duluth: september 3-6, 2010

Posted in duluth camping and wedding on September 17th, 2010 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: camping, duluth, hockey, minnesota, roadtrip, wedding

We had Friday off work, so we headed north around noon, stopping at an awesome little restaurant in Pine City called Nicoll’s Cafe. We got to Jay Cooke State Park around 3pm, and the rangers there let us check in early.

It was pretty cold and extremely windy, but our campsite was sheltered enough that the wind wasn’t really a problem. We set up the tent, unpacked, and then headed back to the visitor center to do some hiking.

Jay Cooke is gorgeous. I want to spend a lot more time there.

We brought firewood back to the campsite and set about getting the fire going. It was really difficult in the wind and with wood that seemed to have been recently damp, but after four attempts, it happened. I think we managed to make the hottest campfire on earth.

Bally’s first camping trip!

It was really awesome camping by ourselves; we’ve only ever gone with big groups. I was worried I’d forget something (since we assume that amongst our friends, we’ll always have four of everything), but we were very prepared. We made tacos over the fire, then played cards and dominoes while drinking manhattans. We’re the classiest campers ever!

Between the hot fire and our pile of blankets, it wasn’t cold at all that night. I think that’s the most comfortable I’ve ever been while sleeping in a tent!

Saturday morning, we packed up and drove the hour or so to Eveleth to see the world’s largest hockey stick and the US Hockey Hall of Fame. It was absolutely worth the drive.

Items that belonged to Herb Brooks

After we were done with the museum and USA-USSR bubble hockey, we headed back toward Duluth, stopping for an amazingly good lunch at the Duluth Grill. We then checked in at the Sheraton and set to wanderin’ around town. We wanted to find somewhere showing the Twins game, so we finally ended up at a dive called RJ Quinlan’s. There were a bunch of old guys drunk at the bar, and a lot of people who clearly had interesting stories to tell. Right before we left, I was eavesdropping on a conversation at the next table while Matt was in the bathroom. One of the old guys was telling the others about the day his mother died. I started crying my head off right there.

Thank god for sunglasses.

We crossed the street to the Dubh Linn and ended up sitting at the bar drinking Scotch and talking to the bartenders. They had a huge Scotch collection, for easily half the price of Minneapolis, so of course we had to take advantage. We left to walk up towards Fitgers to meet Jumi and Josh for dinner, and found them parked across the street from the bar. Clearly, we have awesome timing, at least when it comes to getting a ride.

We had a cocktail at Red Star (Duluth’s most famous ultralounge!), then went over to dinner in the brewhouse. God, Fitgers is awesome. After that, Matt and I headed over to the Fon du Luth Casino, where he wanted to play blackjack. I didn’t feel like playing (I didn’t think I was in a good-decision-making position at that point), so I wandered around, signed up for the players club, blew my free $5 in the slot machines, and then went to see how he was doing. He wasn’t thrilled with the table he was sitting at, so he asked me to go check on one across the way. Instead of just checking, I sat down to play, and he joined me shortly thereafter. Within an hour or so, I was up $45, and he was up close to $400. AWESOME. We went to celebrate at Blackwater before returning to the hotel.

Sunday morning, we had brunch at Takk for Maten and then did touristy things in Duluth. With Bally, of course.

We had a beer at Green Mill so we could watch some of the Twins game, then went back to the hotel to change for the wedding. The ceremony was held in the rose garden at Leif Erickson park, which was perfect for it.

The ceremony was quick, though it was very effective at making everyone cry. We all then piled into cars and headed to the Greysolon Ballroom, conveniently located across the street from the hotel.

The reception was fantastic. Everybody had a great time, there was dancing and ridiculousness, Bally ended up in a chandelier, the cake had ninjas on it, and Jumi got caught trying to stealborrow someone’s scooter.

Dan (the groom!) and Bally, the first basketball to be invited to a wedding

We stayed til the end, which was good since the last song was “Don’t Stop Believin’”. We said goodbye to Dan and Kate and headed to Pizza Luce. It seems to be one of the few places that serves food after 11pm, and for that we were very grateful.

Monday morning, we ran into Jumi and Josh again in Canal Park, so we shopped with them at the Northern Waters Smokehaus, then had brunch at Hellburgers. Matt and I did a little shopping before heading back to Minneapolis. Right on time, too, because it had suddenly become winter in Duluth!

Dan and Kate were smart… they headed right to Jamaica. SIGH.

milwaukee: august 27-29, 2010

Posted in milwaukee #2 on September 2nd, 2010 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: milwaukee, roadtrip, wisconsin

Matt and I headed eastward Friday after work. We got in around 10pm, checked into the hotel, and headed to Bryant’s for some classic cocktails. Though we got there around the same time as our previous visit (close to 11pm), it was mobbed. There was a single round table open in the back, situated alarmingly-close to some crabby-looking ladies have a fancy night on the town. We didn’t care, though… the cocktails more than made up for it. That place is fantastic.

We stopped at George Webb by our hotel afterwards, and proved that you can indeed get food there, in a reasonable time period, with good service. Also, nobody steals your money. WIN.

Saturday, we toured the three places I lived in Milwaukee from the ages of 0-2 years old (it’s part of my 101 things list), then had lunch at Cubanitos. My brunch involved black bean soup and a manchego and spinach empanada, which I’m still fantastizing about.

While we were there, we found a little magazine with a feature on Nick (formerly of Town Talk) and Ira (formerly of the Violet Hour) of Bittercube, and their new bar in Milwaukee, called Distil. We tried to stop there, as it was next door, but the valet told us it wasn’t open for another couple of weeks. Reason to return? I think so.

After dining, we wandered around to see the sights (even though I was born in Milwaukee and spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ there, I haven’t seen that much of it), including the Milwaukee Art Museum. That place is gorgeous. We then drove up the north shore, and climbed up in a lighthouse that just happened to be open as we were driving past.

We even took Bally to see the basketball arena at Marquette University!

We had beers at a brewpub packed full of people from various booze cruises on the river, then hung out at the Swingin’ Door Pub. It’s a bar I was unaware of til last week, when my dad told us he held the record for drinking atop a stack of barstools there. 14 of them, to be exact. I’m pretty sure the place hasn’t changed since he was last there in 1970 or so.

We had dinner at the Hi Hat, where we ended up hanging out with the bartender, who bought us shots. We then headed over to a place in the Ambassador Hotel called Envoy, and finally to the Rave to see the Mighty Mighty Bosstones. Holy crap, what an awesome show. We managed to get right up front, too. (Also, that building is AMAZING. I’m envious, Milwaukee.)

On the way home Sunday morning, we swung through Madison and stopped for lunch at the Great Dane in Madison. I love that place a lot, despite it being in Bucky’s homeland. Then I made Matt drive the rest of the way while I tried to stay awake in the passenger seat.

Wisconsin has a way of wearing you out.

menominee, michigan: august 7-9, 2009

Posted in michigan on August 12th, 2009 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: family, michigan, roadtrip, wisconsin

Since my grandma passed away a couple years ago, there’s been some question as to what’s going to happen to my grandparents’ house in Menominee, Michigan. My parents go up there regularly (my great-aunt still lives nearby), and so does my uncle and his family. It mostly sits empty, though, and nobody particularly wants to live so far away. We all want the house kept in the family, but it’s a huge commitment.

Knowing a decision about that will probably made at some point, I really wanted Matt to go to Menominee. He never got to meet my grandma, so it was a big deal to me. I also wanted to see the town we visited at least twice a year for as long as I can remember, since the chances we’ll go there again are pretty slim.

We drove up Friday afternoon, with my mom and sister following an hour and a half behind us. We got up to Michigan in a little over 5 hours, and had some time to kill before they showed up with the house key. We decided to go hang out at Jozwiak’s and wait. It’s a well-known hamburger place that we used to visit as little kids (in the UP and Wisconsin, it’s totally normal for kids to hang out in bars).

Within an hour or so, we’d made friends the bartender, Addy, and made plans to meet her after her shift ended at 11pm. (This is one of the things that’s awesome about most other places that aren’t Minnesota: strangers aren’t abjectly terrified of meeting new people.) We went to the house to find my mom and sister there with my cousin Nicole and her boyfriend John. We said hi, brought our bag inside, and were presented with our sleeping arrangements: a twin-sized bed and a cot. We pushed them together, but the cot was a couple inches shorter than the bed. Argh.

We went back out and met Addy across the river in Marinette, Wisconsin, at a bar called Cappy’s. The bar was made of what seemed to be lumber scraps, and there were cages by the stage. Drinks were about $2.50 at most, and the DJ ruled. We loved it. Far later than we’d planned, we arrived back at the house in Michigan. I climbed into the twin bed with Matt and managed to maintain our very cozy situation for at least half the night.

Saturday, we got up and began the grand tour of the other Twin Cities. We stopped with my mom and Stephanie to say hi to my Aunt Pat in Marinette, then Matt and I went down to the Peshtigo Fire Museum. I’d been there years ago, and needed to revisit it, if only to verify that the before/during/after mural is as morbid as I remember. It is.

We toured the museum, and I found it to be a lot more interesting than I’d previously thought. They actually only have a few cases of stuff that was charred and recovered after the fire, and a ton of other period items. The story of the fire is horrifying: it occurred the exact same night as the Chicago fire, only it killed many, many more people. The entire town was destroyed. This terrified us a lot:

After the museum, we toured the cemetery and saw the mass grave. (There were 350 unidentified victims from the fire.) The good news about Peshtigo, though, is it’s doing well. At least til highway 29 is finished and skirts it completely.

We headed back up to Marinette to visit the Pine Tree Mall, where I’ve spent at least 2 hours of my life, since it takes about 10 minutes to see it all. It’s even worse than it used to be; most of the tiny stores have closed, because they raised the rent after Wal-Mart moved in. (Worst possible business to move into small towns? Quite possibly.)

We did some shopping at Younkers and the sporting goods store, when went over to Shopko. Man, I love Shopko.

We decided to get pasties for lunch, as well as to bring home with us. We went to Dobber’s, which my mom swears is ‘the best ever! Way better than Colonel K’s!’ and ordered two hot pasties, and a dozen frozen ones. They were out of vegetable pasties, though (we did get 6 frozen ones, thankfully), so we made a trip over to Colonel K’s anyway. Which was awesome, because the strange guy behind the counter ruled.

We stopped back at the house briefly to shove our giant bag of pasties in the freezer, finish eating, and then we headed back out to explore downtown Menominee. We made a stop at the yarn shop, which is awesome but surprisingly expensive for a small town, then wandered down Front Street.

The Waterfront Festival was in full swing, with a bad cover band playing at the bandshell, and food and beer tents set up in the park. Since we’d be down there in the evening, we skipped the festival and walked across downtown, out onto the breakwater. It was insanely humid, so there was a heavy fog hanging over Green Bay.

Having pretty much seen all of what Menominee/Marinette had to offer (at least, what they’d offered me as a child), we decided to find a place we could sit outside, have a drink, and hang out til it was time to meet the rest of the group for dinner in Marinette. I racked my brain trying to think of a place that had a patio or sidewalk seating there. We definitely hadn’t seen anything, and the one place that looked promising wasn’t open til 5. We drove out to Schloegels, and were told they didn’t have a liquor license. Finally, we accepted that the area must hate drinking in the outdoors, and crossed the bridge to Marinette. We picked a bar called Cusack’s that looked entertaining, and holy crap, it was.

There was both a Catholic school reunion and a softball team hangout in full swing. Older ladies were singing and dancing with a tambourine. A girl at the bar who looked like the trashy version of Scarlett Johansson wanted to know everything there was to know about my tattoos. The smoke was so thick, I got cancer twice. The bartender bought us our last round, just because.

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned in the last few minutes how much small-town Wisconsin rules.

Round about dinnertime, we headed down to the Rail House to meet the family. Nicole and John were already there drinking at the bar, and my mom, aunt, and Stephanie rolled in shortly after we arrived. We ordered dinner, and Matt and I split the beer sampler, which arrived on a train car.

After dinner, the old people (which included my sister) headed back to the house to wait for fireworks, while we went bar-hopping with my 21-year-old cousin and her boyfriend. We hit up the Aloha Lounge, which had a bartender of absolutely indeterminate gender, and then Corky’s, which seemed fluorescent-lit. The bartender there told us about her band, and demanded that we return after the fireworks. We said we would, knowing that plans would take us elsewhere.

The entire population of the two cities were downtown for fireworks. We found a spot, and got to Front Street just as the fireworks were starting. From our spot, we could actually see where they were firing them from the breakwater, which was awesome.

Once the fireworks ended, old people and families headed home, while the younger people headed to one of two bars on the main street. We of course picked Pirate’s Cove, an old favorite. It’s the first place I became aware of the existence of those molded plastic drop-in shotglasses, after all.

We hung out with Nicole and John, watching the place get fuller and fuller, to the point that we couldn’t move. They decided to head home for an early trip in the morning, and Matt and I went next door to see what the other bar looked like. On the way out, we kept hearing the name “Chelsea”. There was an ambulance parked outside, a crowd of people on the ground in front of the bar, and the paramedics where wheeling out a stretcher. A girl passing us announced on the phone, “Chelsea drank herself into a coma!”

Oh, Chelsea.

The Irish bar was alright, though rockin’ the upscale vibe didn’t seem to fly well in Menominee. We had a drink and headed out, stopping to hang out atop a propane tank along the way. It was the right thing to do.

On Sunday, we headed westward around 10am, making sure to stop at Seguins and Nueske’s for the required cheese, beer, and meat needs. I cried a bit leaving town… my grandparents and the fact that I may not get back there again, you know? We got home mid-afternoon, and I spent most of the rest of the day in repose on the couch. As always, Wisconsin-time requires plenty of recovery.

(Many more photos, including a tour of my grandparents’ house, are here on Flickr.)

friday 6.5.2009

Posted in chicago for the world cup qualifier on June 8th, 2009 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: chicago, illinois, roadtrip, visiting friends

We left town around noon and tore out of town. We arrived in Chicago around dinnertime, checked into our hotel near the airport, and then headed into town. We hadn’t counted on the ridiculously insane traffic, so we were near starvation when we finally arrived.

We’d planned on Kuma’s Corner, but there was a line out the door, so we chose Abbey Pub instead. Matt need to try their curry fries, anyway.

After eating and watching some baseball there, we headed over to give Kuma’s Corner a try. We were way too excited that they had Buffalo Trace (that’s bourbon, for those not in the know) on tap. The place was still insanely crowded, and at least 150 degrees inside, but it was still awesome. We managed to fight our way to the bar to order, and grabbed a couple of sittin’ spots on the front windowsill. We’d put our names in for a table, but decided to leave long before they came up. Before we left, though, we found this in the bathroom:

We decided to head down to Wicker Park, near Lauren’s work, so we could meet up with her when she was done at 1am. We found a spot after much searching, and then had to stop in to pick up a parking pass from her, because god forbid you just park on the streets in Chicago. The good thing was that we could leave the car there overnight, if necessary.

The streets in Wicker Park were crawling with a hipster infestation. Their numbers were kind of unbelievable. I’ve never seen so many kids who all look exactly alike while at the same time believing themselves to look very unique. We rushed through the thronging masses in search of the Violet Hour, which was owned by the same people who run Bradstreet 601 here in Minneapolis. It’s a bar known for very creative mixology and awesomeness, and we knew we could count on Bradstreet’s recommendation.

Having the address for the Violet Hour was no help; we realized that most likely it was the plain, windowless, whitewashed building with a single yellow light over the door, but we weren’t sure. We decided to go in anyway, and found a few people standing in a dark entryway, reading the rules for the place. They included things like ‘no cell phones’. There was dress code, too, though no one there was even close to fitting it. We didn’t, either, but we figured that must be ok.

The host came in shortly and grabbed Matt and I, the lucky party of two who got to go ahead of everyone else. He asked if the bar was OK, and obviously that was what we preferred anyway. The cocktail standards at the Violet Hour were definitely the same as Bradstreet, though it was a little disappointing that they were way too busy to have a conversation with any of the bartenders. That’s one of the best parts.

We left a bit later, and still had some time to kill before meeting Lauren. We decided that food was the best choice, given our current state, so she pointed us toward Flash Taco down the street. It was bad; slow, packed with hipsters, and the food was terrible. Based on about three hours of experience with it, we decided that Wicker Park sucked a lot. Regardless, I’m pretty sure we’re right.

Finally, Lauren was done with work. We met up with her there, and went to the nearest bar, directly across the street. The Flat Iron seemed to be an exception to Wicker Park’s lameness, or at least there were enough non-hipster people in the crowd there that it was tolerable. We had an awesome time.

Round about… well, I really have no idea. 3am? 4am? We walked Lauren back to her apartment, stopping at Dunkin Donuts on the way. I think I ordered three beverages. Matt and Lauren had them some very patriotic donuts!

We made it back to the hotel after 5am, and crashed. It had been a very long day.

saturday 6.6.2009

Posted in chicago for the world cup qualifier on June 8th, 2009 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: chicago, illinois, roadtrip, sports

We got up at the crack of noon (haha), and got ready to head downtown. We were smart this time, and took the hotel shuttle to the train station at O’Hare. It was a big day!

We intended to go to Hot Doug’s to get some food, so we hopped off the train at the appropriate stop and headed east. Most people would’ve taken the bus, but we insist on walking. After a mile or so, we arrived to find a line two blocks long. I’m sure Hot Doug’s is awesome, but we couldn’t wait that long.

So we kept walking. And walking. I have no idea how far it was, but it was a lot. Finally, we found ourselves at Wishbone, one of my favorite places. It was 3pm. Perfect time for brunch, if you ask me.

We revived ourselves with lots of coffee and grits, and then headed up to hop on the El. Someone on twitter had told me about the crazy paintings at the Old Town Ale House, so we had to check that out. Well, the paintings were amazing. How can you go wrong with creepy naked Sarah Palin? The bar itself was kind of scary, though: we walked in and everyone turned at stared. That’s because everyone else lived there, and we were strangers. At least the bartender was nice!

We rode downtown and walked over to Millennium Park, because no trip to Chicago is complete without a visit to Cloud Gate, aka the Bean. There were Honduras soccer fans everywhere. So awesome.

We still had a bit of time to kill before the game (and we were alarmingly sober), so we set off in search of Matt’s dad’s favorite bar. It was easy to find, and was crowded with fans. We found spots at the most oldschool bar ever, and I ordered a Manhattan and a piece of spanakopita. That’s just how I roll.

Matt went out to smoke, and came back in with Robin in tow. He’s one of Kris’ friends, and we run into him at every soccer-related event in Minneapolis. We finished our drinks and decided to head down to Soldier Field.

Even though I grew up in Chicago, I’d never been to Soldier Field!! It’s amazing, and so was the crowd.

There were a few sections of US fans at either end of the stadium, but it was at least 80% Honduras fans. That was a little intimidating, but the atmosphere seemed friendly. The US fans seemed to be doing most of the taunting, of course.

We got to see Landon Donovan:

And Jozy Altidore:

And, of course, Tim Howard. I love Tim Howard. A lot.

The game was pretty stressful, but the US team managed a win! Towards the end, some of the Honduras fans in the upper deck started throwing their beer cups onto the US fans. We were pretty glad to be in a sheltered area.

The entire crowd poured back into Chicago together. Despite the taunting and such at the game, everything was very friendly again. It was also the only time I’d be comfortable chanting “U.S.A.!” Usually that kind of behavior makes my skin crawl.

It was worth it for the deep dish.

I was pretty much dragging at that point. We wanted to go hang out somewhere for a bit, but didn’t want to make a lot of effort doing so. Thankfully, the blue line helped us decide; it was closed for several stops between downtown and O’Hare, so we decided to take the shuttle up to the part where it was back in service, and find somewhere to drink right near the stop. Then getting back on the train and to the airport when we were about to fall asleep would be as easy as possible.

The offerings at that stop looked a little bleak when we got there, but we managed to spot a couple places, and decided on the one called the Green Eye. This, it turned out, was the right choice.

The crowd reminded me of a cross between Grumpy’s and Triple Rock, which was immediately appealing. The bartender was gruff and hilarious. After we’d had a drink or two, he came over and excitedly started telling us about the movie they were about to play; apparently they have a trashy horror-film tradition on Saturday nights. It was called Poultrygeist, and it was a Troma musical. Rather than try to explain it, you should just go read about it.

Poultrygeist was as great as it sounds. The entire bar sat there watching it, breaking into hysterics and groans. We really need to get a copy so we can spread the love.

Eventually, Matt and I made our way back over to the train, and from there to the hotel shuttle stop at O’Hare.

thursday 8.2.2007 (minneapolis to chicago)

Posted in chicago/milwaukee baseball roadtrip on August 6th, 2007 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: chicago, illinois, roadtrip

[To view the entire Flickr photoset from this trip, go here.]

Wendy, Willis, Matt and I piled in Matt’s car and rushed the hell out of town on Thursday after work. We didn’t get on the road til almost 7, but we had nothing to do but get to Chicago that night.

At one point, Matt had to decelerate from 72mph because he was so caffeinated he was seeing through time. We got to the hotel around 2am, and jumped into bed as quickly as we could.

friday 8.3.2007 (chicago)

Posted in chicago/milwaukee baseball roadtrip on August 6th, 2007 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: chicago, illinois, karaoke, millennium park, roadtrip, sports, stadiums, visiting friends

We got up Friday morning and searched in the phonebook for the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts, because what you’ve heard about their coffee is true. We headed downtown and had a brief rendezvous with Lauren outside her work, because she had obtained a parking pass in her neighborhood and some 24-hour CTA passes for us to exploit. We drove up and parked by her house, and took the bus to Wrigley Field.

wendy found herself some reading material on the bus.

We got there really early, so we wandered around the store for a while, then crossed the street to the Cubby Bear. Of course we had to try the Cubby Blue Bombs for $4 (it made my stomach hurt for the next five minutes). The Sparks girls were there handing out samples, and of course we had to try that, too. It wasn’t great, but it was free. They came back around later asking if we liked it, and wanted free cans. Um, yes.

I lived in Chicago for ten years growing up, and had never been to a baseball game there. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve never been to any sporting event in Chicago. I was only really interested in Wrigley Field, though. It was great.

Our seats were in the second row from the top, but they were awesome. I’m glad we weren’t in the bleachers, because the sun was brutal. Our row-neighbors were from Oklahoma, and I’m pretty sure they’d never been to a baseball game before; one of them got up and made us stand up so they could wander around at least every 15 minutes. They couldn’t even go as pairs.

We got to see Luis Castillo, who the Twins traded to the Mets a few weeks ago, and also Eddie Vedder singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during 7th inning stretch. (Pearl Jam was playing at Lollapalooza.) I had flashbacks to 12 years ago. Also, I was excited to realize that you can see Lake Michigan from the ballpark.

The game was going well until the last inning, when the Mets scored about 500 runs. I’m not joking.

the ‘lose’ flag

We killed some time wandering around the stadium, then went to the el station. It was still crazy, but we managed to get on the first train and ride downtown to Millennium Park.

crown fountain

We had decided upon deep dish pizza much earlier, and there was a Giordano’s a few blocks up Michigan Avenue. We walked over there and found it very crowded. While Matt and I waited in line, Willis looked up another location in downtown. He called them and they said there was no wait, so we headed over that way.

After eight blocks or so, we realized that Google Maps had lied to us, and the restaurant was still several blocks from there. We ended up walking very far for that meal, but it was worth it. Not only was the pizza awesome, Franz from the Hold Steady was sitting at the next table.

We were rerouted along the way back to the train station because they had cordoned off a large section of downtown to film a movie. We asked a security guard what it was, and he said, “Batman.” We weren’t sure if that was true or not, because there was a production assistant across the street telling people it was Rory’s First Kiss. Willis looked it up, and it turns out that’s the supersecret working title for the new Batman movie. Wendy decided to stay and film some scenes.

wendy on the batman set

We got lost trying to find the el station for a while, and had to call Lauren for help. We rode up to her house, and walked over to Louie’s, the karaoke bar we’d visited the first time I stayed with her.

The karaoke was awesome but the drinks were not, so we headed to a dive called the Beachwood instead. Upon close, we went for 2am breakfast at the Hollywood Grill. It was not great at all, but it was necessary. We didn’t get back to the hotel til 3:30.

saturday 8.4.2007 (chicago to milwaukee)

Posted in chicago/milwaukee baseball roadtrip on August 6th, 2007 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: chicago, dancing, illinois, milwaukee, roadtrip, sports, visiting friends, wisconsin

We arose very late on Saturday morning, got us some giant coffees at Dunkin Donuts, and headed toward my old hometown of Wheaton. It’s a tradition to drive through and see it every time I’m in the area.

i lived here for grades 1-5.

We drove through my old neighborhood and cute little downtown Wheaton, which is scarred irreparably by a Starbucks. We then headed to Portillo’s for lunch. I was thrilled to see that they now have a veggie sammich.

Very sleepy from lunch, we made our way into Wisconsin, with a quick stop for gas and naked ladies.

We checked into the hotel and then headed back out to pick up tickets, Wendy’s friend Rick, and grilling supplies. We arrived at Miller Field a mere hour or so before the game, in the rain, but this did not prevent us from getting our awesome tailgate on. We had plenty of company there, too. Milwaukeeans know how to party.

willis drinking a 40 from a plastic bag

that’s leftover deep-dish pizza on the grill!

wendy with a yard of berry weiss, smoking strawberry and tequila swisher sweets at the same time.
and she’s wearing a cape. yeah.

Post-tailgate, we headed toward the stadium, but were diverted at the Sausage Haus. We went in to use the restrooms, and they were blasting ‘Party Like a Rock Star’ at ear-bleeding volumes. We didn’t know it then, but this was some serious Wisconsin foreshadowing.

Miller Stadium is amazing. It has a retractable roof (which was closed due to rain, but that was alright), and is designed really well, in a way that makes me very excited for the open-air stadium here. Also, they have sausage races. We saw two of the sausages going up in the elevator, both leaning folded-over on the people in there with them. It was hysterical.

We found our seats and somehow ended up drinking Sparks again, for reasons only Wisconsin understands. Round about the fourth or fifth inning, Willis and Matt and I got up to go to the bathroom, and then decided to check out the outdoor bar. It was there we met Bobby Chicago and his girlfriend, the people sitting next to us at the game. Bobby and I both grew up in Wheaton, and he told me how everybody thinks he’s hardcore because he’s from the 187 (the zipcode is 60187). They introduced us to the Captain Bomb, and we possibly didn’t realize how long we were out there until Wendy texted, wondering where the hell we were.

We went back inside just in time to catch the sausage races and the end of the game. The Brewers had a pretty spectacular win, and we stuck around for a bit afterward watching to see if the Cubs fans who showed up just to aggravate the crowd would get their asses kicked. There were a couple people escorted out by the cops, but that’s about it. Also, it’s pretty funny to see the difference in the baseball crowds between Chicago and Milwaukee. As we all know, Wisconsin = booze.

We made plans with Bobby Chicago to meet up after the game, and headed to the store to shop. We stopped again at the Sausage Haus on the way back to the parking lot, and this time I found Wendy a son. He was laying on the floor under the sinks on one of those little-league photo buttons. She named him Jacob.

Since there was a line of traffic waiting to get out of the lot (admittedly, a very short line, but we’ll take any excuse), we decided to continue tailgating for a while. We ended up blasting Minneapolis hiphop with all the car doors open and dancing in the parking lot. After that, Rick drove us to the Safe House.

I cannot really express how awesome the Safe House is, so you should probably just go. We all whispered the password and passed our $5 to the girl in the entryway, happily escaping the customary televised ridicule of people who had never been there.

We shared a giant drink called the Mission Impossible, explored as much of the place as we could figure out how to access, went in the sound-effects phone booth, touched Burt Reynolds there, and a couple of us may have gotten up to naughty bidness in the downstairs hallway. Possibly.

We finally found ourselves sitting next to the dance floor, and then there was dancing to things like ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy’ followed by ‘Crazy Bitch’ (best two-song playlist ever!), ‘Fergalicious’, ‘Sexyback’, and, yes, ‘Party Like a Rock Star’. The floor was so sticky that my flipflops kept adhering to it; I’d dance out of one of them, then have to dance back toward it to retrieve it again. There was a bachelorette party going on next to us, complete with a male stripper with his boxer-briefs on inside out (they dubbed him Skidmark). And there was also Black Derek, but I cannot possibly explain about that. All I remember was his shirt, and the fact that he was there dancing on the stairs with us.

I have no idea what time we got back to the hotel, because I was sleeping in the backseat most of the way there. I have vague memories of them getting lost, and apparently that did actually happen. Oh, Wisconsin.

sunday 8.5.2007 (milwaukee to minneapolis)

Posted in chicago/milwaukee baseball roadtrip on August 6th, 2007 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: milwaukee, roadtrip, wisconsin

Sunday morning, we slowly got our stuff into the car and headed toward Madison. By the time we got there, we had plans for at least four breakfasts, but ended up only having one. Thankfully, it was awesome: Mickie’s Dairy Bar. I’m still amused that the last time we ate there, we didn’t even notice that it was across the street from Camp Randall.

Our second breakfast was to be at a place called Bennett’ Smut-and-Eggs, but it was sadly missing. Wendy found out afterward that it closed earlier this year.

The rest of the way home, we laughed about Black Derek. I seriously couldn’t stop, to the point that it was painful. We’d be quiet for 5 minutes, and then someone would mention something about him again. He attained legendary status, and was either a ninja or Chuck Norris by the time we got home. Possibly both.

If you know a dude in Milwaukee whose name probably isn’t Derek and was at the Safe House Saturday night, you should probably have him give us a call.

thursday 6.28.2007 (the long road to dickinson)

Posted in north dakota on July 4th, 2007 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: north dakota, roadtrip

[View the entire Flickr photoset from this trip here!]

We left Minnesota postwork on Thursday and headed north in the Dead Hooker. The Nodakia crew consisted of me, Matt, Cindi, Jumi, and Wendy. We were raucous. I have a video of Wendy laughing so hard she can’t see, which is bad considering she was driving.

We stopped at a few truck stops along the way, but for the most part made the 530-mile drive straight through. We pulled into Cindi’s parents’ driveway close to 2am, and headed to our respective sleeping-spots as quickly as possible, after arranging Cindi’s stuffed animals in a creepy manner so she could cuddle.

Matt and I got her sister’s old bed. It squeaked. We were careful.

friday 6.29.2007 (theodore roosevelt national park, roughrider days)

Posted in north dakota on July 4th, 2007 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: dancing, festivals, hiking, karaoke, montana, national parks, north dakota, roadtrip

Cindi’s mom made us breakfast out on the patio, and the local DJ dedicated a song to us on KCAD. It was then it was time to get in some nature before the party began. We headed west, to Theodore Roosevelt National Park, and decided to do some hiking. Since we hadn’t really planned on hiking, none of us were prepared; we had no water, and I was wearing flipflops. But I’ve been in much worse situations before.

painted canyon, in the badlands

cindi and matt on the trail

my awesome flipflop tan

We hiked down to the bottom of the canyon, wandered around for a while, then had to hike back out. It wasn’t easy. We got to the top and all had to rest for a while. It was hot and dry, and we were thankful for the warm outdoor drinking fountain.

Further west, we passed the Home on the Range for Wayward Boys:

Then we drove to the Montana border, since neither Wendy nor Jumi had been there before.

matt in montana, while we were in north dakota

we took turns riding in the trunk

We then turned around and headed to the Medora exit, to see the cute little town Cindi had been telling us about. It was full-on western. We had lunch at the Cowboy Cafe, because they served buffalo. Ick.

horse tongue!

matt’s buffalo steak

We wandered around, stopping into a few shops, and then Wendy rode the mechanical bull. We also had beers at the Iron Horse Pub, and sat out on the patio in the glorious weather. Well, I laid on the bench there. They didn’t seem to mind. It was perfect.

Late in the afternoon, it was time to head back to Dickinson. We took a spin through another part of the park first, to see the prairie dog villages (note: Jumi is scared of prairie dogs!) and look for buffalo. We didn’t see any (presumably because they’d eaten them all at the Cowboy Cafe), but we did see a very, very excited male horse. We couldn’t stop talking about it.

Back in Dickinson, it was rodeo time. I’d never been to a rodeo before, so I had no clue what to expect.

cowboy with a cellphone

We got our programs and started putting money on the riders, though none of us actually ended up settling our bets afterward. Matt opened his program and said, “hey, mine’s signed already!” Deb got very excited, because apparently that meant he won something. When they did drawings later, his prize was revealed: a championship belt buckle. SO AWESOME.

calf roping

this kid spent half the rodeo glaring at us. he was hysterical.

I’m glad I got to see the rodeo, but I’m glad I don’t have to go see one again. I kind of felt bad for the animals, especially the calves for roping.

We went to dinner with Cin’s parents at the Crunchy Kitten, where Terry couldn’t stop giggling over double-entendres. Afterward, we headed downtown (sans parents) to Uncle Ron’s Spur Bar, where crappy karaoke was in full swing.

wendy’s $3 beer

We were kind of bored with the place, so we decided to go to Army’s West instead. That may have been a mistake on a few levels.

1) a girl told Jumi they didn’t play much hip-hop there (presumably because she’s black)
2) they had long islands in pitchers that they just served with a bunch of straws
3) there was a crazy lesbian (presumably on meth) on the dance floor that scared everyone
4) they played the ‘Numa Numa’ song (which is the reason we decided to finally leave)
5) lots of potential date-rape action going on with the dancing.

ICK. However, we rocked the naked lady matching game. A lot.

saturday 6.30.2007 (roughrider days)

Posted in north dakota on July 4th, 2007 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: dancing, festivals, north dakota, roadtrip

Saturday, June 30, 2007 will forever be remembered as the day we invented Fuzzy Tang. Before then, I didn’t even know that sugar-free Tang existed.

We carried our creation to the Roughrider Days parade, where we met up with Cindi’s parents and uncle Mike, who’d arrived very early to save us a good spot. Since we were still early, we took advantage of the $2 long islands that Ponderosa Liquors and Wildlife Gallery was selling right behind where we sat. Very soon, we had bathroom-related emergencies, and one of the locals took us into the beauty salon to pee. We loved Dickinson.

The parade was awesome, as expected. There were Shriners in little cars, class reunion floats, Denny Halsted the rodeo clown (the two-time Canadian entertainer of the year!), gigantic tractors, candy raining from flatbed trucks, and mardi gras beads.

Also, a “you’re going to hell, sinners!” float. That was my favorite. You don’t see that much ’round these parts.

After the parade, we went to Dan’s supermarket for beverages and such, and it was there that we discovered NOBBYS, the coated-peanut snack that’s the worst thing you’ve ever tasted, and yet you can’t stop eating them. We went back to Cindi’s parents’ house for lunch, and were joined by Cindi’s aunt Rosemary, possibly the coolest old person we’d ever met. She told us she was a pimp, and called her garden hoe ‘velvet’. It was confusingly awesome.

We took a nap, and then part of the group headed to look at scary cemeteries while Jumi and I sat on the patio, knitting. Michelle, Dustin, and Gavin arrived; we played with fireworks and monkey nuts in the backyard until it was time to go back downtown for the main event.

matt’s blue balls

wendy having a time-out

gavin’s smoke bombs

We piled in the Dead Hooker and headed downtown to the Party on the Pavement. We’d heard rumors about it, and were very excited to experience it ourselves. We began at Bernie’s Esquire (rentadrinkingbuddy.com), where we played some naked ladies, met some dude Cindi went to high school with, and got ourselves nuzzled by Bernie. He’s related to her somehow, just like everybody in Dickinson.

We went down to the other end of the blocked-off street to see the band, but they were having technical difficulties. We decided to check out the Eagles Club, where we signed the guestbook, turned off all the lights in one side of the bar while trying to ride on the motorized chair installed in the stairwell, and pissed off the people at the class of 1987 reunion by visiting their special bar. Then we went to the ladies’ room and met probably the only black girl to live in Dickinson. She told us about her favorite cocktail: Hpnotiq and Grey Goose. You drink it, and all the old guys go HOLLA!

What else could we do? The bartender asked, “you know that’s two kinds of liquor, right?” Duh. We even got one of the rodeo cowboys at the end of the bar to try Hpnotiq. As expected, it was absolutely terrible. And so we loved it. HOLLA!

We took our drinks outside, and by then the band was playing. Half the city was standing in a half-circle in the street, about 50 feet from the stage. This was confusing; apparently North Dakotans don’t know how to party, but we did: We took up spots right in front and started dancing (as is my wont, I danced barefoot). The band was none other than Bismarck’s finest cover band, 7 Tall. We loved them, and were suitably outraged that they had to remove ‘Crazy Bitch’ from their setlist. It had bad words in it, after all.

the autographed 7tall setlist

After the band finished, we hung out talking to them for a bit, and then Cindi wandered off with the high school dude to do dirty things in a port-a-potty. We went back into the Eagles Club. Matt and I visited the handicapped stall in the ladies’ room together for, uh, moral support. Yeah. While he went to go use the men’s bathroom, I busied myself with digging through drawers in the banquet room. I have no idea why, it just seemed like good entertainment at the time. While we were doing that, Wendy was upstairs almost getting into a fight with the class of 1987. When the guy almost jumped on her, she knocked his drink out of his hand and took off.

DICKINSON RULES.

We returned to Bernie’s just in time for last call, then everybody piled out into the streets to stagger around, shouting at each other. We finally regrouped, and Wendy, Jumi, and Cindi headed to the NoDak Motel for a lesbian pool party (you’ll have to have one of them explain), while Matt and I went back to the house to take advantage of nobody else being around. We didn’t hear them get home sometime after 3am.

sunday 7.1.2007 (back to minneapolis)

Posted in north dakota on July 4th, 2007 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: north dakota, roadtrip

We got up Sunday morning and sat downstairs giggling about events of the previous night until we heard a weird squeaking sound coming from Cindi’s room. I went to look and she was halfway off the bed, trying to get our attention. She had almost no voice, and proceeded to throw up in a garbage can. She won at North Dakota.

We had breakfast and packed up the Dead Hooker for the return trip. We were all fairly hung over, so the drive back seemed even longer. And we had to stop and see the giant buffalo in Jamestown, of course.

We also saw the famous white buffalo, which apparently means that the buffalo burgers they ate in Medora were not from the last buffalo on earth. Just the second-to-last.

After the buffalo, we couldn’t get back to civilization fast enough. That doesn’t mean we’re not going back for Roughrider Days next year!

thu 6.10.2004 (minneapolis to nashville.)

Posted in tennessee / bonnaroo festival on June 20th, 2004 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: illinois, kentucky, roadtrip, tennessee

We left Minneapolis at 8am, which would’ve been pretty good timing had the drive to Nashville been 750 miles, a number I had in my head and didn’t bother to recheck. It’s actually 900 miles, but we discovered that a while later, which was for the best.

The drive was uneventful through most of the midwest. In Illinois, I was passing somebody doing 80 or so when I looked in the mirror to see a trooper riding my ass. I quickly moved into the right lane, looking shamed. He turned on his siren and sped by, giving me a dirty look. In all my years of speeding, that’s the closest I’ve come to a ticket on the interstate. Of course there was that time with the Minneapolis cop, but they’re easy. You just ask them out to coffee.

We survived the bleak nothingness of southern Illinois and stopped quickly in Metropolis so Stephanie could see Superman. We arrived just in time for some kind of bizarre religious Superman festival; the main street was blocked off and there were vendors selling state-fair food and cheap designer knockoff schlock. A couple hundred old people were crammed in a tent listening to gospel music. It gave us the willies, so we got the hell out of there and crossed the border into Kentucky.

In Paducah, we cruised the long strip of chain restaurants, looking for a place at which I could dine without serious after-effects. After a few tries, I discovered that TGI Friday’s had a gardenburger, and that was good enough for me. We shoved food in our mouths as fast as we could, trying not to choke while giggling over the employees’ goofy accents.

I took over driving in the dark, which I hate. I have trouble seeing, and after I braked for a port-a-potty on the side of the road, wondering if it was a state trooper, I knew it was going to be bad. Stephanie wouldn’t stop laughing at me. We arrived in Nashville around 11pm, sat in a monster traffic jam, then finally got through to our hotel in Murfreesboro, about 30 miles south of town. It was situated directly between downtown and the festival site. I’m smart like that.

As I stumbled out of the car, the front desk lady came to hold the door open and yelled, ‘REDHEAD!!!!’ I laughed. She told me about the time years ago when she dyed her hair red, and got so many marriage proposals she had to dye it back.

God, don’t I feel that pain.

fri 6.11.2004 (nashville. bonnaroo day 1.)

Posted in tennessee / bonnaroo festival on June 20th, 2004 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: nashville, roadtrip, shows, stadiums, tennessee

Friday morning, we headed up to Nashville, as the shows we wanted to see didn’t start until later. Stephanie had never experienced the joys of the South, so I aimed to show her the highlights. We started at Bongo Java. She witnessed the miracle of the Nun Bun, and I bought coffee and some souvenir underwear, because it’s what I do. The coffee boy freaked when I pulled out my wallet. He said, ‘Can I take a picture of that?’ and pulled out his camera phone. I held it up for him, and he told me about his Hello Kitty fandom. I said, ‘Well then…’ and put my keys on the counter so he could see my Hello Kitty sushi chef keyring. Then I showed him my cellphone. He looked like he was going to pass out. He dug in his pocked and produced a little Hello Kitty, which he placed lovingly on the counter. It was a moment.

We drove over to see the Parthenon. Stephanie was unimpressed. As a sports fan, she was way more excited by the Coliseum (I even learned there’s a sports team there called the Titans, and apparently they play a game known locally as ‘football’), which was crawling with country music fans in town for the CMA festival. We drove around for a while trying to find a parking spot amongst the crowd of cowboy-hat-tube-top-wearing fans. The nice thing about Nashville is that all the funny touristy stuff is confined to a few blocks along Broadway, from Ryman Auditorium (the original Grand Ole Opry) to the… well, Hard Rock Cafe. Whatever.

Anyway, we wandered. I pointed out the Batman building. We went into the offensive souvenir shop where half the merchandise comes emblazoned with a confederate flag. We stopped into Hatch Show Print, because I’m obsessed (my upcoming portfolio is a tribute). We marveled at the fashion we saw:

‘Was that a one or two-piece hot-pink bodysuit?’
‘How does he transport that giant beer gut on those spindly legs?’
‘What’s the connection between NASCAR and country?’

We stopped to get our photo taken with Elvis, and to talk to some country music fans on the street, who told us about the festival events, and the loads of free crap to be had. We decided to check it out.

They had a bunch of tents set up, selling state-fair food (again!), and crappy beer. There was a tent with Sharpie markers, one for eBay, and a cooking tent sponsored by Mrs. Dash. No, I’m not joking. There was even a karaoke stage, on which bemused fans in various degrees of patriotic decoration were belting their hearts out to today’s greatest country. It was… interesting. We went to the Charlie Daniels museum instead. And then, we were just in time for the opening of the world-famous Wildhorse Saloon. If you’re not me, you probably don’t recall that it’s the place I learned to line-dance.

I was feeling nostalgic, so I ordered fried pickles even though Stephanie wouldn’t touch them. I ate a few, then had a ‘cowboy’ caesar salad. As she pointed out, I was eating the same thing I eat at Luce: caesar salad and a diet Coke. I told her to shut up, since it was the only thing on the menu I could eat.

This would become a theme.

We headed to Katy K’s Ranch Dressing. I can’t say enough good things about her custom western wear, so I won’t. You just have to see it. She noticed the kitty shoes I’d bought from her last spring. I bought a tshirt with her logo. She gave us directions to Bonnaroo. I wanted to hug her goodbye, but I restrained myself.

So we drove the 70 miles to Manchester. The main exit was closed, so we had to go three miles past it and turn around at the next exit, as instructed by about a hundred state troopers. There were cars lining the freeway for those entire three miles, and they didn’t seem to be moving. People were hanging out of their cars and wandering around on the side of the road. We decided to stop at the gas station to pee and get snacks and water.

We got on the entrance ramp and sat parked there for half an hour. I got out and talked to the passing folks. One boy with rhinestone sunglasses told me he was parked about a mile and a half up the road, and it had taken him three hours to get to that point. We turned off the air, opened all the windows and sunroof, and settled in. I watched the temperature creep from 92 to 101.

We crept down the three miles of I-24 and reached the Manchester exit after almost 4 hours. We were thrilled to almost be there. We were drenched, had to go to the bathroom, and were running out of water. We had watched people walking down the highway twice the speed we were driving. We watched them climbing into the woods and peeing, and seriously regretted being girls.

At the exit, the friendly troopers told us we were entering total chaos. There were 90,000 people there, way more than they expected. There wasn’t enough room for all the campers, so people were just parking anywhere. It was a mess. They were amused. We were not. We realized that the traffic backup didn’t end at the exit, and that we had farther to go, but no idea just how far.

A total of nine hours after leaving the gas station, we were parked at Bonnaroo. They were correct about chaos. We drove through rocks and grass and mud and found a parking spot amongst the campers. We weren’t camping and were supposed to be parked in a separate area so we could leave later, but they had abandoned any order. I asked three different people in STAFF tshirts and was told they had no idea how I was leaving, since all the exits were blocked by cars trying to get in. My favorite response was, ‘I heard there was another exit around here, but I’m not sure. It’ll probably be cleared up by 8am.’

We tried to remember where we parked in the dark, and walked a mile or so into the festival. The main camping area was full of vendors. They had some tshirts and such, but mostly it was glass pipes and ganja brownies and mushroom truffles and inventive mixed drinks. It would’ve been really funny, had we not sat in the car for 9 hours without water, having to pee. Knowing we would have to face the dreaded music-festival port-a-potties. Shiver.

It was a life-changing event for me. I tried about six bathrooms before finding one that seemed tolerable. I climbed in with Kleenex and seat covers. Since it was dark, the stalls were pitch black; she held the door open partway while I peed and watched the folks outside buying weed. As we traded off, passing hand wipes, a girl came barrelling out of the next stall, stoned and freaking out. And the Dead weren’t even playing that night!

Finally, we were in. We watched Dave Matthews. Or she did, and I watched the people. I have never seen so many people stoned at one time, and I’ve been to many shows. And in keeping with her request/threat, I remained completely unaltered. The entire time.

After the show, we did manage to find our way back to the car. I told Stephanie I was going to get us out of there, no matter what. I had a plan that mostly involved brute force, and it worked.

Chico is not an offroad vehicle, and even a Jeep would’ve been hard-pressed in that environment. We made it out to the road, and another trooper stopped us. He said, ‘You know you’ve got something dragging up here?’ Apparently a piece underneath the bumper had dropped down. He said it didn’t look like it would cause any damage, so we headed back to the hotel for the night.

sat 6.12.2004 (bonnaroo day 2.)

Posted in tennessee / bonnaroo festival on June 20th, 2004 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: emergency car repairs, nashville, roadtrip, shows, tennessee

Saturday morning, I got up way too early, as usual. I drove over to Starbucks, got gas, stopped at CVS to pick up the razor I had forgotten to bring (got forbid one be hairy at a hippie-overrun music festival), fruit, and duct tape. The girl at CVS told me she was from Manchester, and that this was the best-organized event to date. I almost fell over. I brought Stephanie back breakfast, and set to work duct-taping my vehicle. A big piece of plastic under the front of the engine had broken off and was hanging down. I taped the shit out of it and we were off.

We got to Bonnaroo at 10:30, well before the shows started. We had no trouble getting into day parking, as all the campers had finally settled. I wish I could adequately represent what the camping looked like: huge open fields full of tents, as far as one could see. It was pretty awesome. And a complete mess. People were walking down the road to bathe in the dirty creek. The whole place already smelled like garbage. We, however, were clean.

I strapped on the Camelbak and we waded through the sea of contraband to the entrance. We spend some time wandering around Centeroo and figuring out where all the stages were, as they all had immensely useless names such as What Stage, Which State, That Tent, This Tent, etc. We checked out the food, and I was thrilled: there were a few full-on vegetarian booths, and even a vegan one. It figured with the audience, but sometimes I’m surprised. I bought a pretzel and we went to grab spots close to the stage in That Tent for Kings of Leon, the original reason I wanted to go to the festival in the first place.

The show was so great. I loved it. We were up close enough to see everything, and they rocked hard in that Tennessee way. They had crazy hillbilly hair and the tightest jeans ever seen on human beings. During the show, which was under a big tent, it started pouring outside, and everybody cheered and ran out into the rain.

After the show, we wandered around and saw some other bands. Gomez was awesome live. There was a huge crowd listening on the lawn. We saw most of that show, then I went to hear Rachael Yamagata in a little tent hidden in the back. I fell in love. She’ll be here in Minneapolis this month in a tiny little room at the Quest, and I will be there.

We saw Del McCoury and My Morning Jacket, and spent some time laying in the sun listening to whatever band was nearby. I ate a hummus wrap and immediately felt sick because of the heat. It was better to not eat at all, and drink water whenever necessary, but not too much, as we had a very good reason: avoiding the port-a-potties again. Word was getting around about how bad they were already, and there was no way I’d go willingly. So we devised a carefully-executed technique we termed ‘controlled dehydration’: drink enough to stay conscious, but not enough to have to pee. And it worked!

As it got later, we decided to head out before the Grateful Dead. The idea of hanging around for that was just depressing. So we got back to the car easily, just as it got really dark and the wind picked up. Tents were billowing, and garbage was flying everywhere. Within ten minutes of leaving, the downpour began. We were so glad to not be at the festival for that.

It took us too long to get to the hotel in the rain. I showered the sweat and fifteen layers of sunscreen off me. The sunscreen seemed to be doing no good at all. The news on TV said that two people had already died at Bonnaroo due to multiple drugs and heat and dehydration. We drove back up to Nashville for dinner, as Stephanie was insistent about eating at Wildhorse again. I worried about getting in due to the CMA festivities, but figured we’d find something else if the club was closed.

We found the exact same parking spot as the day before, and cheered. As I started off down the street and looked back over my shoulder, and noticed something I didn’t want to see: the front tire was flat. I had one of those split-second gaps in reasoning that really makes me question how I think sometimes: I thought, ‘Eh, leave it for later.’ I almost walked away. But then I snapped back to reality, and I was pissed.

We were parked on a downward slope, so I pulled up the parking brake hard, ripped all the tools out of the trunk, and set to work. See, I’ve changed flats on this car so many times that I could qualify for the Saab racing pit crew. Not that that makes me any calmer about it when it happens; in fact, each time it gets worse.

I was parked close enough to the curb that getting the tire iron in to loosen the nuts was highly inconvenient. It took forever to crank up the jack. At least they didn’t use a torque wrench the last time around, so I didn’t have to jump on it to loosen them. As usual, I got the nuts out and then couldn’t get the tire off the hub. It likes to rust in place. I jacked it up further, yanked on it some more, then planted my ass on the curb, put my feet on the tire and kicked it over and over, cursing loudly the whole time.

At that moment, I heard women talking behind me. A couple of ladies had meandered up the hill and taken up a spot on the ledge behind us as my audience. They were lamenting to themselves, then to us, the fact that no men were coming by to help. They tried to flag one down, but he rushed off with a painfully lame excuse. And part of me was pissed that nobody offered to help, especially in a place like the south. On the other hand, I’d probably have refused it unless I couldn’t have done it myself.

So I continued kicking and yanking and swearing (a little more quietly, considering the southern belles nearby), and they expounded on their theory about why no men were there to help. They said it was to do with the fact that they were all off at war dying. Therefore, nobody to help me change my tire.

Um, right.

I finally got the tire off, then put it all put back together, tossed everything as hard as I could into the trunk, and we headed off to dinner. Me with completely black hands.

As expected, Wildhorse turned us away. They were having a CMA party with the stars of NBC daytime TV. Yeah, we seriously regretted missing that. We headed to a restaurant nearby and I had… caesar salad and diet Coke, after scrubbing my hands in the bathroom for 10 minutes straight. We drove back to the hotel at a much slower speed on the infamous red donut tire, but you know. At least we were alive. All the men, they were dead.

sun 6.13.2004 (lynchburg. bonnaroo day 3.)

Posted in tennessee / bonnaroo festival on June 20th, 2004 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: emergency car repairs, jack daniels distillery, nashville, roadtrip, shows, tennessee

I woke up Sunday terrified that I would find no one in the wilds of Tennessee who would sell me a new tire on a Sunday. I paged through the phonebook, calling tire repair numbers randomly. A sleepy-sounding guy answered, and I asked him if they were open today to fix a flat. He asked, ‘On a semi?’ I said no. He said, ‘Call Wal-Mart,’ and hung up.

It took me about two seconds to abandon my principles, and go to a company I’ve refused to patronize for quite a long time. Yes, I suck.

They had the tire fixed within 20 minutes. I’ve never, ever had the luck to blow a tire and have it be repairable, so I was shocked. I paid $7.14 in cash, and we were on the road by 9:30am. We got coffee, then headed to Jack Daniels. I was hoping Goose would be there to give us a tour. He was working, but had just taken a group out and wouldn’t be back for a couple hours. We didn’t have the time to wait, so we checked out the visitor’s center, did some souvenir shopping in Lynchburg, and then headed back to Manchester.

On the way back into the festival, we saw cars leaving covered in mud. Not just smeared with it, but like balls of mud had been flung at them. The day parking was terrible, and it took us a while to find a spot where we could turn without danger of getting stuck. As I backed into a spot, a girl was standing across the way pointing and grimacing at the front of my car. I nodded, because I knew… Chico was falling apart again.

The duct tape had come loose, and the entire piece was folded forward and attached only by a bolt in the center. I tried cracking the plastic, and it wouldn’t let go. I yanked on it, I twisted it, I stomped on it. I pinned one end to the ground and bounced on the other. I’m sure it was a great show. Finally, I twisted it enough that it snapped. I left it on the ground next to the car, and we went back into the festival. Did I mention my car sucks? It does.

My Camelbak was really heavy, so I dumped out half the water. It was easy to find water anywhere inside, so I didn’t need it, and the straps were hurting my sunburn. It was overcast, but still in the upper 90s and unbearably humid. We got to the gates and people were wading ankle-deep in mud to get in. We had to pick our way very slowly along the edges to avoid drowning.

It took a good 15 minutes to cross the muddy expanse between the main stage and Centeroo. You would find a safe little dryish island in the middle of the mess and have to stand there, planning the next part of the route. People were barefoot and covered in mud, but I was hoping to avoid that. The staff drove ATVs, which would go rushing by, splashing muddy water all over the place. About half the grounds were wet, so people were clustered in all the dry spots. It was a mess.

We wanted to see moe, but that would have required wading again, so we just listened. We heard some of Burning Spear, Marc Ribot, Marc Broussard, Taj Mahal, and Cracker as we walked around. I got a falafel sammich and met some awesome people from Louisiana who talked about their camping nightmare, and how they were prepared to run as fast as possible after the last show that night. We weren’t even waiting around for that, we were leaving after Maroon 5. None of that 9 hour shit again, thank you.

Stephanie went off in search of water, and quickly discovered the vendors were out. I regretted emptying any of it out of my pack. We managed to find pop, and went to hang out for a while, listening to the Bad Plus and waiting for Guster to begin. I laid on the ground and listened to these southern girls talking about how they couldn’t wait to get married so they wouldn’t have to support their own lazy asses anymore. I wanted to smack them, but it would’ve hurt my sunburn.

We got up to pack into a tent for Guster. A cute boy complimented my dirty kitty shoes and offered me his pipe; I declined. I hope Stephanie appreciates my restraint. Guster was OK live, but not great. The crowd was really fun, though. The second the show was over, I pushed my way near the front, as instructed by my sister, who was desperate to see Maroon 5 up close and personal. We congratulated ourselves on being maybe 20 feet from the stage before the rumors started circulating: they had cancelled. The singer had blown out his voice. I felt really bad for her.

We headed out, and I told her she was definitely going to get dinner at the hick dance club, as if that would make up for it. We stopped at the hotel so she could shower. I went for coffee, and found a lone guitarist with three teenage fans playing at Starbucks. In between songs, he worked the crowd. He asked the kids if they were friends of his sister, and they said yeah, they were in her church group. A couple of them taught Sunday school. Now, ain’t that the cutest thing?

We went back to Wildhorse and the bouncer let us in free. We ate and watched the line-dancing lessons; even though I had done them before, I just wasn’t up for a dance called ‘the Rebel Strut’. Shiver. They danced to a song called ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy’. It was great.

We rushed back to the hotel without the huge donut-tire hindrance, and crashed hard.

mon 6.14.2004 (nashville to minneapolis.)

Posted in tennessee / bonnaroo festival on June 20th, 2004 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: nashville, roadtrip, tennessee

I was awakened at 5:30am, which was bad because then I spent the morning pacing, waiting for Stephanie to get ready. We were on the road just in time for rush hour traffic in Nashville. The troopers were pulling over all the single-drivers in the HOV lane, and there were a ton of them. We escaped Tennessee, then Kentucky, then reached the hated wasteland of Illinois. It wasn’t actually that bad for me, because Stephanie took over driving and I zoned out. I putzed with the CDs, I cleaned the car, I didn’t sleep, but I pretended to in hopes I could even convince myself. On my shifts, I averaged between 80-85, and kept bumping up my time estimates; I had planned on getting home by midnight at the earliest. We managed to hardly stop at all, and were back in Minnesota by 9:30pm.

I stopped to drop her off at the parents’ house, and intended to run back out the door and home. But there was my mom, shoving food in my hands again. I can’t get away! I ended up coming home with protein chips, oranges, and a banana. Just in case I got hungry on the 10 miles to my house, I guess.

wed 9.10.2003 (minneapolis -> kentucky)

Posted in savannah on September 30th, 2003 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: illinois, kentucky, roadtrip, wisconsin

I picked Heather up from work around 4pm Wednesday afternoon, and we headed out of town. The plan was to drive overnight to Atlanta, in order to maximize our time spent on the coast over the weekend. It was a good plan, if better in theory than execution, but we’ve done this sort of stupid thing before.

The trip was uneventful through Minnesota and Wisconsin. By Madison, I was on my 9th shot of espresso for the day, so things were looking up. Having just seen Radiohead a few weeks ago near Madison, we decided to start a Radiohead retrospective. We argued for a while about whether OK Computer came before or after Kid A. We argued about the meaning of ‘Creep’. (I say it’s about your average self-hating, insecure loner, she says it’s about a creepy stalker. I know I’m right.) We had to listen to ‘Lurgee’ twice while I tried to pin down what exactly I was crying about that time I was driving around my old neighborhood in Chicago late at night, listening to that song. By Rockford, we had made it to The Bends, and had to listen to Thom Yorke singing, “She looks like the real thing; she tastes like the real thing,” two or three times before agreeing that it might be the best song ever, then moving on.

Around 10pm, a little ways south of Rockford, I got out my travel journal and started jotting observations about Illinois. First of all, their towns seem to use some kind of buddy system, as if they were scared to be out there in the middle of nowhere all alone. There’s Champaign-Urbana, Bloomington-Normal, Rock Island-Moline. Also, once you get past Rockford, you enter what is more appropriately the south than the midwest. Long ago, we had decided that Chicago was technically not part of Illinois, and that the rest of the state was actually part of Kentucky.

If you don’t mind, I’ve taken the liberty of redrawing the map in accordance with my theory. So, you’ll see that the large tangerine-colored state is the territory now known as Kentuckinois. The salmon-colored state near the top remains as a tiny remnant of the original Illinois, and contains mostly Rockford and various tollbooths along the interstate. The lime-colored state along Lake Michigan encompasses what is now officially named Chicagoland. All other midwestern states remain as is (for now). I think you will all agree that this is a great improvement on United States cartography.

Somewhere further south in Kentuckinois, I decided to write a new website. I have ‘humpregistry.com’ written in my notebook, but on second thought, it’s not such a great idea. After that, I decided to write a book. Then I wrote down two other undoubtedly excellent ideas, but I managed to write one on top of the other (it was dark!), so they are unfortunately lost forever. Around 1am, I told Heather, “Father Hennepin gets me hot.” She replied, “Yeah. I know.” We decided maybe it was time to stop and take a break.

We pulled off the freeway at (Champaign-)Urbana, and found a 24-hour grocery store called Schnucks. As we were crossing the front of the store with that funny quick!-where-are-the-bathrooms? walk, this guy stopped us:

UrbanaBoy: Hey, did you girls just get back from that show?
Me: What show? (Taking a full 10 minutes to realize he’s referring to my Realistics tshirt) Oh, no. We’re just driving through.
UrbanaBoy: Where are you from?
Me: Minneapolis. We’re headed to Nashville. And Savannah.
UrbanaBoy: What do you think of Illinois?
Me: Um. Are you from here?
Heather: It sucks!

We peed, then went in search of snacks. We were not disappointed, as Schnucks is apparently the store for stoners. There were six or seven aisles of snack food. I didn’t get a store map, but if I remember it correctly, it went:

Aisle 1: Produce.
Aisle 2: Chips. Nuts.
Aisle 3: Candy. Cookies.
Aisle 4: Canned Goods.
Aisle 5: More Chips! Pretzels!
Aisle 6: Pop (they call it ‘Soda’. Ha.)
Aisle 7: Munchies! Even More Cookies! Want Some Peanuts?
Aisle 8: Toilet Paper.
Aisle 9: Holy Crap, DORITOS!

And so on. By the time we got to the register, we were in barely-restrained hysterics. Then, standing in line, surrounded by a bunch of just-a-little-off people, we both had that moment where you think, ‘there is something very very wrong here, and I need to escape.’ So we did. With our snacks, of course.

Back on the road, it was my shift. I’m really terrible driving at night, something about being sleepy and not seeing very well that makes for a surreal, video-gamelike experience rather than safe, defensive driving. But I was doing fine, and Heather dozed off for a couple hours. I woke her up to see the giant roadside cross in Effingham, which is lit well enough to be seen from outer space, so that even alien life can come to find the one true path. I listened to Amnesiac twice, because I felt bad waking her up again to switch CDs. Finally, round about 4:15am, we crossed into Kentucky, and decided it was time to stop for a meal, and what better place to do it than Paducah?

We pulled off at the first exit, figuring there’d be about a million roadside diners open in the middle of the night. We were wrong. Heather experienced the thrill of victory when she sighted a Bob Evans, then felt the bitter agony of defeat when she realized it was closed. Still hopeful, we got back on the highway and headed to the next exit (because, yes, Paducah is so large a metropolis, it has itself three whole exits on the interstate). This exit had a couple truck stops, a closed McDonald’s, and a Waffle House. There was no question about it: Waffle House.

Now, I have to admit, I have a thing for Waffle House. No, I had never been there in my entire life. They don’t even have Waffle House in Minnesota (this is pancake country). But every time I see a Waffle House, I have to point it out. And in the south, that’s at almost every exit. See, the thing about Waffle House is the logo. Tell me it’s not great. It’s like the ugliest logo ever designed, and it would make for the best tshirt ever.

Also, their restaurants look like see-through trailers. What’s not to love?

So, we went inside. We got some funny looks, but I’d have been mad if we hadn’t. The cook and the waitress were standing behind the counter, just waiting for new victims customers, because it was 4:30am and they were chatty and sick to death of each other. There were a couple other trucker-types sitting at the counter, shoveling eggs and toast into their mouths silently. I picked a booth right in the middle of all the action, so we could get the full experience. We giggled at the placemat menus. We thanked the waitress, who gushed about our hairstyles for far too long. Heather showed me the bottle of salsa, labeled ‘Casa De Waffle.’ I told her to steal it, but she wouldn’t. That girl has scruples, or something. I ordered the only thing on the menu I could eat, and even that was a stretch: grilled cheese. Then I saw that they had cheese grits, and how could I resist? Cheese grits + Waffle House + Paducah + 4:30am. You understand. Heather got the All-Star Special ($4.99): 2 eggs, grits, toast, jelly, waffle, and bacon.

As he finished each item, the cook guy would yell, “Eggs over easy! Order up! Take me out back and shoot me!” or “Grilled cheese! Order up! Take me out back and shoot me!” I dumped the quarters from my wallet onto the table and headed to the jukebox. What I found there was almost too wonderful to relate, but I’ll try: the first twenty or so selections were all songs

about the Waffle House.

I am not joking, even though you suspect it is too good to be true. Since you obviously require proof, I have done some investigation, and am beyond ecstatic to be able to offer you the following: Jukebox Favorites and It’s a Waffle House Christmas. And now you know what you’re getting for the holidays.

I treated the lucky customers of the Waffle House to ’844,739 Ways to Eat a Hamburger (At the Waffle House)’ by Billy Dee Cox, because I had been staring at the sign on the wall with the same message on it, trying to figure out if there was real math involved, or if they had just made that shit up. My food arrived while I was typing in my next selections, ‘Folsom Prison Blues’, followed by ‘Stand By Your Man’, and then ‘My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys.’ It was a southern triple-play par excellence. I returned to the booth to find Heather rolling her eyes, and a bowl of grits with an unmeltable slice of american cheese on top. I ate it anyway.

I never wanted to leave the Waffle House, because it was the most perfect place on earth, at least for that moment. But we had places to go, and a state line or two to cross before we reached our destination.

thu 9.11.2003 (kentucky -> atlanta)

Posted in savannah on September 30th, 2003 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: atlanta, georgia, jack daniels distillery, nashville, roadtrip, tennessee

So we got back on the road. It was Heather’s turn again, so I pulled the pillow out of the back and managed to fall asleep pretty quickly. I awoke an hour or so later in rush-hour traffic outside Nashville, and was so sick to my stomach I wanted to die. Heather said she felt exactly the same way. We cursed the Waffle House for leading us astray.

It was around 7am, still to early for much of anything to be open, so we decided to find coffee. We were tired and punchy and nauseated. We found our way around the maze of university campuses to Bongo Java, and barely even noticed the Nun Bun as we ordered as much caffeine as possible. We sat out on the deck, squinting at the morning sun. I paged through the paper, providing insightful commentary which Heather skillfully ignored. We debated about whether it was acceptable for stores to not open until 10am in the civilized world. We made fun of the workmen across the street. Finally, we dragged our asses off the deck and back to the car, and drove into downtown Nashville.

We walked up and down Broadway, stopping into the horrible tacky souvenir shop we always stop into when we’re in town, even though half their merchandise is emblazoned with the rebel flag, and it never fails to piss me off. Then we went to see if the Charlie Daniels Museum was open. Unfortunately, it was not. By that time, our real destination, Hatch Show Print, was open, conveniently allowing us to spend our money and move on.

After that, there was more driving, which is all now a blur. We arrived in Lynchburg after a while, because Heather wanted to pick up some souvenirs in the cute little downtown. I wanted to stop in and say hi to Goose. So we ran into the distillery, and asked the woman at the counter (the very same woman who had been sitting there 6 months before, when we expressed our vast enthusiasm for Goose the first time) if he was working that day. She told me, with poorly-concealed pleasure, that he was not.

Sigh.

We drove some more, along these tiny winding roads through idyllic Tennessee backcountry. It was actually really pretty, and just added to my warm feelings towards that state (excepting the depressing shithole that is Chattanooga). We had been hoping to find lunch in Lynchburg, but the three restaurants there proudly featured 100% meat in all their dishes. On the way back to I-24, we went through the town of Cowan. As I drove past the mini-mainstreet, I saw the word ‘gourmet’ on the front of a building, and swung around the block to investigate.

The cafe was called the Goat Track Gourmet, and it was awesome. The woman who owned the place was working behind the counter, and she said they had been open for three months. They had plate lunches, which Heather and I were unaware of until we drove through the south: you pick an entree, then two sides from a wide and exciting array of options. I had spinach bread pudding with smoked gouda grits and sesame green beans. Everything was so good, we thought about maybe staying there forever, because what are the chances we’ll ever get back to Cowan, Tennessee?

We got back to I-24, and headed towards Atlanta. I was starting to fall asleep behind the wheel, resorting to slapping myself on the legs to stay awake. I pulled off at a rest area outside Chattanooga so we could switch. We staggered into the bathroom, and were sitting in stalls next to each other, in silent hysterics. I don’t even know why, other than that we were so exhausted we couldn’t stop laughing. Heather pretended she was crying, just to upset the other people in the bathroom. She was text messaging me from her phone; I had tears running down my face, and hearing her trying to not laugh out loud was just making me laugh even harder. I can’t imagine what the other women in that restroom were thinking.

Heather managed the rest of the drive, which is good, because I wouldn’t have made it. We were both so tired we wanted to vomit. Or maybe that was Waffle House. We got stuck in traffic for an hour outside Atlanta. I probably dozed off, woke up, promised myself not to doze off again, then dozed off twenty times or so. We got to the hotel around 5pm, and as fast as we possibly could, we jumped into bed and passed out.

I woke at 8pm, and got dressed so we could go out for dinner. Room service had nothing to offer me but grilled cheese, and after Waffle House, the thought of it made me want to cry. We did some quick investigation and decided to try and find our way to Buckhead, which I had heard had good restaurants. We found it easily, and decided on the Raja Indian restaurant. It wasn’t the best Indian food, but it was good, and prominently featured naan and paneer. We were happy.