start working on my taxes but never got started. (yup, i'm pretty much a hardcore spring breaker. Mazatlan? Cancun? No way Jose. Puerto Vallarto? Try El Lame-o. I'm rollin' in style with my crew W2 and EZ this week)

Instead of opening up my financials I 'accidentally' clicked on Rollercoaster Tycoon 3 and was soon on my way to funky town or 'Vanilla Hills' amusement park. My family showed up and we hit the park pretty hard, rockin and rollin on some pretty hardcore coasters. It was insane. . . my mom and dad, despite being over the hill, were the ones rushing from ride to ride. My brother (often looking pretty sickly) and I had a tough time keeping up with the folks.

On the food front, my dad stopped at every French Fry stand in sight while my mom forced our group to head back to Ice Cream Stand 1 after every ride . . . apparently Vanilla Hills serves up a pretty tasty double scoop. . .

Ever the stoic, my dad challenges the mighty 'HYDRA' and its 120 foot vertical drop. Sure his expression might suggest he's not enjoying it, but you know he is on the edge of cracking a smile.

Decked out in her jean skirt, fuzzy pink shirt, and denim visor my mom surprises everyone by being an absolute animal when it comes to riding the rails of Vanilla Hills' fiecest coasters. Next to her, Tom is looking pretty worried.

Forget worried! Getting stung by 'SWARM' Tom is looking downright sick. Perhaps this trip to the park will end with him blowing chunks again. It'll be Big Bend all over again.

Apparently I met a pretty cute and adventurous girl in the park. Here we are having a blast on the classic wooden coster 'WHOOP-DEE-DOO!!!' Way to go fake me!

Wow. Freedom to putz around, geek out, and waste time is such a good thing. At the risk of sounding like a McDonalds ad, I must admit that "I'm lovin' it."

I suppose I should look up the boyz, EZ & W2 to get the proverbial 'party' started. Then again, the folks sounded like they wanted to try hitting up another park. One should always honor their father and mother, right?

Chemsha-ed Bongos & Lightning Strikes

New Haven: As Observeded By a Chemsha-ed Bongo. . . If you see my brain on the street somewhere, please scoop it up. It oozed out of my ear.

I'll be honest, this was a pretty rough week. Lots of unnecessary stress & anxiety. As irrational as it may have been, I got swept up (lost?) in the swirling vortex of waiting on grants, daydreaming about a summer in East Africa, financial aid forms, taxes, midterms, travel plans, and housing options for the summer/year. Individually they were no problem, together they were stupidly-imposing. My survival technique was hunkering down into the isolation zone . . . it worked, until lightning struck . . .

White Lightning that is, the beast of a 15 passenger van I got to drive across the great plains to Denver last summer:

An Artist's Rendition of the White Lightning Crew

In the middle of the week I got the following in an E-Mail from Johnny Cake Ridge Rd:

. . .it just happened to be that last night two girls came up to me around 6:30pm (confirmation night) and asked when they'd see Peter again.

"We need to hear the chicken story one more time."

"What about the monkey story?" I asked.

Then they proceeded to start to tell me the story as if they were Peter. Then they paused. "We know that one pretty well. We want to hear the chicken story."

Is there a whole adolescent oral tradition suburban subculture building around those two stories? . .

Getting the e-mail made me feel a bit honored (and kinda weirded out) to realize that some of the most awkward moments of my life have become some sort of south-subUrban Legend. "Did you hear about the 'Monkey Chicken Guy?'" Mostly, the e-mail made me feel well-grounded.

As all encompassing as the Bulldog-Bubble can be . . . As Deafening as the turning and scheming of my own mind may be . . . As comfortable as the Iso-Zone might be . . . They are all illusory.

Hearing about kids I haven't seen in months or even years talking about Filthy and his pals reminds me how interconnected life really is. The threads of mine run through communities . . . family, friends, co-workers, congregations, schools . . . around the globe. The stories, memories, and relationships found in MKE, MSP, HVN, DPS, DAR, CPH, JFK, LAX and countless other ports of call put the stresses of this last week in their place.

While mitihani's are important, exotic possibilities might be around the corner, and there is plenty of 'stuff' to do, none of those things define me, they aren't the main event. In reality, its the people I've met, the places I've gone, and the things that I've done that rightly take center stage. . . Or, as Minnesota's own Cloud Cult sings, "Where I've been, where I am, its the show."

Muddy Shoes

My Runnin' Shoes. Note the attractive floortiles in the background. . . Rumor has it that they might be laced with asbestos but are 'fine' as long as one doesn't lick them.

I got muddy today. Nice-n-muddy. While folks back in Minnesota dig out from the mother of all snowstorms, at least since the fabled 'halloween blizzard' I've heard so much about, we got hammered with rain yesterday. Today I awoke to sun shining, birds singing, and 50 degrees. While I was spinning my wheels with unproductivity this past week, this afternoon"I put some [runnin'] shoes on and suddenly everything is right."* Tromping from my possibly asbestos-laced abode I went down to Edgerton Park and took a right. Next up was the covered Town Bridge of Eli Whitney Fame which served as my gateway to the mudsoaked trails that flank the Mill River and cut through the lower reaches of East Rock, ahem, MY Rock Park.

All in all, it has been a good day that promises to only get better. Up later today is LebowskiFest and bowling. Good times, my friends, good times. . .

*10 points if you can name the song who's lyrics i'm quoting. Hint: it was an itunes free (i'm apoor grad student after all) download this last fall.