Our flight to Seattle took us, confusingly, through St Louis. While that’s kind of ridiculous, it was also much cheaper than a direct flight, plus it pushed me the few hundred miles over the 25,000 mark with Delta and earned me elite status for 2012. So it was alright.

The STL-SEA leg was on Alaska Airlines. If Delta was smart they wouldn’t have let us fly on that airline, because it made it obvious how much poorer their service was. Also, Alaska had awesome food and served Kona beers. We were very happy about that.

We arrived in Seattle shortly after 8, and Matt went to the car rental counter while I got the suitcase. We hopped on the shuttle, and were in a pretty awesome new Mazda 3 in short order. I looked up directions to the hotel on Google Maps while Matt drove.

The directions were pretty easy according to the map, but not so much in real life. We made a wrong turn, and then found ourselves stuck in a maze of one-way, dead-ending streets. All we wanted was to get across Broad Street to the side where Seattle Center was, but it was impossible unless we went exactly the way Google told us to. That’ll be a lesson to me about thinking I can figure it out myself!

We found the hotel, got the last parking spot in the lot, and checked in. The guy at the front desk was a former Minneapolitan, so we had a long talk about the Vikings and Minneapolis’ infrastructure problem; it hadn’t even occurred to us that the 35W bridge and Metrodome collapses had occurred within a year of each other. Our room was much fancier than I expected, and we loved that they had a Keurig machine and free bottled water and microwave popcorn. And real cream for coffee!! That never happens.

It was after 10 by the time we headed out, but we wanted food and a couple of drinks before we’d be ready for bed. We walked the eight or so blocks to Mecca, the place we’d gone with Steve on the last visit. He’d ordered a gimlet and a waffle there, so we knew it was obviously awesome. We both got some breakfast food and whiskey; Matt’s came in the form of a shot of Wild Turkey, followed by a beer. That’s a good way to start the night.

While we were wrapping up, people started piling in from the Journey/Foreigner/Night Ranger concert at Key Arena. The streets were full of fans plus what we assumed was the usual crowd in Queen Anne, so that made for an interesting experience. We walked back down toward our hotel and stopped into the Solo Bar, because their cocktail menu looked decent. It was pretty crowded, though, so we decided to try the beer place next door. That was even more crowded, though, so we went back to Solo and just hung out near the bar. Rather than the Journey crowd, it was full of people who had just been to the opera. Couple that with the fact that it seemed to be primarily an art gallery, and the end result was a LOT of pretension. The drinks were still pretty good, though!

It was after midnight by then, so we went back to the hotel and headed to bed. Matt had to be up by 7, after all.

In the morning, I sent him off to his conference in the car, and I hung out in the room, trying to get more sleep. My body was convinced it was after nine, though, so I got up and walked over to the natural foods store a few blocks away. (It was just me and the joggers on the streets of Seattle at that point.) I got a morning glory muffin, a really excellent Americano, a 5-Hour Energy, and two 4-packs of Maui Coconut Porter, because we can’t find it in Minnesota. I promised the cashier I wasn’t going to drink all the beer that morning.

Back at the hotel, I hung out watching football (it’s on so early in Seattle!!), and then went downstairs to meet Steve, Colleen, and Veronica to go have brunch. We went to the 5 Spot, which they told me changes themes quarterly or so. They feature a few menu items from a certain part of the country, and update the decor to match. (And they go all out, from what I saw.) The current theme was Philadelphia, which made being there extremely confusing, since we’d just been there. One can never get enough Ben Franklin, apparently.

After brunch, we went to walk on the Alaskan Way Viaduct. They’re in the process of knocking it down, so they had this half-day event where people could go up there and wander around. It’s a great view of the city, and also we got to take a piece home with us.

I guess it should’ve been a little unsettling that they were knocking down parts of it very near where we were.

Being Seattle and all, of course there was a girl hooping. There were also some people having a picnic, complete with wooden cheese board and spade. So fancy.

People left messages for the viaduct. They know it’s a highway, right?

After our walk, we went back down to the parking lot, where a bulldozer had just arrived with a fresh delivery of viaduct chunks. People cheered for the bulldozer, then everyone scrambled onto the pile to get the best piece. Some lady yelled, “I want a piece of rebar!” Yep, it was weird. Weird and awesome.

We grabbed some viaduct chunks and headed out. I got a smallish one, since I had to bring it home on the plane. I didn’t want Delta to look askance at me for taking part of Seattle’s crumbling infrastructure.

Steve and Colleen then took me to see Uwajimaya, which I’m pretty sure was the most gigantic Asian grocery store on earth. We spent a long time there looking around, and I picked up a few things including something for Awesome Christmas, some Salad Pretz (they’re the best Pretz), and a yakisoba sandwich. Seriously, it’s a baguette with a pile of vegetarian yakisoba inside. Colleen said it was the greatest hangover food ever. I believed it, even if we didn’t get to experience it while hungover. Which is totally fine with me, really.

They went to take the baby home for a nap, so I asked them to drop me off at the hotel so I could go be a tourist. The sun was finally coming out, so I decided to revisit the Space Needle.

Of course the sun was not out by the time I got to the top, but at least it wasn’t raining!

I walked around Seattle Center for a while, then decided to go get lunch at McMenamin’s, the beer place we hadn’t been able to get into the previous night. It was really quiet this time, of course, because it was in the middle of the afternoon. I ordered a beer and a bowl of Jamaican curry, and Matt texted shortly after that to say they were done early, and on the way back to the hotel. I said they should meet me there, since it was only a block away. He and his coworker and wife were there within half an hour, and we hung out for a while taking advantage of their happy hour specials.

We went back to the hotel around 5 so Matt could change clothes, then got the car and drove up to Steve and Colleen’s. We got to hang out with shark baby for a while before heading to dinner.

Our reservations were at 8, so they said we should stop into Paratii for a cocktail first. We instantly fell in love with the place, because one of the drinks on the menu was from Bradstreet in Minneapolis (i.e. the bar we spend most of our time at here). The bartender was great, and was more than happy to invent cocktails for us if we didn’t want to order off the menu. After a round, it was time to go to dinner, but we liked the place so much that Colleen called the restaurant and told them we’d be late. We got another round, then headed that way.

(Joking about a fast round, the bartender suggested shots of Fernet. Oh, craft bartenders: you all have the same bad ideas. I love it even though it makes my liver hurt to think about it.)

We walked over to the Golden Beetle for dinner, and ordered more drinks and almost everything off the small plates menu to share. Matt and I were more than amused that they highlighted the few things on the menu that couldn’t be guaranteed organic. It was very Pacific Northwest. The food was excellent, though!

After dinner, we went back to their place and hung out drinking local beers. We only made it til shortly after midnight before I was starting to fall asleep. I’m terrible at adjusting to time zones.

The next morning, we packed the suitcase with our spoils: a ton of yarn from Colleen, 8 cans of Maui Coconut Porter, and a piece of the viaduct. You know, the normal stuff.

We drove back up to Colleen and Steve’s so we could all walk to brunch. They’d chosen Zayda Buddy’s, a Minnesota-themed bar in Ballard. It was fantastic (the style was more Wisconsin tavern, but still), though I felt a little weird about wearing a Gophers hoodie there. I had a mimosa garnished with Swedish fish, and all our meals came with tater tots. It was like being at Grumpy’s.

We stopped in a couple shops and walked through the Ballard farmer’s market, which is probably the most earnest place I’ve ever been. Then we headed back to their place to get our car, and Very stayed awake by chomping on Bally’s leg. (I think Matt was panicking a little, but Bally was fine.)

We said goodbye and headed to the airport. Delta was incredibly efficient for once, so we boarded on time, got to watch the Vikings lose, and even arrived early! My parents gave us a ride home to the airport, so we had a couple of hours to sit on the couch before preparing for the week ahead. And as tends to happen lately, I woke up in the middle of the night with no idea where the hell I was.

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.

Matt and I arrived at the airport around 2pm, cleared security, and paid a visit to Granddaddy’s Bar, a tradition that makes every flight more tolerable. We giggled at Skymall for three hours, and arrived at Sea-Tac around 6pm. Steve and Colleen were waiting to sweep us away to their apartment overlooking downtown Seattle.

seaplanes fly very close to their rooftop.

We had cocktails on the roof of their building, then headed to Mama’s Mexican Kitchen for dinner. We dined in the Elvis room in back.

We went to a bar called Shorty’s for drinks and pinball, then hung out in the back room for a while because it had the awesomest bar stools I’d ever seen. We couldn’t even sit in them because they were full, but even looking at them was way too exciting. Our bar will definitely have pimp chairs such as those.

We moved along to the NiteLite, a place that was disturbingly empty for a bar around midnight, but they had cheap drinks and a standalone naked ladies game I couldn’t figure out how to play. We had a round of shots and Long Islands, and when Steve went back for another round, he was denied. The old lady behind the bar told him there was a limit of one per person (even though they’d given him another, just not an entire round). He told me that I should try to get others at the bar, but we were denied again. Incensed that we’d been cut off (and not even from drinking, just from one beverage in particular), we decided to go elsewhere.

Elsewhere was the Whisky Bar, mostly because we liked the name. We did not indulge, thankfully (Matt and I had water), and we had some discussion about the fact they were playing Bon Jovi’s Runaway, although we don’t remember what we were debating, exactly.

We decided to take the bus home, except it never really worked out that way. We definitely stood at the bus stop for a while, then started walking. Eventually, Matt and Colleen became trapped in a cabinet we found outside a restaurant.

After that, we ran though sprinklers outside a building, and all ended up with very wet pants. Which is not terribly comfortable when you still have several blocks to walk, dudes. Remember that.

Saturday morning, we went down to Bumbershoot to pick up mainstage tickets, then visited the Space Needle. Matt and I had been there before, but Colleen and Steve hadn’t.

Steve and Colleen had to run home briefly, so Matt and I bought half the inventory in the gift shop and then went and laid in the grass underneath it. It was gorgeous outside, and I could’ve stayed there all day.

We had lunch at the Mecca Cafe (where Steve ordered french toast and a gimlet), then walked back to their apartment to hang out for a while.

Later in the evening, we went back down to Seattle Center to see Gogol Bordello’s set. I hadn’t seen them before, and loved it. Afterward, we headed back toward Steve and Colleen’s place, to a bar called Paddy Coyne’s. They didn’t know of the wonder of the Johnny Jump-Up, so we were only happy to spread the love to the city of Seattle.

Sunday morning, we took the monorail down to the market.

colleen and steve

We had brunch at the Athenian Inn, an old restaurant inside the market, and then wandered around until it was time to go back to Seattle Center. We hopped on a bus and rode up to see the Kings of Leon, one of my favorite bands. I saw them many moons ago at Bonnaroo, and at the Fine Line in Minneapolis.

Then we all crowded into a smallish building (I didn’t know they had indoor shows there!) to see Bouncing Souls. My favorite part, of course, was when they did ‘Argyle’, the song P.O.S. covers in ‘De La Souls’.

We then herded into the mainstage area to see Sean Paul, followed by Fergie. First of all, I did not realize I knew at least half of Sean Paul’s songs. I’ve danced to all of them many times, in bars and barefoot on streets throughout the land. His set was pretty awesome, if populated mainly by 15-year-old girls. Seriously, I went to the bathroom and realized I was twice as old as every girl in there, and half of them were drunk on smuggled beer. They’d be passing out by 11pm for sure.

And then, there was Fergie.

Thing is, I don’t really like Fergie. I’ve obviously danced to ‘London Bridge’ and ‘Fergalicious’ a minimum of 50 times apiece, because that’s just dance music. But when I heard she’d be playing there, of course I had to see her. How could I miss that opportunity? It’s not like I’m going to pay for tickets to her shows.

The first part was as expected: all her radio songs, and three costume changes (in a one-hour set). She was apparently doing hand-springs and such, but we were too far away to really be able to see much. Towards the end, she yelled, Do you want to rock?? Of course we wanted to rock, at least until we found out what she meant.

She launched into ‘Barracuda’ by Heart. It was definitely out-of-place, but not totally wrong for her; she had the voice for it, at least. I was amused knowing that probably 90% of the people there had never heard the song before, since they weren’t even born then. At the end of the song, she shouted, You know where you are? You’re in the jungle, baby! You gonna DIIIIIIEEEE!

Our minds were blown. We barely even absorbed the fact that she also covered ‘Rehab’ by Amy Winehouse. We felt like we were broken, and stumbled out after the show, stunned.

We walked toward Belltown and decided to go to Cyclops, Colleen’s dad’s favorite bar. It had an awesome interior, even more awesome bartenders (I loved the girl who called us lovebirds because she kept seeing us making out), and a strangely mixed crowd.

We spend a good portion of our time there watching a couple dudes putting the hardcore mack down on two willing girls. They swooped in with a bucket of Rainier, most of which was consumed by the little guy, who we named ‘Limpy’, due to the fact that his friend was obviously going to get all the play when he was unable to perform. We could only see the other dude from the back, but he was clearly a giant, so Steve named him Frankenstein. I loved their antics, especially when Limpy would start to doze off clutching his beer bottle, then spring awake to make another sly move on the ladies.

We left as the bar was closing, and unfortunately did not get to see the outcome of their efforts. However, we’re pretty sure the score was Frankenstein 2, Limpy 0.

sophie the monorail cat

Monday morning (well, more like afternoon), we at the 5-Point. It’s owned by the same people who run the Mecca Cafe, only it’s very near Seattle Center. It’s also open 24 hours, so you can drink til 2am, sober up for a few hours, then start drinking again at something like 6am.

They have a periscope in the men’s room so that dudes can look at the Space Needle while they’re peeing. AWESOME.

We went back downtown to stock up on supplies at Lush. The girl working there said they’d be opening a store in Minneapolis soon! Yay!

matt and steve at the first starbucks

We did some more wandering around the market, then went down to the waterfront. We spent a very long time shopping at a pirate store, and then it was time to head back to Bumbershoot to see Lyrics Born.

puget sound

lyrics born callin’ out

Lyrics Born is always amazing, dudes. I’ve seen him four times now, always in the most awesome circumstances: closing down the Hip Hop n’ Harmony festival, at Foundation, in the front row at Lollapalooza. He’s coming back to Minneapolis this fall, and I can’t wait. He has the greatest energy.

After the show, we waited in line at the record company booth to meet him, but they booted us out of line because we wouldn’t buy a CD (I have it already), and he’d only be there for 20 minutes. LAME. At least I got this picture.

lyrics born

We shopped at the extensive craft fair, then made our way over to the 7-11 near the Space Needle for Slurpees (fun fact: 7-11 has sugar-free Slurpees! VERY EXCITING.) We were carrying flasks full of Malibu because we’re way classy, and mixed ourselves some cocktails right at the beverage counter.

We made our way to the mainstage and sat in the stands drinking our Slurpees and eating a cube of fries. We saw Lupe Fiasco, who was pretty awesome; I knew most of his stuff because he raps on a lot of Jay-Z and Kanye West tracks.

During the break in between shows, we noticed that a huge group sitting in our section kept cheering at people walking by on the floor, but we had no idea why. It was hysterical because they’d bust out screaming or groaning in disappointment ever minute or so. We finally figured out what it was about: there was a puddle of vomit on the floor, and they were cheering every time someone stepped in it.

It shouldn’t have been so damn funny, but it was. We couldn’t stop watching.

And then? It was time for the Wu-Tang Clan. It was the perfect ending to the festival.

wu-tang clan ain’t nothin’ to fuck with.

Colleen headed home because she had to work in the morning, and Steve and Matt and I went to the Victory Lounge near their house. It was nearly empty, but the bartender was awesome and they had Naked Ladies. We played a few victorious games, then headed over to another bar that we found closed by 1am. What? Instead, we went back to their apartment, got ourselves some beverages, and went up to the roof of the building. It was raining so we couldn’t sit down anywhere; instead we stood under the awning and talked about work. Because we rule.

On Tuesday, Colleen’s dad came to get us for lunch at the Mexican wrestler burrito place, aka Bimbo’s Bitchin’ Burrito Kitchen in Capitol Hill. The burritos were great, and there was a poster in the bathroom for El Suavecito, which I believe should be Matt’s new nickname.

After lunch, Colleen went home to work, and Steve and Matt and I wandered around shopping. I made some very special purchases at Babeland, including panties, which I believe to be the best souvenir ever. We walked back to their apartment just in time to pack up our stuff and get a cab to the airport. I started missing Colleen and Steve the second we left, so I’m pretty sure that means they should move to Minneapolis.

On the flight, I told Matt that it was too bad it was so overcast, or we’d be able to see Mount Rainier again. We ascended through the clouds, and all of a sudden, there it was!

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.

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.

Thursday night, Kaye joined la familia in celebrating Claudia’s birthday, and then we went to the airport together, but for different flights. I managed to have found one of the only on-time planes to Chicago, but she and Mollie were not so lucky. The guy in the seat next to me on the flight offered me his finished novel halfway through the very short trip; it was curled and puffed up to twice its normal size because he got to the most exciting part while on his boat, jumped in the lake, and the book followed him in. He was crabby about the fact that he had to take a hiatus from reading to let it dry out. We exchanged travel notes (he’d been to China recently, and I’d been to Alaska), and he said he’d look for me at Lollapalooza on Saturday. Um. Sure! I hopped the blue line with a crowd of other festival-bound folks, none of whom seemed to have a clue about Chicago and spent the whole ride worrying about where to go. I realized I must be a seasoned traveler, since I never really have any concerns about finding where I’m supposed to be: if I don’t know, that’s what people are there for. I exited at Division and heard Lauren yelling, “There she is!!!” even before I saw her.

We stopped at her place long enough to drop my stuff off and toast to Minneapolis with her roommate, then headed over to Louie’s for karaoke with her new cute punk-boy pal and his North Carolina friends who were also in town for Lollapalooza. It was SO FUNNY, and, due to the house drink known as the ‘blue motherfucker’, SO DRUNK.

kevin and roy singing karaoke at louie’s

We reeled home in hysterics at 2am, and I slept in my clothes.

Friday morning, I have no clue how Lauren got up and went to work, but she managed it. I slept in, spent time in the bathroom with Joe (I love that cat), talked on the phone a lot, then headed downtown to meet Kaye and Mollie. We headed into Lollapalooza, and the rocking commenced.

panic! at the disco

kaye and mollie stretching

raconteurs

My favorite bands that day were Panic! At the Disco (which featured burlesque dancers), the Raconteurs (because I love Jack White as it is, but Jack White in a southern-rock band? Drool.), and the Violent Femmes, because everyone loves the Violent Femmes. Afterwards, we met Lauren by the Bean in Millennium Park, and she and I headed to dinner at Bandera, a restaurant far too fancy for our dress (and my smelliness), but who cares?

Afterward, we met up with a dude named Walt at Watertower Park, stormed through the crowds of date rapists lining the streets of Chicago, and hopped a bus to what Lauren promised to be the most annoying hipster bar in town, the Rainbo Club. She was right; we couldn’t move more than ten feet from the doorman, it was so crowded. And smoky. And pretentious. We actually talked to a few dudes who were pretty funny, but not funny enough to make us stick around longer than a drink. We bailed around one o’clock and headed off to find another spot, finally deciding on Subterranean, when Lauren ran into a friend of hers nearby. We hung out with him for a while, then headed home.

Lauren and I got up Saturday and went to have brunch at the Bongo Room, which was excellent. We also bought me some sunglasses, which I still have to this day. That’s a new record, and I probably just jinxed it.

me in the bathroom at the bongo room, with amazing sunburn.

We saw several shows Saturday, but the one that I’d have paid the entire ticket price for was Lyrics Born. Mollie and I got there early to get a spot near the front, ending up about three people back.

lyrics born. i love this man.

By halfway through the show, I was against the railing, and totally fucking thrilled about it. I emerged from the show drenched in sweat and gasping for air, my camera chock-full-o-videos that I should probably post somewhere to share the awesomeness. Afterwards, I stuck around for Blackalicious, and was surprised at how much of their music I still knew. I was also giggling inside at the conversation the kids were having next to me: they basically discovered hiphop that day.

blackalicious

I met Kaye by a pole for half of the Dresden Dolls, and then took off on a mission: to get Lauren at the station and go find a little bit of Minneapolis in Chicago. She told me to hop in the last car so she could find me at the Damen stop, only I got turned around and got in a car very near the front instead. At each of the next four stops, I’d hop out of the train, run as far as I could before the doors began to close, and then hop into another car further down the line. I really hope no one knew what I was up to, because it was comical. But I did finally achieve the last car, met up with her at the correct stop, and we were on our way to the Abbey Pub to see P.O.S..

We got there early enough to get dinner, including curry fries, which are good enough to fantasize over, oh my god. We heard the sound check finish, the side door opened, and P.O.S. walked in. I almost peed my pants with excitement. But of course, there are like two people in the universe I’m too intimidated to talk to, and he’s currently one of them. We met some boys in line who were excited that I was from Mpls, and one of them was convinced he’d seen me at shows, so we compared notes. We went in and talked to Sims and Cecil Otter at the merch table about Hiphop and Harmony and Lollapalooza, and then the COMPLETE AWESOMENESS OF THE SHOW BEGAN.

the aristacats

mictlan

doomtree!

p.o.s.

artist outside the show

It was so great I can’t even really describe it, except that it involved a lot of yelling and dancing and jumping around and whiskey and picture-taking, many of which you will find in the usual place. I have more videos as well. P.O.S. rocked our pants right off, and I daresay Lauren the punk girl might even be a new hiphop convert. At least a little bit. After the show, we went back and talked to them some more, I was still too intimidated to do much but shake P.O.S.’ hand, we met Psalm One, and some people left with my number we can hang out when they’re in town for Atmosphere at the end of September. All in all, the best show ever, yet again.

lauren

We hopped a cab back to Lauren’s neighborhood and stopped at 7-11 for large bottles of water, which shared the bed with us that night.

Sunday morning, we got up and went downtown to Millennium Park to take about 400 photos of the bean, aka the Cloud Gate. I could probably stare at that thing all day. We sat and watched the kids in the fountain, then wandered back into downtown to find food. We found Kaye and Mollie there, so I headed back to Lollapalooza with them.

I was very excited to see the Hold Steady with their many many Minneapolis shout-outs (and also the fact that Craig had shown up to perform with P.O.S. the previous night at the Abbey). My second-favorite show was Queens of the Stone Age, although the Kids from the School of Rock kicked ridiculous amounts of ass for being so young.

the hold steady

In the evening, Lauren and I went to Piece (aka the Luce of Chicago) for dinner, and for a short while it seemed like a really great idea to go out after that; however, by the end of dinner, we were both dragging. I was sore from the walking, the rocking, the sunburn, and the general awesomeness. We went back to her place to hang out, and then I passed out hard.

The next morning, Alison was moaning about her hips and thighs, and I realized that I no longer get sore after dancing all night. Clearly, this means I must go even more often, ALL THE TIME.

Monday morning, we were up bright and painfully early, because we had a convertible to pick up and take to the beach. I had reserved a Sebring, but when the guy told me there was a Mustang available, how could I resist? I had even considered buying one at one point, but realized a RWD car is kind of retarded in Minnesota.

Anyway, I loved driving that car. It wasn’t as fast as Miguel, but it was powerful, sounded awesome, and was heavy like a muscle car. We spent the day driving along the coast with the top down and laying on the beach at Melbourne. I wore very little clothing, which is something I’m rarely brave enough to do, but holy shit! I was in a hot convertible driving along the ocean. It was the right thing to do.

And oh, we were sunburnt. We reapplied sunscreen several times, but I think the sun there is just too much. I had the awesome raccoon-like mask from my sunglasses, and parts of my body that rarely see daylight, like halfway down my cleavage, were pink. But, man, it was great.

We drove back to Orlando and I called Alina for dinner. It was so awesome to see her again; I can’t believe how long we’ve known each other. She reminded me of the time we saw a midget riding a Segway in Celebration. I hate how I can spend an hour or two with someone and feel like they’re part of my life on a regular basis, and then realize I don’t get to hang out with them all the time. That’s so strange to me. However, the really funny thing? The condo she just moved into is three blocks away from my brother’s house. AWESOME.

Taking the car back to the rental agency, my sister was driving Scott’s car, so I was alone. It was dark and had cooled off quite a bit; I was blasting the radio with the top down and the wind in my hair and it was so fucking perfect. And then I drove by the creepy sheriff’s car with the coconut head in it and freaked out just a little. What the hell??

So here’s the Vegas stuff I have decided to tell you about! The rest you will have to imagine with your twisted little minds, amigos mios.

• It’s not that I didn’t lose the money I gambled, but I took a really really long time doing so on video poker. I make up in luck what I absolutely lack in card-counting ability.
  The people around us didn’t seem as amused by us yelling, “FIVE OF A KIND!!” as we were.
• I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as hard in my life as I did playing Dance Dance Revolution. I was out on the street hopping around like an idiot, trying to devise a communication system based on arcade game dance moves.
• Aerial acrobats are freaky, but still not as freaky as buskers. Or giant clowns.

  

• I screamed my fucking head off on the rollercoaster at New York, New York. LOVED IT.

  

  I also went on the Big Shot on top of the Stratosphere, the thing that catapults you up a pole like you’re going to shoot off the top of the building. I didn’t scream like I wanted to on that, because I was with three drunk fratboys:
  Attendant: Check your pockets for anything loose. Is that a cellphone, man?
  Drunk Fratboy #3: Dude, that’s my DICK!

• Paul took us to tapas at Cafe Ba Ba Reeba at the Fashion Show Mall, which apparently used to be superghetto but is now fantastically equipped with stores like Diesel, Quicksilver (see my Hawaii travel journal for my feelings about surf shops), and Paul Frank (the Julius monkey is way old, but the skully and Wienermobile and pirate shit rocks hard).
  Two things of note:
  1. I’ve never been able to go out for tapas. It’s usually 100% meaty. This was unbelievable. The drinks were just ok, but I’m not complaining because I take 4 sips of a martini and I’m good. to. go. Cheap drunk!
  2. I LOVE PAUL. You don’t realize how much you miss someone until you spend time with them again. We reminisced like a couple of old-timers. He remembered all the stupid jokes we used to have, even some I’d forgotten. It was so awesome to see him again.
• I think we saw all the casinos on the strip except the trashy ones I’d seen before, like the Boardwalk, the Frontier (free bikini mud wrestling!), and the Barbary Coast.

  

  My favorites are the Aladdin (the shopping), Caesar’s (the shopping), the Wynn (the most insanely opulent and miraculously least-tacky), New York New York (the entertainment), Paris (the insane gaudiness), and Mandalay Bay (the restaurants).

  

  MGM struck me as the stupidest, but maybe because I had to walk something like two miles through its vast cavernousness to a Starbucks that was technically right across the street from my hotel.
  Have you ever really noticed casino carpet?

  

• BTW, Americanos cost $4-5 in Las Vegas. Fuckers.
• We had a great view of ass from our room at the Tropicana.

  

  Also, Tom Jones on the giant video screen at MGM. He wasn’t there til next week, though. SIGH.

• Walking around in 100-degree weather after dark is disturbing. It’s fine during the day in the sun. One day we walked from the Tropicana, at the south end of the strip, to the Stratosphere and back. Ouch.
• The Fremont Street Experience would be most excellent if you were totally baked, dude. Otherwise, it’s just bizarre.

  

  I’m a little sad that the cowboy is under that gigantic big-screen-TV-canopy-thing now, too.

• On Monday, we went to rent a convertible. They were out of Mustangs, and only had Sebrings. Shudder. David the Budget Man pointed at the parking lot and said, “What about that one? It’s a V8.”
  “We’ll take it,” I answered.
  Two hours later, Hot Park Ranger Man found us in the middle of the Mojave Desert, our Bright Red 50th Anniversary Edition Thunderbird Convertible parked half on the road, half on the sand, just past a wash-out, with both doors and the trunk open, music blasting, roaming in the scrub looking for scorpions (me) and taking photos of the approaching storm (her).

  

  He said, “I seriously hope you girls are turning around and heading back.” Perhaps we seemed a little unprepared for desert survival?
  Was it the flipflops?
  He hung out for a while and told us the travails of a park ranger, which are basically that he wants them to mark more hiking trails in the park (there are currently two, even though the reserve is something like 90 million square miles of nothingness), and that his job is mainly to keep people from dying in the heat. Which apparently they do at an alarming rate.

  

  It was actually only in the 90s in the desert that day, due to the occasional rain. We wandered not too far from the road on the hiking trail closer to I-15.

  

  

  I spooked jackrabbits and white chipmunks from under fallen Joshua tree branches as I crept up to this broken-down shack at the intersection of the railroad tracks, near the Cima Store (WE ARE OPEN! KNOCK LOUDLY!).

  

  There was rusted sheet metal and old pre-pulltab cans scattered around it for a hundred feet, and a pile of untorched kindling in the middle of the crumbling floor.
  We raced through the desert from Baker, California to Las Vegas, never going under 90. It was so Fear and Loathing, minus the beat-up sun hat.

  

  And the ether.

Our trip got off to a good start. We arrived at the airport early, and found the flight delayed an hour due to conditions in San Francisco. We boarded and discovered that we were on a brand new A330, with the new-plane smell and everything. The thrill of that realization wore off the second the captain came on the intercom to tell us that they weren’t quite ready to fly yet; there was still some paperwork that needed completing before SFO would allow them to land. A while later, he told us they were awaiting an engine check: they had to run the engines, shut them down, check for oil, and then start them up again. It would probably take another hour or so. People on the plane got a little uptight about that, but we were trapped. And I was a little concerned maybe they had just assembled the airplane right on the tarmac, and which case it hadn’t even been checked for airworthiness yet.

We passed the time arguing about whether the airplane left the planet when it flew. She said that the atmosphere was part of the planet, so technically no. I maintained that she was full of crap. An hour and a half later, we were flying. They passed out headphones and switched on the back-of-seat entertainment for free, to quell our collective crabbiness. Stephanie announced, ‘Dude! They totally pimped this ride!’ and started watching The Notebook, even though I told her I’d make fun of her if she started bawling over that movie again.

I didn’t want to be in-seat entertained because I was knitting, but I did switch on the map. Man, that map is awesome. It told me where I was flying. Like South Dakota and the corner of Wyoming and Utah. Finally California. It told me we were averaging 550mph, how far we had come, how far we had to go, and that it was -60 degrees outside. And then all of that again in metric, as if I cared. It showed the entire western hemisphere, in case we got hijacked to Venezuela. If it involved the Middle East, we were on our own.

We arrived in SF around noon, and took the AirTrain to the BART. Being the awesome travel planner that I am, our hotel was located about 20 steps from the BART station at Powell Street. We checked in and then wandered through the Metreon and Yerba Buena Gardens on our way to find us some Pad Thai.

After lunch, we took the trolley to Fisherman’s Wharf. I was so less-than-charmed with Fisherman’s Wharf the last time I was there than I had missed the sea lions, so I was on a mission to see them. They were awesome, as long as their smell wasn’t wafting in our direction. They reminded me of my cats. I even made a movie of them.

We wandered through Fisherman’s Wharf, down to Ghirardelli Square. I don’t really get the whole chocolate empire thing, but it seemed to be a big draw. For some reason, we had already managed to do a ton of walking, even though I swore I was going to lay off and take public transport as much as possible (I was still having trouble with my ankle from the 3day in September). So we hobbled over to the cable-car turnaround nearby and waited to go up Russian Hill, one of the steepest in the city. Last year, I climbed it. This year, I was riding.

We dismounted at Powell Street and walked through Chinatown on the way back to the hotel. It was getting cold, possibly even colder than in Minnesota. On the way back, we discovered that the hotel strike has just begun. The sound of bullhorns, whistles, and banging on overturned buckets was to become the soundtrack to our stay there, together with the much-more-charming ‘dingding!’ of the cable cars.

Back at the hotel, we put on warmer clothes and headed over to meet Jay for dinner at the ‘fake-meat Chinese place’ in the Tenderloin. The tamarind beef was so good, I considered replacing my usual fantasies with memories of dinner. Tired as hell, we made our way back to the hotel, weaving our way through street people and hotel strikers. I promptly passed out because I can sleep through anything; my sister stayed awake most of the night listening to cable cars (we were right above the Powell St turnaround), the resident street preacher, and sirens.

On our trip, I promised Stephanie she could sleep til 8. Saturday morning, I couldn’t sleep past 6, so I got up and went for coffee. I chose The Barbary Coast, figuring one couldn’t go wrong with a pirate-themed coffee shop. I was actually very wrong; there was nothing pirate about it but the prices.

I went back to the hotel to pester her awake, and we jumped on a bus to Haight-Ashbury, for breakfast at The Pork Store. How could a vegetarian not like the idea of a restaurant called The Pork Store? We got there early enough to avoid the lines at the un-greasy spoon. The server girls were awesome. So was the food; we split a veggie scramble with salsa and biscuits and veggie-gravy. Also, it must be noted that I love eating with people like my sister, who is not vegetarian but doesn’t mind eating that way at all.

After breakfast, the shops had not yet opened, so we went to wander around Golden Gate Park. We figured we’d go see the Japanese Tea Garden and the buffalo herd. But our map, it wasn’t quite accurate. It said that the scale changed past Divisadero, but didn’t say how much it changed. After walking what felt like 20 miles, we found a map that told us we were not even close to those sights, which were located near the other end of the park. Like, by the ocean. So we turned around and went back, and by the time we reached Haight Street and wove our way through the street people sleeping in the park, the shops had opened.

I found a Buddhist jewelry store and got myself a spinning prayer ring for my thumb. It had my favorite mantra on it, although I admit that reading Sanskrit is a personal failing. We stopped at one of my favorite stores in the world, no, the universe: Kidrobot. I fell in love with gloomy bears, although the last thing I need is a new collection. The girl behind the counter was so enthusiastic and loveable it was hard to leave. She told us to check out the reggae festival in the park (which we had wandered past on our trek), and the Love Parade.

Only SF could have an event called the Love Parade.

We went to more shops. The guy at Yak Pak insisted we go to the Love Parade. We said OK! in that we’re-totally-lying-just-to-make-you-happy kinda way. And bought our stuff and left.

With really good intentions about not walking so damn much and taking buses instead, we walked up and down the hills of Haight Street towards the Store for Working Pirates. We stopped at Flax Art, which is also on my top-ten list of best! stores! ever! We were both trying very hard to not spend a million dollars on our trip, being all newly budget-conscious and responsible (at least, that was my excuse). It was a huge challenge. I think we both did pretty well.

Though 826 Valencia was only 8 blocks away, they were eight of the longest blocks possible. We stopped for lunch at a taqueria with the magic word on the front: I yelled, ‘HEY! HEALTHY!’ and that was enough for me. But holy crap! It was good. Healthy Mexican food is a near-impossibility in the friendly midwest.

Refreshed, we made it to the pirate store. They were selling way more pirate-themed merchandise than before, which was both gratifying and goofy. I was hoping Dave Eggers’ new book was out, but no. So I lusted over McSweeney’s books, and then we left.

We got on a bus and rode up to Japantown. Because apparently, Saturday was all about my favorite places to shop. I’m not thrilled with Chinatown in San Francisco, but Japantown is the best. I could spend weeks in the bookstore alone, spending all my hard-earned cash, as well as some future savings. I bought a ‘tofu: the better white meat’ tshirt, which means my vegetarian tshirt collection has reached ridiculous proportions (I have three). I also added to my ridiculously-cute stationery collection at the paper store. And got the required netsuke and such. All good.

We took the bus back to the hotelish part of town. Powell and Market is near all the expensive boring shopping, like Nordstrom and Armani and crap. For some reason, Powell Street was insane that time of day, crawling with shoppers and strikers and people carrying signs that meant something to someone, I’m sure. The preacher at the cable car turnaround was on a roll, and would continue until late into the night.

We went upstairs and Stephanie laid down for a nap. I was going to scribble in my notebook (it’s like analog blogging) and knit, but I ended up dozing off and drooling on the bed for 20 minutes. Then I got up and speed-walked to two different Starbucks, as the first one had a line out the door. Since there were 10 of them within a three-block radius, it was pretty easy.

I have to note that I love my tourist-walking in big cities. I think it’s the only way to really get to know a place: walk out the door of your hotel by 7am, walk all day long, and walk back in sometime that night, completely worn out. Do that for a full week, and you might as well have lived there for months. This trip, it wasn’t as possible due to the ankle and the fact I wasn’t traveling alone. Which ended up being really good, too.

I called and pestered Jay for directions, and we set off on the MUNI train to see SBC Park, per Stephanie’s request. She’s not so much a sports enthusiast as a sports freak. The park was very cool, though, and we’d have seen a game there if they were playing. We did, however, get to see the remnants of the Love Parade. All I can say is that San Franciscans like to get either fuzzy or naked. Sometimes both.

We found our way to the California Street cable car and stood, freezing our supposedly cold-prepared asses off waiting. The cable cars like to taunt you by sitting on the opposite side of the street forever, and then creeping very very slowly in your direction. It finally arrived, and we rode over to the other side of Chinatown, to the Dar Bar Indian Restaurant, which I loved so much the first time around. Dinner was great, as expected. And as usual, we should’ve taken the bus, but wandered our way back through the Tenderloin to our hotel instead.

Sunday morning, I got up and did the coffee thing. I wandered around looking for a breakfast place in the neighborhood, but could find nothing good. We decided to ride down to Fisherman’s Wharf, which was a big mistake. An hour later, I was sitting with my head in my hands in a back stairwell because I was too dizzy to stand. Stephanie was on recon for food, while I ate my emergency box of raisins. After 15 minutes, I could walk again, so we went to Starbucks and a found a fruit and cheese thing for a ridiculous amount of cash. It was worth it anyway.

We took the bus up to Coit Tower. It was pretty foggy, and even Christopher Columbus was looking chilly. The elevator music was ‘What a Feeling’ from Flashdance. We giggled the whole way up to the top.

You can hear the sea lions all the way up in the tower! I love that. We wandered around, took lots of photos, and then headed back down the stairs. This time, I managed to not remove the skin from my knuckles and wrist on the way down, so I considered that a huge personal success.

We took the bus back down the giant hill into North Beach, and went for lunch at the same place I visited last year, Cafe Delucchi. The food there was just as good as I remembered. We ate panini and watched a woman eating with her tiny little dog in a tiny little sack strapped to the front of her body. He sat and stared at every forkful longingly, but she seemed not to notice. We decided that a tiny little dog in a tiny little sack was unquestionably a sure sign of a very high-maintenance girl.

More buses! This time to the Presidio. We rode through Cow Hollow, which looked to have amazingly good shops, so we were smart enough to not get off the bus. Our ultimate goal was to get over to the coast, but we had to figure out how to get around the Presidio first, and all we knew about that was that 1) it sounded intimidating and had something to do with the military, and 2) Metallica tried to record an album there. Unsuccessfully. So obviously, the odds were against us.

We walked down and saw the Palace of Fine Arts, the only remaining building from a 1915 expo. It’s attached to the Exploratorium, but the most we saw of that was the bathrooms.

After wandering around a while longer, we decided there was no way we were going to reach the ocean that day, time and energy levels being what they were. Also, it was cold and foggy. We took a bus through the marina and hopped off to see Lombard Street (the crookedest street in the universe!), then got back on another bus to head back to the hotel. It went down Stockton, right through the middle of Chinatown, and I had never in my life seen such bus insanity. We were already so packed together we couldn’t breathe, and there were a hundred more people cramming in the back doors. The bus driver was yelling at the passengers. Then he stopped and fought with another bus driver, and they switched. I watched him stomping angrily down the street as we drove away.

Back at the hotel, we put on even more clothes, then met up with Jay. He said, ‘What did you do today?’ Stephanie said, ‘Rode buses!’ We hopped on the trolley back to Pier 39. When we got to our tour boat for Alcatraz, there was already a huge crowd waiting in the cold. We couldn’t find seats inside, so we got to enjoy the elements out on the bay.

The night tour of Alcatraz was awesome, though. A guide led us up the hill and told us about the history of the island, then we took an audio tour inside. I have trouble paying attention to audio tours, but it was still good. The prison itself seems to be in pretty good shape; the other buildings on the island are gutted.

We heard a lot of stories as told by prisoners and guards. They talked about a few escapes, and the fact that there are no known successful escapees, but a few prisoners unaccounted-for. We got to go in the cells, including isolation.

We went to hear the presentation about the 1969 Native American occupation, which led us back down the hill in the even-more-painful cold. Stephanie kept wandering off to stare at the bay. I concentrated on the story so as to not notice the lack of feeling in my extremities. I didn’t like the tour guide’s attitude. Not one bit.

We made a point of rushing back to the boat and managed to get seats inside. Back at the pier, we got on the crowded trolley again. At the stop after ours, the driver yelled at a bunch of boarding tourists, ‘Girls up front! Boys in the back! Girls up front! Boys in the back!’ The men confusedly headed for the back door. The women climbed on, and the driver cracked up. He said, ‘I was just messing with you!’ and broke down in hysterics again. I couldn’t stop laughing.

Near our stop, I felt my bag being jostled, so I pulled it around in front of me and saw that it was open. My phone and wallet were still inside, so I figured I had left it open when I put my transit pass away. Then I noticed the shifty-looking dude next to me with his coat over his arm, and I knew I had just almost been pickpocketed. I tried to make eye contact as he moved away from me. A bunch of people got on and Jay ended standing up right in front of him, so I whispered to him to look out. He said afterwards he saw the guy try the same thing on another woman, also unsuccessfully.

Near-pickpocketing! I was excited. More excited than I’d have been if he had actually gotten my wallet.

We had dinner at a Thai noodle restaurant in the Tenderloin, because I guess Jay seemed to think it was funny to make us walk through that neighborhood every night. Their pad thai was great, and the house music was amusing. We left there late, full and tired, and dragged ourselves one more time back to our hotel in the cold.

We got up bright and early and headed down to the giant resort commissary. To Disney’s credit, they had plenty of food I could eat, with the glaring exception of the Magic Kingdom. I found myself some oatmeal, and engineered my own Disney depth charge, by procuring two shots of espresso from some very confused ladies behind the counter, then filling the rest of the cup up with their crappy coffee. But it was fine.

We took the shuttle to Epcot and got right on Spaceship Earth, Heather’s favorite ride, ever. Now, Heather and I have wildly different tastes in our choice of Disney entertainment. She likes the slower, educational rides, especially if they feature space or dinosaurs. I’d prefer to avoid Disney entertainment altogether, but if it’s my only option, I choose the fast, loud, mindless rides that make you wonder if you’re going to puke. Too much learning makes me fidget. So we compromised, and went on both types of rides.

Spaceship Earth stalled twice, but we managed to escape the giant silver golfball alive (after a bone-chilling brush with the AT&T promos at the end). According to Spaceship Earth, the future of humanity, the perfection of all our accomplishments, will be videoconferencing (via AT&T networks, of course). And here I was thinking it was world peace, or something. I’m a little ashamed.

After that, we rode the Test Track, which made us scream, and Mission to Mars, in which Heather almost vomited on takeoff. She’ll never be an astronaut. Then we went to the Universe of Energy, which I have always found really amusing, because it’s sponsored by Exxon. (BTW, doesn’t Disney bring in enough cash to pay for their own rides? What the hell?) This was one of those rides that annoys me: first, because it’s educational, and second, because they stall you by making you watch a too-long and unfunny film, in this case starring Ellen Degeneres and Bill Nye the Science Guy. During these films, I mostly become irritated with the kids standing too near me and wonder whether their parents will notice if I elbow them in the head.

After the Exxon commercial we walked over to the countries in Epcot. I like this part, because it has shopping and food other than hamburgers, fries, and Mickey-shaped ice cream. Mexico was under construction. We got our picture taken with a giant troll in Norway. In China, Heather got bubble tea, while I searched for merchandise featuring the good chairman. In Germany, we bought two pretzels and a pop for $8. In Italy, we stopped.

That’s because Italy’s best feature was its boys. Since Disney is all about being authentic in an over-the-top way, the people in the countries are actually from the countries. When the boy handing me my cappuccino said ‘my pleasure’ with that accent, I almost fell over. When he said it a second time, I knew I had to sit down. Near the gelato boy, of course. Damn.

After coffee, we rushed through the United States and went on to Japan. The shops in Japan seemed to know I was there, because they had stocked everything I ever wanted to buy. I picked up and carried about half the contents of the store around with me, then put most of it back and still managed to spend almost $90. They had Hello Kitty stuff I’d never seen before, Totoro, and a million maneki neko. I’m pretty sure it was my favorite place at Disney World.

After Japan, we went to Morocco. We split the vegetarian platter, with hummus, tabouleh, and the best lentil salad I’d ever eaten. We shopped and checked out the henna tattoo artist. Then we wandered through the less-interesting countries of France, the UK, and Canada. I suppose Canada is interesting to some people, but it’s next door to me. I was unimpressed. Although I kind of dig all the maple leaf shirts; it’s a much better fashion choice than stars and stripes.

After more wandering and shopping, we stopped so Heather could have a cigarette. The smoking areas at Disney are really funny. At a few secret locations in each park, which can be located using the map and secret decoder ring, they have a garbage can with a big ashtray on top. This is the designated smoking area. The smokers huddle around it, looking guilty, and their non-smoking companions linger nearby, trying to look nonchalant. If you are caught smoking elsewhere on the property, you will be trampled by college students dressed as giant furry Disney characters.

We circled around back to Mexico so we could sit in the sun and share our nachos with the local wildlife. The herons picked bits of tomato from our fingers, and then made demanding honking noises when they felt neglected. My parents called to say they were nearby, so we walked over by the Imaginarium and waited. While Heather made phone calls, I laid on the bench next to her and dozed off in the sun. I didn’t care much about being at Disney, but I was loving having escaped the overcast weather in Minnesota, and meant to enjoy it as much as possible.

We finally found my family in the big freezer of a building where you can sample Coca-Cola products from around the universe, and get the soles of your shoes so gummy that you make weird sticky noises when you walk. We milled around near the fountain in front of Spaceship Earth while my mom tried to coordinate what seemed to be the most complicated photo-op ever. You would think it wouldn’t be a problem to get a group of eight people standing together and smiling long enough to take a picture, but you would be wrong. At least when it’s my family that’s concerned.

After we ditched the Ripleys, I went to the bathroom for the 18th time that day, and Heather got an ice cream. We went to The Living Seas, which turned out to be a really poor excuse for an aquarium, and then took a boat ride through The Land. It’s all about the future of farming, and turned out to be more interesting than it sounds, because it had giant mutant vegetables. It was like ‘It’s a Small World’, only the kids have been replaced by 50-lb zucchinis. That’s hard to beat.

We went on Spaceship Earth again, dodged AT&T, and picked up my Japan-stuff at the front gate on the way to the shuttle. On the bus, we eavesdropped on a conversation between a couple from New Hampshire, and an old couple from Minnesota (with embarrassingly ‘Fargo’ accents). NH-guy said, “I’ve never met a Minnesotan I didn’t like!” I whispered to Heather, “I bet I could give him a run for his money.”

We found the sexymobile back at Pop Century, and drove it to our new Orlando residence, the Celebration World Resort.

Resorts in Orlando are surreal. There don’t seem to be any regular hotels; they’re all located on these giant plantations with elaborate entry gates, guard-booths, and palm-lined drives. Even the ones that look like glorified apartment complexes, like ours. Celebration World was just down the way from Disney, and the way I remembered how to get there was as follows: take 192, which is easy to recall, because it’s one of those important octets in an IP address (duh), take a left at the giant inflatable Elvis, then a left just past A World of Orchids, which was featured in the movie Adaptation. We stopped there long enough to find our sleeper-sofa in the giant maze of rooms that made up our suite, changed clothes, and headed to Universal Citywalk.

Universal Citywalk is the Downtown Disney of Universal Studios, since theme parks are simply not allowed to do anything original. We pulled into the parking with our $8 in hand, and the girl in the booth said she’d give us VIP parking for $5, since she liked my purse. We were suspicious, figuring it was one of those traps they lure out-of-towners into in order to make them join a cult, or purchase a time-share or something. But, no, it was just VIP parking. We took about 7 miles of moving sidewalk into Citywalk, and looked at the map for a restaurant that might have something I could eat. We decided on Bob Marley’s, and fought our way through crowds of fratboys to get there. Citywalk had the same vibe as Pleasure Island – theme bars and clubs, Jello shots, drunk college students in the street. It also had the added attraction of girls flashing their tits in front of Pat O’Brien’s for Mardi Gras beads.

At Bob Marley’s, I freaked out over the awesome food. I had vegetable/sweet-potato patties (kind of like Jamaican empanadas), yuca fries, and bammy. It was so good, I was even able to completely ignore the ‘One Love’ singalong. After dinner, we headed to Pat O’Brien’s to meet Alina and her sheriff’s-department krew for her birthday party. When I showed the bouncer my ID, he told me that he had just been staying in Minneapolis over Christmas, about 10 blocks from where I live, because he was originally from here. He put on my wristband, stamped it, and told us to have a good time. When he stamped Heather’s hand, he pointed to it and said, “Minneapolis!” It wasn’t until we got to the entrance of the piano bar to pay cover that I even realized what he was doing. Minneapolis got us in for free.

We met Alina and her friends, and everybody was supercool and a lot of fun. Even though Alina’s only worked for the sheriff’s department for two months, it seemed like she had known everyone forever, and it was a really close group. I was a little psyched that two of the guys there worked in the morgue. And Robin was completely awesome. At one point, she was up in front of the stage, leading the whole room in a hand-motion rendition of ‘Joy to the World’ by Three Dog Night. And in my typical vacation style, I even managed to hear the hometown classic, ‘Purple Rain’.

Heather drank two cosmos and three vodka-tonics. I drink a lot of Diet Coke. I was sitting near the wall, and every time this drunk woman walked past me to go to the bathroom, she bumped into me. The last time, she leaned over and apologized drunkenly and profusely. I said it was fine and waved her away as she kept slobbering on me. The next time she passed, she smacked my shoulder deliberately.

I wanted to fight. Admire my restraint.

I figured her life was bad enough as it was, since, as Heather pointed out, her much-older and possibly even drunker date looked like a giant polish sausage. They made a depressing couple.

We wished Alina a happy birthday and left around 1am. We decided to get something to eat, and somehow wound up at Denny’s near our hotel (because, of the late-night dining options, Denny’s is the one that actually has a gardenburger). As I paid the check at the front counter, the manager kept knocking stuff over and making a mess. We laughed at him, and he said it was because I was making him nervous. I asked why, and he replied, “It’s that red hair and beautiful smile.” I didn’t quite know how to feel about being hit on by the Denny’s night manager, but I had completely forgotten about it by the time I passed out in the most uncomfortable sofa bed on the planet.

I woke up when Scott got up with Kaitlyn, and said a little prayer of thanks for not having kids. My first priority for the day was coffee, and since we weren’t going to Disney, I had to find it elsewhere. I called 1-800-STARBUCKS, and the computer voice was pleased to tell me the nearest location, five miles up I-4. This was perhaps a little shocking to me, since if you stand on the front steps of my house and throw a rock, you are almost guaranteed to hit a barista. But the south, well, it’s the South.

It ended up being at the Marriott resort, which is apparently the place to stay if you’re a golfer. I parked illegally and got myself a couple big Americanos, and headed back towards the resort. On the way there, I managed to get lost; I took the 192 exit, but going the wrong way (the sign says ‘Celebration/Kissimmee’, which is where the hotel is located, but you’re supposed to go the other direction instead). But this ended up being a good thing, because I quickly realized what I had found: Celebration, Florida: the friendliest planned community in America.

Celebration was created by Disney. It scares me, because it’s one of those places where people go when they want to escape reality, and possibly non-white people. I admit I have an extremely perverse fascination with it. I want to go there and do bad things. I want to frighten the residents. Barring that, I wanted to wander around and absorb the freakishness of a community based on everything I think is boring. Obviously, I was more than thrilled to realize how close Celebration was to the hotel, and I intended to go back and explore as soon as possible.

Back at the resort, I sat on the patio and wrote postcards to mail from Celebration. Alex showed up from Miami, and got to meet the members of the family he hadn’t met before: Scott (the Forgotten Ripley), Ali, and Kaitie. While we sat outside and talked, I turned and saw Kaitie standing at the patio door, menacing me. She stood there for a good ten minutes, giving me the look, wearing my Mardi Gras beads. We decided to go to lunch at the same restaurant we had eaten at in Miami, and then they dropped me off back at the resort and headed to SeaWorld.

I found myself alone in the condo. Alone in the condo. On vacation. This was a big deal to me. So I chilled. Wrote more postcards. Scribbled in the travel journal. Read the AAA guide to see what I might be missing, just in case there were actually non-Disney attractions worth seeing in Orlando. And there was something: Splendid China. I had read rumors on Roadside America that it had closed, and my phonecall confirmed it: not only had it shut down, but it shut down on January 1st. I was 17 days too late.

I called Alina, and she came to pick me up. I walked into the parking lot, and saw the crime scene van parked sideways, waiting for me. I knew that it was probably going to be the best day of my life.

We had decided to check out Celebration, so we drove over and found the downtown. I couldn’t believe the place. It was all manicured lawns, curved, tree-lined streets, and perfect homes. Celebration has its own hospital, office buildings, and school. It was so very Disney, completely engineered and creepy. The office buildings were so clean and new that I thought they were unoccupied until I saw a woman standing out front. I figured she was smoking, but then realized that people in Celebration disappear in the middle of the night for infractions like that. She was talking on her cell. I’ll bet you $10 it had a Mickey faceplate.

Alina parked the crime scene van on the street in downtown, and we got out to take a closer look. She was instantly swarmed by old folks, who first wanted to know if a crime had occurred, and second, wanted to tell her how much they liked that show. She was surprisingly nice to them for someone who hears that about a hundred times a day. Oh, and I should mention that the old folks were all hanging out in rocking chairs by the edge of a fake lake. Yes, the town supplies its citizens with rocking chairs.

I was surprised at the number of cars around in Celebration. It’s one of those places where you expect everyone to ride a bike. But the streets were packed with parked vehicles, which indicates to me that the happiest homes in the country do not come with garages. There was a lot of alternate transportation as well, though. People were riding Segways all over the place. We even saw a guy with his legs cut off mid-thigh riding a modified Segway, towing another Segway behind him. Also, people drove funny electric golf carts. In place of pedestrian-crossing signs, they had vehicle-crossing signs showing a fat guy in a golf cart. In the downtown, you could pay $2 to ride the train, which Alina pointed out came complete with a big pile of fake plastic coal in the back. In case you’re there, you can catch it at the corner by Happy Face Face Painting.

(Holy crap, I just now noticed that the train was a modified golf cart, too.)

We stopped at Barnie’s Coffee. I was excited that they had cortaditos on the menu, and asked if they could make it sugar-free. They said yeah, but it was basically just a macchiato. I told them to call it a cortadito anyway. We joked with one of their employees about how weird Celebration was, and he agreed. Then he went on to tell us that he was going to crack one day and starting taking people out sniper-style. Because he was from Virginia. Um, right. We left.

Then I found something I think you should buy me: a Hello Kitty bike.

We walked around and peered at the post-Xmas craftsy junk for sale on sidewalk tables. Celebration has a bunch of crappy galleries, a gourmet grocery, a few restaurants, a movie theatre that appeared to only be playing Disney movies, and a post office, where we stopped to drop off my postcards. Near the post office, I finally had proof of what I had up til then only suspected: Celebration does, in fact, have a bad crowd. Look at ’em, the disrespectful punks.

On the way out of Celebration, we missed a turn and ended up on a road lined with houses under construction, which then abruptly dead-ended into a swamp. I’m assuming it was the Artisan Park that the billboard along 192 advertised as ‘the last great neighborhood in Celebration’ (the other ones have apparently been overrun by the aforementioned punks). We didn’t linger.

Our next stop was the only thing that could possibly top Celebration: the crime lab. Alina had promised me a tour. On the way there, she gave me an Orange County Sheriff’s Department t-shirt, which I’m wearing every day, as it will undoubtedly get me out of speeding tickets.

The crime lab was kind of amazing. If I watched more TV, I’d probably have a better sense of how high-tech crime scene investigation is nowadays, but I was blown away. As far as I could tell, there were about 500 different ways to find and retrieve fingerprints, and you had to know exactly what you were doing. Alina said that it was one of the most technologically advanced crime labs in the country, and I believed it. I’d describe everything I saw, but I’m sure I’d get it all wrong and just sound stupid. In the garage, I saw a car that was covered in dust for fingerprints. I saw the little closets where they hang gory clothes and such to dry out, and heard probably the most horrifying maggot-infestation story ever. I saw the refrigerator where until recently they had been storing a bucketful of hands. Alina seemed a little disappointed to not be able to show them to me. I was fine with that, really. Then she opened the freezer, which was also empty, and announced, ‘Wow, it smells bad in there!’ I clamped my hand over my nose and ran.

I saw a cubicle full of skulls. Not real ones, but one of the officers there had a bit of an obsession. I saw the ballistics expert and sketch artists’ offices, and a huge photo lab. The bathroom was unexpectedly homey, with a cute shower curtain and flowers on the wall. I think the thing that stuck with me the most was knowing how morbid and depressed I’d be if I had to deal with that stuff on a daily basis, and yet everyone I met from the sheriff’s department was so nice. It’s awesome.

Alina and I stopped to get coffee and talk while we waited for Heather and Alex to drive up and meet us for dinner. It was an internet reunion of sorts, since we met both of them on Email Roulette. We ate at a burrito place, and I laughed so hard my stomach hurt the next day. After dinner, Alina gave us a tour of the crime scene van. We stood in the parking lot outside the coffeeshop, with passers-by peering suspiciously at us as they drove past. Alex put a huge thumbprint on the van and demanded that Alina dust it. We cheered and jumped up and down like a bunch of kids while she did.

We said good night to Alina, and Alex drove us back to the resort, then drove a hundred miles an hour all the way home to Miami. Good thing he didn’t get pulled over, because he didn’t have a sheriff’s department tshirt like I did.

That night, I drove over to the Marketplace store down the road to get pop (you call it ‘soda’), which used to be a crappy old Winn-Dixie decorated with pagodas and Chinese dragons. I noticed a bunch of Chinese restaurants nearby, too, and didn’t realize until I saw the sign what the deal was: I was staying less than a mile away from the now-defunct Spendid China. I drove past it a couple times, looking to see if there was a way I could possibly sneak in and avoid detection. I decided to wait and try to convince an accomplice to go with me.