Today is the 126th anniversary of James Garfield getting shot. In honor of that event, we give you the transcript of the stump speech from Garfield's historic "front porch campaign."
Gentlemen, welcome! Our Union stands today on the ramparts of a fortress built from our triumphs. And upon my lawn. Look, if you could just please stay inside the cordons, it would make Lucretia so happy. We just resodded, and you know how women are about these things. Thank you.
But even so, cordons, my fellow citizens, are not to be feared, or loathed, but embraced. For as we stare down from the mighty fortress into the Valley of Prosperity into which we must venture, the cordons of law and liberty delineate a path free from peril, a path unspoiled by discarded chicken wings.
I'm looking at you, gentle sir in the straw hat. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I was staring right at you when you dropped it. It's free food, the least you can do is move four feet to a garbage can. NOW! Yes, I'm going to wait.
Was that so hard?
But you see now the great struggle of this experiment, this self-government which we hold so dear. We must be eternally vigilant against the straw hats of this world, as we learned in the great conflict that so rent our nation's core and sweet Christ who took a dump in the rosebush? Do you think this is funny? There are like five
outhouses right there! My kids play on this lawn, I don't want to think that they're running around with you cads dangling your privates out in broad daylight. Heavens forfend!
You're not even listening. I have about 15 minutes here on civil service reform that we really need to get through here. The great machinery of democracy cannot function with the gear so clogged by insidious clients of patronage.
Screw this, can you even HEAR me over the brass band? Please go away! No one invited you here. Don't give them any money, I beg you. They play all hours of the night and we are sorely taxed. Lucretia cries when she hears a march anymore. She CRIES. Did someone drop another chicken wing? We aren't running Stop laughing!
To conclude, as I fire this shotgun into the air, I assure you it is loaded not with the rock salt of temerity, but in fact the shells of righteous indignation. Our nation will sail steadfast and true into the Harbor of Opportunity, but only after you bastards get off my lawn. I know where you live.
I attended a park party on Sunday. Here's what I learned:
1) If you are planning a water balloon sneak attack, do not hide the water balloon in your pants pocket. I did this, and someone who saw me do it slapped me in the thigh. It was a massacre. I was very upset for about 3/10 of a second, then I realized the brilliance of the attacker. After a certain point you just have to appreciate good craftsmanship. If I ever get shot in the heart by a sniper, I think my final thought will be, "Wow, nice shot." Either that, or "I wish I ate more pie." I guess you only know the truth when the moment arrives.
2) Kids are invincible. I think I'm in pretty good shape. I'm not Greek statuary, but I exercise. On Sunday, I played the game "Spud," and I may be crippled for the rest of my life. Spud involves lots of full speed running and sudden stops, plus trying to hit someone with a ball, and in that way it is basically the same as 53 different games that I played as a kid. But when I played as a kid, I did not have crippling leg pain the next day. Every single muscle in my legs has been on fire for a day and a half. Stretching solves the problem for about five minutes at a time. I'm considering peeing in a glass in my living room so I don't have to go up stairs to the bathroom. That's how much it hurts. How can kids recover from this stuff? I know my muscles were probably more elastic back then, but in all my years of running down kickballs, I don't remember tweaking a hamstring even once. If I had known that I was invincible at a younger age, I would have done more with my youth. Like join a gang.
3) Frisbee Golf is only as fun as you make it. For your final target, choose somebody's butt.
Cut It
I was out on the town yesterday with a 29-year-old who claimed never to have had ... yellow mustard.
Is this possible? Can you grow up in America and NEVER have yellow mustard by the time of your late 20s? Oysters, maybe. Asparagus, sure. But yellow mustard? This person also used to work in a deli.
I'm out and about the next week and a half -- I'll be driving 3,600 miles in 12 days.
Show business: all the rigors of long-haul trucking without the glamour of CB radios.
B-I-N-G-O
On Tuesday night I went to "Drag Bingo" as part of a friend's birthday celebration. It's bingo, but hosted by three drag queens. Duh.
I don't have any problem with the concept of a drag show. It's entertaining if it's done well and you aren't a homophobe. But this was the 2-hour equivalent of watching an open mic comedian who's convinced his racist abortion joke will work if he just keeps telling it over and over again. All three hosts went as dirty as possible, as soon as possible. They weren't particularly funny as much as they were profoundly disturbing. Here's the gist of it.
When exactly did drag queens become the clowns of the gay world? I don't know the exact psychology behind the phenomenon, but I have to imagine people acting out that flamboyantly four times out of five have been on the business end of some big-time abuse. Huzzah if you can find a creative outlet to deal with that abuse, but drag bingo was like "Caligula," only nastier and with high heels.
Next week: I review the local S&M Dart Tournament.
Stub Hub
Stub Club
Money for Nubbins
Nubbin' to Lose
I Got Plenty o' Nubbin'
Stubby K-Mart
Viva America
I had a very American Fourth:
1) I drove from the nation's capital to Pittsburgh. 2/3 a tank of gas -- GONE! USA!
2) I had burgers for lunch. Not boring old cow meat, mind you -- BUFFALO BURGERS. Nothing says America like eating a majestic animal.
3) I went to a game at the best baseball stadium in America -- Pittsburgh's PNC Park. The team stinks on ice, so they make up for it with great in-game presentation (scoreboard, announcing, music), great views, excellent promotional giveaways, and nice nods to team history. (The Pirates beat the Brewers 5-3, but it's the NL Central so I'm not sure it actually matters in real baseball standings.)
The only sour note was the crowd cheering to choose "Born in the USA" as the patriotic song of the day. No one actually listens to lyrics anymore. Last weekend, I saw a bride and her father dance to "Lady Marmalade" at a wedding reception. Open your ears, people.
4) I tailgated for 4 hours near the stadium and watched the Pittsburgh fireworks display. I rate it very good. Fireworks are hard to rate, though. You definitely know when they stink, but after a certain point they top out at "very good." In the cartoons of yesteryear, we were promised that tying someone to a Chinese rocket and firing them in the air would result in fireworks that produce a portrait of that person. Is anyone working toward making this a technological reality? If not, why not? Can we pull people off of cancer research and make this happen?
Day one of my "Highway to Hell" 2007 tour is complete ... Thursday takes me to Cincinnati, Ohio, for the longest stop of this journey. Then it's on to Chicago (Monday), Duluth (Tuesday), UP Michigan (Wednesday-Friday), Kentucky (Saturday), Atlanta (Sunday) and DC (Monday). BUCKLE UP.
Hot Diggety
The Coney Island hot dog belt is coming home ... an American finally wins with 66 eaten in 12 minutes, taking down Japanese champ Kobayashi, who had 63. The previous best for the event was only 53 1/2. Both men obliterated the record. This is a real McGwire/Sosa moment for the world of competitive eating. Let's drug test these guys right now so we can preserve the dignity of the sport. I don't want to look back five years from now and think, "Huh, both those guys were pretty skinny for competitive eaters," and then read about how they were extracting extra stomach acid then reinjecting it just before the event. When a 91-pound guy (who used to be 325 pounds) eats 73 hot dogs three years from now, I don't want to feel like the whole sport has been stained forever.
I stopped at Fort Ancient yesterday, because I've seen almost everything else in Cincinnati, and anything with a name like "Fort Ancient" probably looks like an Iron Maiden album cover, right?
It was therefore somewhat disappointing to discover that Fort Ancient a) had no giant flame cannons; and b) is a series of Hopewell Indian dirt mounds. It's a LOT of dirt mounds, but they're only about 6 feet high, and I was expecting 50-foot obsidian walls polished in a way as to reflect your attacker's greatest fears back at them.
The dirt was dug up through the use of clam-shell hoes and deer shoulder blades, not by silent men using the bloody skulls of their fallen enemies as scoops. The whole thing is only 1,400-2,000 years old, instead of standing athwart the eons, as old as man's will to fight. The inside of the fort is now a picnic area with a Dr. Pepper machine, not a 24/7 animatronic laserlight metal show on a constantly revolving stage.
There are some nice woodland trails, but for the $7 admission fee, I was really hoping to rediscover the primal essence of manhood, i.e. kill something with a broadsword.
Sigh.
The Ground Mound
The Fort Ancient on-site museum says it's not even a fort: the mounds have about 60 different openings, so they wouldn't have been much good for keeping people out. Also, unless your attackers are all in wheelchairs, they won't have much trouble with a six-foot dirt hill. Archaeologists now think the mounds might have religious significance, or maybe that the openings in the walls were aligned to various astronomical events (solstice sunrise, etc.).
The whole thing is perplexing -- the structure took centuries to finish and it involved moving dirt through the woods. I know they didn't have TV back then, but how bored would you have to be to get dragged into this project?
"Hey, we're making a giant calendar, do you want to help?"
Uh, don't we already know how to calculate the solstice? I mean, is this necessary?
"C'mon! It'll be fun! Grab a clam-shell hoe and join us in some backbreaking labor!
Shouldn't we be farming, or hunting, or developing an immunity to smallpox?
"It's not like you have any plans for the next 4 centuries!"
You got me! OK, I'm in!
I still say it was a fort. If there are no people around to say exactly what purpose the earthworks served, "crappy fort building" might be a good explanation as to why.
If you're redecorating your house anytime soon, check out Darin Overholser's site. He has something like 20 paintings hanging in the Go Bananas comedy club and they're all great.
See what I mean?
On Track
Watching hotel room HBO, it strikes me that about half of the movies from the 1980s have a soundtrack that you could recreate perfectly on a 20-key Casio with bongo pads. For example, "No Way Out" is a pretty decent thriller that sounds like a low-budget porno. What happened to the country from 1983 to 1988 to make this acceptable?
I'm guessing there was some sort of subliminal message hidden in "Diff'rent Strokes." Maybe the Nancy Reagan episode.
It's been a long while since the last CWC, but you have to understand: I was spending most of the spring kicking ass and taking names. I was just about finished, when I lost the list of names. So I had to start over. It took a while.
The topic this time is "Body Odors," suggested by Mumi Hemrajani, who has made some very fruitful suggestions in the past (body hair, body piercings). The clip is about 7 minutes long, so enjoy as much as you like -- the last two minutes is one long and totally true story.
Two years later, I made it back to the big city. And this time, no snow on the ground. I'm happy to report that it's 64 degrees and beautiful on the shore of Lake Superior.
Sadly, there is no Lake Inferior.
It's hard to overstate how pretty this part of the country is for the 3 1/2 weeks that they call summer. Wisconsin's countryside right now is basically Ireland with more trees and fewer Irish people -- what's not to like? Just remember to drive on the right.
One thing that was disturbing: I stopped at a convenience store called the "Kum and Go." On that point, advantage Ireland.
Redlegs Dawn
There's some seriously important stuff to mention from the last few days. On Sunday, I got out to see the Reds and Diamondbacks close out the first half of the Major League Schedule. The game is irrelevant. What is important: I saw Mr. Redlegs.
Mr. Redlegs is the world's greatest mascot, because Mr. Redlegs is a man with a baseball for a head. Now, at this point you are definitely thinking, "Mr. Met has a baseball for a head, and he, much like the entire Mets organization and all of its fans, sucks." And you are 100 percent right. But what you're not understanding here is that Mr. Redlegs has a baseball for a head, AND a handlebar moustache.
The Reds organization has sadly introduced a second "modern" mascot named Gapper, to appeal to the kiddies. Much like the Cleveland Indians' Slider, Gapper looks like a pile of moldy vomit with arms. There is also a 'stacheless "Mr. Red."
But Mr. Redlegs lives on, not just in our hearts, but also on the concourse of the Great American Ballpark. In addition to getting his autograph, you can challenge him to bare-knuckle boxing, and if you win, you get to pitch the 8th inning for the Reds.
Be warned, it's tough to knockout a baseball.
Is it Art?
Welcome to "Is it Art?", a new feature in which I tell you if something is art. This will save you a lot of boring dinner party conversation. You're going to thank me.
The Venue: Contemporary Arts Center, Cincinnati
The Creator: Tony Matelli
The Work: "Fuck'd," one exceedingly realistic statue of a chimp, wearing an American Express shirt and a forlorn expression. It is missing one leg, which you can find about 20 feet away on the gallery floor. The monkey is pierced by two swords, two shovels, a pickaxe, and various other tools and utensils. A machete is lodged in its skull. It seems to be limping forward. "Ancient Echo," another chimp statue, this one wearing a Macintosh "Think Different" T-shirt, leaning against a wall and barfing. Fake vomit is on the wall and floor.
Possible themes: Evolution, nature under assault, the dangers of technology, the inescapable primal nature of man.
Is it art?: Despite the maddening vagueness and banality of the possible themes, both statues feature realistic chimpanzees in T-shirts, and therefore they are art. Hilarious art. Better art than any of that crap Picasso cranked out in his last 15 years. Somebody give this guy a MacArthur Grant.
True Brew, Baby I Love You
There comes a time in every young boy's life where he must ask, "Where do fruity girl beers come from?" and "Why do I like them so much?" The answers: Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, and because real men aren't threatened by their love of alcoholic candy.
I stopped at the Leinenkugel brewery on Tuesday afternoon to break up my drive from Chicago to Duluth; it was a choice between the brewery and the National Freshwater Fishing Hall of Fame. It was an agonizing decision, except for the facts that a) I hate fishing and b) the brewery gives away free booze samples. The tour is neat -- the brewery has been around since 1867 in the same location. It was founded by a fat German immigrant whose whole family was in the beer industry (and still is five generations later). They have aging tanks so big that you'd you'd have to have four beers a day for 75 years to empty one. How do they make the flavoring for Sunset Wheat, the lemonade-flavored Summer Shandy, BerryWeiss, and HoneyWeiss? By torturing magical pixies. They waterboard them with vats of regular Leinenkugel until it takes on their flavor. I saw it with my own eyes.
The highlight of the day, however, was realizing that I am turning into my dad. I remember going on tours with my family and being embarrassed when dad would ask questions that "slowed down" the group. I am now that guy. I try to stand near tour guides and I ask questions constantly, to the point where the rest of the group seems to resent my presence. It annoys me that other people don't ask more questions. It makes me happy if I prolong a tour so much that the next scheduled tour catches up. There wasn't even an admission fee for the Leinenkugel tour and I wanted to get my money's worth.
Two years later, I made it back to the big city. And this time, no snow on the ground. I'm happy to report that it's 64 degrees and beautiful on the shore of Lake Superior.
Sadly, there is no Lake Inferior.
It's hard to overstate how pretty this part of the country is for the 3 1/2 weeks that they call summer. Wisconsin's countryside right now is basically Ireland with more trees and fewer Irish people -- what's not to like? Just remember to drive on the right.
One thing that was disturbing: I stopped at a convenience store called the "Kum and Go." On that point, advantage Ireland.
Redlegs Dawn
There's some seriously important stuff to mention from the last few days. On Sunday, I got out to see the Reds and Diamondbacks close out the first half of the Major League Schedule. The game is irrelevant. What is important: I saw Mr. Redlegs.
Mr. Redlegs is the world's greatest mascot, because Mr. Redlegs is a man with a baseball for a head. Now, at this point you are definitely thinking, "Mr. Met has a baseball for a head, and he, much like the entire Mets organization and all of its fans, sucks." And you are 100 percent right. But what you're not understanding here is that Mr. Redlegs has a baseball for a head, AND a handlebar moustache.
The Reds organization has sadly introduced a second "modern" mascot named Gapper, to appeal to the kiddies. Much like the Cleveland Indians' Slider, Gapper looks like a pile of moldy vomit with arms. There is also a 'stacheless "Mr. Red."
But Mr. Redlegs lives on, not just in our hearts, but also on the concourse of the Great American Ballpark. In addition to getting his autograph, you can challenge him to bare-knuckle boxing, and if you win, you get to pitch the 8th inning for the Reds.
Be warned, it's tough to knockout a baseball.
Is it Art?
Welcome to "Is it Art?", a new feature in which I tell you if something is art. This will save you a lot of boring dinner party conversation. You're going to thank me.
The Venue: Contemporary Arts Center, Cincinnati
The Creator: Tony Matelli
The Work: "Fuck'd," one exceedingly realistic statue of a chimp, wearing an American Express shirt and a forlorn expression. It is missing one leg, which you can find about 20 feet away on the gallery floor. The monkey is pierced by two swords, two shovels, a pickaxe, and various other tools and utensils. A machete is lodged in its skull. It seems to be limping forward. "Ancient Echo," another chimp statue, this one wearing a Macintosh "Think Different" T-shirt, leaning against a wall and barfing. Fake vomit is on the wall and floor.
Possible themes: Evolution, nature under assault, the dangers of technology, the inescapable primal nature of man.
Is it art?: Despite the maddening vagueness and banality of the possible themes, both statues feature realistic chimpanzees in T-shirts, and therefore they are art. Hilarious art. Better art than any of that crap Picasso cranked out in his last 15 years. Somebody give this guy a MacArthur Grant.
True Brew, Baby I Love You
There comes a time in every young boy's life where he must ask, "Where do fruity girl beers come from?" and "Why do I like them so much?" The answers: Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, and because real men aren't threatened by their love of alcoholic candy.
I stopped at the Leinenkugel brewery on Tuesday afternoon to break up my drive from Chicago to Duluth; it was a choice between the brewery and the National Freshwater Fishing Hall of Fame. It was an agonizing decision, except for the facts that a) I hate fishing and b) the brewery gives away free booze samples. The tour is neat -- the brewery has been around since 1867 in the same location. It was founded by a fat German immigrant whose whole family was in the beer industry (and still is five generations later). They have aging tanks so big that you'd you'd have to have four beers a day for 75 years to empty one. How do they make the flavoring for Sunset Wheat, the lemonade-flavored Summer Shandy, BerryWeiss, and HoneyWeiss? By torturing magical pixies. They waterboard them with vats of regular Leinenkugel until it takes on their flavor. I saw it with my own eyes.
The highlight of the day, however, was realizing that I am turning into my dad. I remember going on tours with my family and being embarrassed when dad would ask questions that "slowed down" the group. I am now that guy. I try to stand near tour guides and I ask questions constantly, to the point where the rest of the group seems to resent my presence. It annoys me that other people don't ask more questions. It makes me happy if I prolong a tour so much that the next scheduled tour catches up. There wasn't even an admission fee for the Leinenkugel tour and I wanted to get my money's worth.
People are at their most inspiring when they enjoy what they do. It's not a matter of greatness -- even everyday activities can be remarkable when performed with a certain elan. We're drawn to enjoyment.
Lakenland, on MI-28 just east of Marquette, falls somewhere between extraoridnary and everyday. It is definitely inspiring. I drove past it Wednesday afternoon with no warning: there were no signs, it wasn't on any of my maps, I hadn't stumbled across it online. I was just cruising along the Lake Superior coastline at 60 mph when I saw a large metal dinosaur lying on its back about 60 feet off the road. After a minute, I decided to turn around and figure out what the hell I had just seen.
It's a sculpture park -- one owned and operated by an artist who claims never to have seen a sculpture park. Tom Lakeland makes things from junkyard scraps, and starting in 2003 he started displaying his art by the roadside. The collection now includes about 60 works, arranged in a simple loop that can be walked or driven. The road is dirt and it's roughly cut out of the forest. It's free, and it's open 24/7.
The art itself is bizarre -- there are quasi-populist installations (a giant "Enron" pig pooping on the common man) mixed with a lot of weird anthropomorphic wolf people (Tex Avery without the zoot suits). Abstract geometric patterns are a stone's throw from a gigantic marlin. There's an alligator made out of rebar. Some things look like they'd be better off on the lawn of a trailer park, but then again, if they found all this stuff in a storage locker after he died, someone would call him a folk artist and people would get their Ph.D.s debating the existential meaning of "Sheet Metal Lumberjack Np. 2."
Forget the aesthetics, though. What makes Lakenland worthwhile is that it exists at all: a man has dropped a sculpture park in a remote corner of the United States, not for money or fame, but because he enjoys making sculpture. He's probably crazy (almost definitely, judging from the skeleton on the throne), but like I said before, he's inspiring.
Cool.
Humperdink? I hardly know her
I would like to state, for the record, that the comedy show on Wednesday night had to follow an Engelbert Humperdink concert.. The casino I'm at on Thursday is having Kiss in a few weeks. Another casino has Scorpions at the end of the month.
U.P. Michigan: where good times go on summer vacation.
If you're sick of the laws of physics keeping you down, you might want to check out the Mystery Spot in St. Ignace. Things happen there so bizarre, so unexplainable, that there is no other place like it on Earth.
Water runs uphill! Gravity leans to one side! Democrats vote Republican! Dogs and cats lie together as man and wife! $7 disappears from your wallet!
I will not ruin the mysteries for you, but if anyone wants to go halfsies, I'm pretty sure we could make our own totally unique glitch in the universe with about $5,000 in lumber and a small hill. It's a license to print money, and souvenir T-shirts which can be sold for more money.
Chasin' Waterfalls
The last time I saw Tahquamenon Falls there was snow on the ground, the river was frozen and all the trails were shut down. I went back today for the summer experience. Regardless of season: 1) the water is yellowish; 2) the water is kind of foamy. It has something to do with the tannin the river absorbs from nearby swamps. The effect is a gigantic waterfall of light beer, and the illusion is helped by the World's Largest Bowl of Pretzels nearby.
Mmmm.
While I was there I gave trail running a try. I have worn trail running shoes every day for the last five years, because I am cheap: they look like sneakers and they last about five times as long 'cuz they're made from harder rubber. And do the ladies like them? You know they do.
This was the first time I ever actually ran through a forest, though -- four miles downriver followed by a walk back upriver. I was hoping for something like the end of "The Last of the Mohicans." Mostly, you just get strange looks from people walking the trail with their dogs.
Maybe the assless chaps were a bad idea.
Georgia
Tomorrow morning I start heading for Georgia and Comedy Central's "open mic fight." Wish me luck!
5 a.m. -- woke up in Manistique, on the shore of Lake Michigan in the U.P.; more specifically, in an Econo Lodge on the shore of Lake Michigan. It was dark, raining buckets, and about 50 degrees. I packed my car and was driving east by 5:10.
Why? Because my Jetta started losing coolant last Wednesday. I don't know why. It might be part of Germany's secret revenge for World War II. It also might be a bad water pump. I'll let you know when I get a definitive answer.
My usual car maintenance trick of ignoring the problem didn't seem to be working, so I needed some new coolant for a temporary fix. The Jetta maintenance manual clearly indicates that if you use anything other than the very expensive coolant (now with Retsyn) they sell at the dealer, your car will burst into flames instantly, a thousand orphans will go hungry for a month and the streets will run red with the blood of the innocent. You know how crotchety people always say, "That's how they get you"? Well, this is how Volkswagen gets you. If you get your car repaired or maintenanced anywhere other than a VW dealer, it actually breaks one of the Seven Seals. Hitler, thankful for all of VW's help with tank building, drew on the power of the Spear of Destiny to summon the Devil and broker this arrangement on VW's behalf.
Anyhow, on Friday night I found a VW dealer on the Internet in Bay City, Michigan (east coast of the lower peninsula) that appeared from the Web to have Saturday hours. I left at 5:15 to get there around 9:30.
6:45ish a.m. -- after passing the Mystery Spot again and shedding a tear for my lost $7, I got on the Mackinac Bridge. It is very big, and 50 years old. I hear it's going to be on an episode of "Dirty Jobs." That Mike Rowe is sooooo dreamy.
7:30 a.m. -- my windshield wipers stop mid-wipe, during a driving rainstorm. I just replaced them, and they have done this about 5 times in the last two weeks (they usually restart after about 10 seconds). My current plan is to ignore the problem and see if it goes away. It's probably my own damn fault for not using VW-approved wiper blades ($350 each).
9:45 a.m. -- I reach the Bay City car dealer.
9:46 a.m. -- I read the door of the dealer to discover that they do not, in fact, have parts or service hours on Saturday. And why would they? Who in their right mind would want to run time-consuming errands on one of the two days a week they actually have time? Chumps, that's who. Chumps who trust the Internet. From now on, the only site I trust is Wikipedia.
9:50 a.m. -- I explain my situation to the guy opening the sales department: I am going to Atlanta, and all I need is a bottle of VW coolant, not actual work done on my car. If I don't get it soon my engine will start to suffer serious damage. I am informed that the coolant is "all locked up" and he "can't even get to it." He then suggests that I put some store-bought non-VW stuff in the car, in flagrant violation of the maintenance manual. After resisting the urge to make him eat the maintenance manual, I drive one block down to an auto parts store, where the clerk indicates that using non-VW coolant would be akin to Indy crossing the seal in "Last Crusade."
9:55 a.m. -- I steal the VW dealer's wireless Internet to locate another VW dealer in Fort Wayne, Indiana (on my route). It's 228 miles away, but on Saturdays their service department closes at 2, and I'm not sure how much coolant I have left in my car. I start driving right away.
10:15ish a.m. -- a new plan forms. I use my cell phone to call home, and my dad picks up the phone. I ask him to use his high-speed Internet connection to search for any other VW dealers that might be along my route -- as I drive the route. Clever, huh? What followed was like the world's worst episode of "24," with my dad at com and me as the field agent. Imagine Jack calling in to demand the schematics of something, and then Chloe spending 20 minutes calling VW.com a piece of s*** while Jack stays on the line. That would be it exactly.
I credit my dad for sticking with it after the early going -- he researched if there were actually acceptable substitute coolants and locations where I could buy them. By coming up with viable alternative solutions to a problem, my dad actually did much, much better than the average CTU worker.
10:45 a.m. -- a call to a VW dealer in Lansing (with no Saturday service hours) gets the same response at the guy from Bay City: just put in anything! I am beginning to wonder if the people who SELL Volkswagens actually know anything at all about Volkswagens. Maybe they do know, and they are trying to get people to ruin their cars, which then must be repaired by the service department. Hmm ...
1:00 p.m. -- to be safe, I pull over to a rest area and pour some spring water in my coolant tank. My care doesn't drink tap water. It's European.
1:35 p.m. -- I roll into the Fort Wayne VW dealer and purchase the coolant within 5 minutes. There is no background check, no lecture on the dangers of the coolant. No one has to retrieve the bottle from a stasis chamber while wearing a level 5 HAZMAT suit. So why couldn't the guy in Bay City have any access to it? Sigh.
1:50 p.m. -- feeling relieved and ready to celebrate, I remember that Fort Wayne has an Abraham Lincoln museum. I'm not sure why they have one, but they do. As it turns out, I'll probably never know, because the signs pointing to the museum somehow turned me around and led me back to I-69. In general, a good policy for living is to avoid Fort Wayne. Plus I was on my way to Elizabethtown, Ky., to see the Lincoln birthplace Sunday morning. You don't want to over-Lincoln a weekend, right?
2:30 p.m. -- I still had the itch to party, though, so I got off I-69 when I saw the sign for the U.S. Vice Presidents Museum. I had lunch at Subway (my first food of the day) and then it was on to the learning ... Guess what? It's also the Dan Quayle museum. It's in Hamilton, Indiana, which is Quayle's hometown. The museum is a converted Christian Science Reading Room -- the bottom floor has profiles on all the veeps and the top floor is just Quayle stuff. More on this next week.
4ish p.m. -- back on the highway! I cleared Indianapolis and then headed for Louisville, thinking I'd stop at a hotel about 30 miles past Louisville. As it turns out, I drove through Louisville at around ...
7:45 p.m. -- from I-65, you can see the Reds minor league stadium in downtown Louisville. It's a really nice looking park, and they were playing a game, so I got off the highway, found street parking and walked in on the fifth inning of the Louisville Bats vs. the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre Yankees. More on this next week as well, but here's a sneak preview: the world's shortest umpire. Also, a mascot that is a plastic bag. Also also, a foul ball into a baby carriage. You're intrigued, aren't you?
9:30 p.m. -- back to the highway, all the way to Elizabethtown and the Motel 6 where I'm writing this journal. I keep telling myself I'm better than Motel 6, but you know what? It's healthy to stay here. You know the scene in "Gone With the Wind" where she vows never to go hungry again? Every time you stay in a Motel 6, you have one of those moments. It keeps you motivated.
I drove 800 miles today, from U.P. Michigan to Kentucky. I saw two VW dealerships, the country's only vice presidential museum, and a minor league baseball game. I have to say it's a fun life at times.
I didn't win my prelim for Comedy Central's Open Mic Fights. I didn't even place. When it comes to comedy, I think I am like Kevin Costner at the end of "Tin Cup." I'm going to keep on trying the same shot again and again until I am down to my last ball, and then I will sink it and Rene Russo will marry me. If that doesn't happen, I'm going to take the "Comedy Kumite" concept and start my own nationwide contest, kind of like those dudes in the IFL. And Rene Russo, impressed by my initiative, will marry me.
One of these days being original, polite and clean is going to pay off. Mark my words. 350 Myspace friends can't be wrong.
To Recap
Here's my last week and a half.
July 4: D.C. to Pittsburgh (4 hours), Pirates/Brewers game, tailgate to watch city fireworks
July 5: Pittsburgh to Cincinnati (4.5 hours), stopped at Fort Ancient indian mounds, one show
July 6: Tagged along to watch headliner perform at Reds pregame, two shows
July 7: Contemporary Arts Center, two shows
July 8: Reds/Diamondbacks game, one show
July 9: Cincy to Chicago (5 hours), visit with former D.C. roommate
July 10: Chicago to Duluth (8 hours), en route stopped at Leinenkugel brewery in Chippewa Falls, WI, one show
July 11: Duluth to St. Ignace, Michigan (9 hours), en route stopped at Agate Falls, Lakenland sculpture park, scenic beaches. One show
July 12: St. Ignace to Sault Ste. Marie (1 hour), en route stopped at the Mystery Spot. Also jogged along Lake Huron. One show
July 13: Sault Ste. Marie to Manistique (3 hours), stopping at Tahquemenon Falls park for 8 mile hike. One show
July 14: Manistique to Elizabethtown (12 hours), stopping at the Vice Presidential museum, Louisville minor league game.
July 15: Lincoln's birthplace, driving to Atlanta, losing Open Mic Fights
I'd say I've earned a week off, but I don't think my life qualifies as work.
I gots me a crapload of film developed! That's right, I'm the one guy in America without a digital camera. That's me in the corner of parties complaining to anyone who will listen about how film is a more versatile medium. Not that I'd know what to do with it.
And for the rest of the week we'll do a phased roll-out of some pics from my recent trip. First, el beisbol ...
Jacobs Field, Cleveland
It's not always so bad to be up top ...
PNC Park, Pittsburgh
From the 4th of July. The best view in the majors.
Buddy the Bat, Louisville
This is hard to describe even with a picture ... Buddy is the mascot for the Reds AAA team. At first, I was appalled. The guy walking on top of the dugout appeared to be wearing a multicolored garbage bag. His arms aren't functional so they just stay at his side like Molly Shannon in "Seinfeld." But once he gets going, Buddy can DEFLATE HIS HEAD. He actually pulls it inside his torso. He can collapse his legs into his torso as well. Best of all, Buddy can lay down and the person in the costume can reverse their position, so that it looks like buddy is jumping on his head. Freaky stuff.
I call this one "separation of church and state." Deep, huh?
"Look Patriotic"
I don't like standard photographs of people, so I usually give instructions. This time I told my brother to "look patriotic" in honor of the Fourth of July. From the photo, you'd never know that he spent 10 years living on an anarchist commune.
Fort Ancient, Ohio
The only things to photograph were flowers or small dirt mounds. I took flowers.
With sound of good health and on behalf of the entire family of late
Professor William Buckland, a british fossil hunter {Paleontologist}. The
family want to host a "Re-union" for the purpose of introducing Children,
Grandchildren, Great-grandchildren, Aunties, Brothers, Sisters. Nephews and
Niece to each-other. Looking through your profile on the internet, am sure
you're capable and competent enough to display at our occassion. The family
are widely spread across the ocean and a specified date and venue had been
fixed for the Occassion. Your service is needed on the occassion. Could you
be kind enough to give me an appraisal of your service ahead of time? The
Occasion will last for just 10hrs in which you'll put all the family to
Laugh for 45-50minutes. Means you'll Perform for just 45-50minutes at the
middle of the Occassion.
Reunion Venue: Late Professor Buckland's House Located at Simons Drive, New
Orleans Louisiana. USA.
Family Reunion Date: 4th of August 2007
Get back to me with the Quote and prices. I'll be responsible for your flight
if necessary.
Prof William Buckland Jr
Organizer For The Family.
Griffin close
Burnley.
Lancashire
United Kingdom
BB11 5SG.
Phone:+447024017688 or +2348027171717
Email:Contact.agentmodel@yahoo.com
What makes this super impressive is that William Buckland is the first man to identify and name a dinosaur, and he died in 1856. William Buckland Jr. would be about 180 years old, so there is no way to explain this message, unless the Bucklands developed time travel. And why not? What self-respecting Oxford paleontologist wouldn't make a time machine, in the name of science? Clearly they have determined that the best location in all of space-time for a family reunion is 2007 New Orleans, in August.
I am the comedian of choice of time-traveling 19th century British scientists! Suck on that, anyone who ever doubted me.
Now, time to forward my bank account info so they can pay me. Later, SUCKAZ!
Movie Review: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
This is my review for the fifth, sixth and seventh movies:
Who are all those people? I don't understand what's going on. Wait, why didn't they just sit Harry down and explain all the history with his parents ahead of time? Wouldn't that 30 minute conversation have saved everyone a lot of trouble?
I missed something. The evil plot here doesn't make too much sense. What Harry's doing doesn't make too much sense. Can't there be more Ron in this movie? Ron is the man.
Movie Review: Once
This is a pretty cool flick. A brokenhearted vacuum repairman/street musician in Dublin meets a brokenhearted Czech cleaning lady/pianist, and they help eachother move forward in life. Which isn't to say it's a straight-up romance, because it ain't. It was actually neat enough to make me tolerate a good hour of folk or folk-like music, and that is saying a ton.
In general, I am very much in favor of movies in which the lead character is a redheaded artist who had a long-term girlfriend cheat on him, and things work out pretty well for that guy. Let's see more of those.
Actual Roadside Historical Markers of Upper Peninsula Michigan All Presumably Written by the Same Guy
Old Presque Isle Lighthouse
This lighthouse, built in 1870 by Orlando M. Poe, is one of three Great Lakes towers built from the same plans. It replaced the smaller 1840 harbor light. The conical brick tower rises 113 feet from a limestone foundation. The Third Order Fresnel lens was made by Henri LePaute of Paris, which must be fascinating to the roadside tourist with extensive knowledge of the 19th century French optics industry. Patrick Garrity, the keeper of the harbor light, lit the lamp for the first time for the opening of the 1871 navigation season. Garrity served here until 1885, when he presumably died of boredom, as I have nearly died of such merely researching his life.
World's Largest Limestone Quarry
Limestone is a mineral raw material essential in making steel, chemicals, and cement. Henry H. Hindshaw, a geologist, established in 1908-09 the commercial value of this area's limestone for industry. The high purity of this deposit and the availability of water transportation led to the development here of a port and quarry. Both are named Calcite, after the principal ingredient of the stone. And while this is all very interesting, it does not explain why you stopped the car to make your kids look at a hole in the ground. Are you that shut down from regular family relations? These are the sorts of memories that turn them against you in the teen years, you know.
Fort Wilkins
As soon as miners began to enter the Copper Country, appeals were made to the army for protection from resentful Indians. Guess how that turned out? Do the world a favor and alleviate some of your white guilt by visiting one of the many tribal casinos up here. Every little bit helps.
The Metz Fire
On October 15, 1908, I can't stand my wife. I can't live this lie any more. Who reads these? Who? This is not what I wanted to do with a master's degree in history. Burn. Burn it all. Burn burn burn.
Legal Stuff: If you have questions about this Web site, why? You should spend your time questioning the moral nature of any god who would let Chris White exist. But anyhow ... copyright 2009, Chris White Sucks Inc.
The art itself is bizarre -- there are quasi-populist installations (a giant "Enron" pig pooping on the common man) mixed with a lot of weird anthropomorphic wolf people (Tex Avery without the zoot suits). Abstract geometric patterns are a stone's throw from a gigantic marlin. There's an alligator made out of rebar. Some things look like they'd be better off on the lawn of a trailer park, but then again, if they found all this stuff in a storage locker after he died, someone would call him a folk artist and people would get their Ph.D.s debating the existential meaning of "Sheet Metal Lumberjack Np. 2."
August 2009: Jefferson.
Fall 2009: comic interviews on the podcast. 
