Forever in a day at Put-in-bay

We left behind crushed Cheese Nips in the carpet, a filthy ring around the tub, and several hundred dollars each. We took with us a weekend of fond memories of friendship and family to last a life time.

Put-in-bay, located a few miles off the north coast of Ohio in Lake Erie, is a summer resort that keeps the Mardi Gras spirit of French pirates alive all summer long. Every half hour the Jet Express and Millers ferry bring the fresh and full appetites of the young minded. People who have not had enough of loud music, cheep booze, and tight cloths on women in high school or college – my friends.

Here to continue the feudal times tradition of a knight crossing over to manhood, the bachelor and bachelorette arrive safely. After a barbeque dinner in front of the two condos we rented, the last of our party arrive to finish the last of the good beer. A short shuttle ride to the main street takes us to the first of several bars for the evening. First round of shots, singing “Oh Mickey” as loud as we can, we are ready to move on.

Live music at the Round House draws us in like the siren sounds of mermaids that ruined ships of Homer. Five dollar cover and expensive beer will not stand in the way of making it close to the stage of a packed room. There is little distance between us squeezing to a space by the bar. Some of the women from our crew are shanghaied by sailors while we get drinks. We hear a loud pirates “Yarr” only to turn and see they are gone.

We make our way to the Worlds Longest Bar at the end of the street with all the survivors. Cool breezes blow from over the lake as last call is announced. Lost members from the group find us a bit more relaxed under the flashing neon palm trees.

Saturday morning Jason and I are up early. We walk to town and rent the largest and fastest golf cart we can find. In minutes we are back at the condo ready to give rides. Two trips to town the crew is waiting for the Worlds Worst Service next to the Worlds Biggest Bar. After two hours we finally finish and split into two teams: those who have family obligations and those who tan. Not a part of either team I give tours of the island and explore in the speedy golf cart. Always a good neighbor, we pick up several hitchhikers and take them in to town from the Millers ferry.

Done with exploration the golf cart becomes a free shuttle for those intoxicated parents, liquored up children, and boozed up friends. The destination is the local winery. Two hours and fourteen wine bottles later the shuttle begins again. “Man down! We have a man down!” I quickly evacuate the groom to be and his future bride with a few close friends. “Watch your feet” is all they heard before the built up bile hit the ash fault. We had made it around the corner just in time – no witnesses.

Four trips between the winery and Frosts pizza later the entire party was now filling their belly’s with some of the greatest pizza Ohio has ever produced. “This is our song” I hear the sexiest of our female friends say as the Bon Jovi song begins. By the chorus “wanted dead or alive” reality bursts my ear drums as every single man, woman, and child sing the words out loud with great passion. It is not “our” song. It is “OUR” song.

The groom to be safe in his bed under the watchful eyes of his brother I return the cart and bring back pizza to the condo.

Reports from the night are sketchy in detail. At best I can tell that the sister in law of the brides maid did a better job beating the shit out of two drunks then any of the “men” I left to watch over for them. A few peeks at a few body parts happened by “mistake.” Several hundred dollars were spent on alcohol and everyone returned to the condos safely.

A quick nights rest, several trips to the dumpster with trash, and three vans full of passengers later we all said goodbye at the boat launch where we had met 48 hours earlier. We leave behind crushed Cheese Nips, tub scum, and most of our free cash for the month.

As a rule of thumb, the bachelor/ bachelorette party tends to reflect the way marriages go. For half of the awful bachelor events I have watched end with an ambulance driving off or hear the “one last fling” justification from a groomsman breaking his final vows, I have seen the early separations and devoices. Equally, for the great drunken fun fairs of innocent amusement, I have seen lasting love forged in friendship and family. With an afternoon of reflection on a side trip to Cleveland, I would have to say this weekend represented the later of the two. There should be nothing but happiness in their future.

Put In Bay Pictures

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More Put In Bay Pictures

Today is the greatest day I've ever known

Originally Posted April 18, 2005

I have switched fabric softeners. For years I have used Bounce. It's an orange box, smells good, clean, and fresh. But when I went to the store on Sunday before doing laundry, I noticed that Mr. Snuggles was half the price. I've been so thrifty lately saving for Las Vegas and a new car that it made sense.

When I got home, I noticed the new aroma floating through the apartment like a gentle breeze. After doing the wash, things seemed so much better. My favorite Sunday night television (The Simpson's and Arrested Development) seemed so much funnier, and it wasn't just the writing.

Today at work, I have actually been happy for the first time in months. I catch a whiff of something fresh in the air, and have to remember – "Hey, that's me smelling clean!"

When I was younger, my sister used to have nightmares about Mr.Snuggles. That the small and fuzzy Teddy Bear would crawl from the hamper, sneak up her bed, and make her wash cloths. But to hate a product for my sister's dreams, well that is just biased and wrong.

I know that this great feeling of happiness and joy is artificial and fake. A few weeks from now I'll be just a grumpy and surly as I once was. But for now, I am clean, fresh, breezy, and very happy. Forget calling me p2 or Psquared, I only answer to Mr. Snuggles.

The printer man can

Sadly, I must report that I have become “the printer guy” at work. In an unfortunate change in cubical assignments last January my location is right across from the printer room.

At first it wasn’t really a bother, all the noise and traffic of people going by because I am hardly around. But as of late, it has become a bane to my existence. You see, we have a new printer.

The old lease ended and they brought in a new brand and make. Of the five days it has been here, only two have shown operation. Things get jammed, the emergency malfunction 800 number pops up, people begin to curse and complain.

For those whose witty riffs are spoken as they sulk back to their desk, I have heard that same joke several times today. For those who stop to ask if I have called the repair number, oh yes, I have. Most amusing are those who try to fix it themselves (as if I had not already tried to check for paper jams and loose scraps.) They stand around for a minute, scratch their head or something worse, and slap the panels closed in frustration.

If this were my job, to take care of the printer, it would be fixed or out the door. But since I have no where near the expertise or directive to look over this machine, I can only take delight in the way others suffer. I only sit near the printer, proximity does not provide mandate.

How well do you know me? Really?

Originally Posted April 9, 2005

I was doing a little research on the internet about the side effects of prescription drugs after a great story from Ben over drinks the other night. The notion, to me, of some young punk breaking into his car, taking a prescription medication, that Ben himself stopped taking because of the awful side effects, then the young punk taking those same drugs and experiencing the same side effects is hilarious. Especially when the side effects might include incontinence, loss of taste, and impairment of memory.

This research took me to another area I had never been before, a female inmate pen-pal website. Like me, you may be surprised there are hundreds. There are women on these sites who I would be highly suspicious of. Some giving gang signs in their pictures they post,others obviously from a year book twenty years ago, and some with cropped out heads placed on better bodies. How does the saying go? "Spandex – a privilege not a right." What makes these home town hottie's go bad? What are they in for? Did a bad boy corrupt them? Too much pressure in high school from the "rich girls" and they began to steal? Mostly from the writers pleas for pen-pals I take it that it is drug related. Drug use that lead to other things.

While I do believe in second chances, I have to say clearly that if you are in a state institution, there is probably a good reason (or eight counts) for you being there – and it is not a secret undercover episode of 21 Jump Street where Johnny Deep is trying to bust up an inside ring to protect the innocent friend who was framed. There were some photos of women I could have easily dated over the years. I was half expecting to see a few former girl friends to popup in all honesty.

What kind of judge of character do I have? How well do I know people? And how well do they know me? There have been times even my closest of friends have done things, with my best interest at heart I am sure, where I have to think twice and say – does this person really know who I am, my likes, dislikes, and could they really see me with this person? Other times I have to ask if I really know myself, falling into the same traps that I have before once again? I have to say that living alone – I am one alibi away from the big house. If I did it or not, who could really say? I live alone. That's what marriage really is, right? An alibi? They may not know you well enough to predict what you would do under the most extreme situations, but they can vouch for you ninety percent of the time. Okay, maybe eighty percent. Fifty.

Well I am ready to find out. My new soul mate Yolanda tells me that she is innocent, and I believe her, she has an honest face. So I'll send the $1,500 to retain a lawyer for her new trial (she has a witness that will speak on her behalf now that Frankie – the head of the opposing gang in her neighborhood was shot and is in the hospital.) Then we can be together forever, once I move her and the two children here from Arkansas. I guess love is blind.

What? You thought you knew me better? That I would never do something like that? Funny, I saw it coming the whole time. Maybe you don't you know me that well after all.

Safe Festival Tips

When visiting a beer festival, there are some important rules to follow for your safety and the safety of those you love.

First, always have a drinking buddy. In this group, can you pair you the drinking partners that will look out for one another?

That’s right, Ben and Kyle, Kristi and Amy, Shaun and Mike.

A drinking buddy will let you have a fun time, but not make an ass in front of your significant other, ex-girlfriend, or potential girlfriend. Wear bright colors so they can find you in a crowd.

Second, never wear white and try to sneak across the river to avoid the $25 cover at the gate. The river is not that clean, your underwear is not that clean, and dirty-dirty boys with digital cameras will take pictures for the web.


Next, learn to pace yourself in consuming beverages. Double fisted drinking and dancing for extra drink tokens are two signs that you are well on your way to a fun evening.

Finally, be certain to remove all toilet paper from the toilet seat, your ass, and from your pants before leaving the port-a-potties.

Following these few tips could make the difference between a fun time, and social embarrassment.

Manchester Michigan - not Manchester England

My VW named “Dubbya” went to the dealership this last week. While I asked for a set of standard repairs there was one upgrade I did not expect. As Ben, Kristi and I drove to dinner the other night we learned that the time travel components from Old Doc Browns DeLorean were mistakenly placed into my car.
Entering the small town of Manchester, roughly fifteen minutes away from Ann Arbor, it was obvious that we had actually traveled 32 years to the past. We found a small town where the community was thriving and closely tied together with similar values. Good schools, affordable historic homes, friendly people – what more could you ask for? Chicken you say? Well they had that as well. 500 volunteers from the neighborhood build cinder block pits fueled by charcoal to broil 14,000 chicken parts, serve 14,000 rolls, and one ton of Cole slaw.

The vandals and gangs from the street had been replaced by Boy Scouts, Brownies, and the industrious lemon aid stands. Oompha beats and rhythms of polka played instead of the oversized bass from the trunks of tricked out Toyota’s. There was nothing “special” about the brownies but the wholesome taste. Rather then suspicious stares and dirty looks, the locals said words like “Sir,” “Please,” and “Thank-you.”

We were scared at first, but took comfort in the fact that we had each other if nothing else. Ben tried to fit in with the crowd by wearing the local uniform, but could not choose between white or yellow. Kristi made friends easily with the union labor serving drinks. After dinner we found ourselves walking around the town wondering if we could find a way home, would we ever want to leave this Valhalla?


On our way out of town the price of gas was our first sign that we returned to our own time. And while our visit to Manchester was magical, it reminds us that you can never go home again; but why would you need to? The annual Chicken Broil is still held today and just celebrated 52 years of community fundraising. It is the embodiment of the American sprit that can never be broken.

24 Hours (in Chicago)

Originally Posted March 9, 2005

There is a new system at work for booking travel. It is frustrating.

This week I was in Chicago. Because of my need to be in the office to complete things for spring it was to be a quick trip. Monday morning I flew in. By eleven in the morning I was set up, the exhibit opened at noon. That afternoon I had a late work lunch going over business with a local rep. That evening the two of us spent another two and a half hours at the booth for the reception. It was pretty typical stuff for a conference.

Monday was also my older brothers birthday. My father and his wife had come to Chicago for a few days and to take him to dinner. Recently my brother broke his knee during an ice skating incident with a six year old nick named Jakezilla. I told the three of them over drinks at a jazz club on the north side of a friend whom I will call "Jay" for story telling purposes. Jay, who just had surgery, couldn't get his girlfriend to pick him up from the hospital was too doped up to call one of us. Jay who had been wearing the same cloths for several days still had bandages, blood stains, and the brown patches of iodine several days later. We love Jay. There was no problem hanging out with the funk, we all knew what it was like. But finding out that his girlfriend was legally blind and was the one trying to clean him up really explained a lot about the smell, stains, cloths, and why he couldn't get her to pick him up. My brother, on the other hand, decided to recover in a tropical paradise only to return on Sunday. Big difference living in the Big City.

After drinks I went back to my brother's apartment where my sister and her life long friend (my childhood fiancé) were spending their spring break. She had called me several times that day from the IKEA outlet north of the city deciding on a new desk (a Frogen-lugen I think.) After Ikea they shopped at the mall in the shady suburb of Shomberg rather then the Gold Coast because "it was warmer in side… and they had all the stores we don't have in Michigan."

Tuesday was supposed to be quick and clean. Two hours at the booth, throw out the few extras, and run to the airport. With any luck I could be on the 4:20 back in time for Gillmore Girls, worst case I stay on the 6:00 and home to sleep in my own bed.

When I got to Midway, I was surprised to find that for the first time ever, I made a travel blunder. I was 24 hours early. That's right, I had checked out of my room and went the airport a day before I had planned. Above that, all of the flights to Detroit were sold out for the day. When I asked her to check again, hesitantly, she said we have a flight to Minneapolis, then from there to Detroit. As an optimist, I just saw the opportunity to get more frequent flyer miles.

While I cursed the new booking system - I got home to find it was all my own fault. It gave me time to think… but not to write or work as I was stuck in the back with no room to open the laptop on flights that are so short there is only a ten minute time frame to use electronic devices.

Travel allows time for deep reflection on the past, for better or worse. Often I think about the stupid things I have done. The topic this weeks story would have been from contemplations on Monday mornings flight to Chicago. Stories about what a bad Blockbuster Video Store manager I was, how I was that annoying kid who hung out at the Second City bothering Jeff Garlin and Mitch Rouse about my stupid ideas and stories. While I was a fool, it was only the foolishness of youth and inexperience. On the two flights home it gave me time to think about how fortunate a man I am to have the people in my life that I do - people who would pick me up from the hospital. I have some great friends. I love my siblings very much. I am grateful for this. What if I had stayed in Marquette? What if I stayed in Chicago? What if I had gone to State instead of Eastern? Where would I be if I didn't go to Student Government that one dayto get a job at the reception desk? I'll tell you where… in an unhappy place with out the people who are important to me. What could one flight missed do? Give you time to appreciate what you haven't missed. I guess the travel system isn't so bad.

Orlando Rose

Originally Posted May 16, 2005

A single rose rested on the hood of the 1997 Toyota. Placed there sometime the night before, it collected dew all morning long. It was a romantic gesture that accompanied a note under the windshieldwiper. I had done the same thing in 1992 to a foolish girl who had no direction. The results were not what I had intended. After dating for about six months, she wanted nothing more to do with me until a drunken dial after a party late that summer. (Once you get a taste of Paul's sweet loving, there is always a thirst for more.)

My car started on the first try as it has done on every attempt but one. A van met me at work with a few other people. We flew to Orlando and worked harder then any one other time during the year. Setting up the lighting, staging, workstations, and computers I drew on the experiences in theater and concerts where small teams could produce great results after several hours of labor. During the event my traditional tradeshow stance over ten hours daily and abundant ability to quickly connect with masses of people to make them happy, answer questions, and welcome them took over. After the six days of burning muscles, talking topics past any meaning, and the most sore heels in memory, we had to strike the event. Pack it all up, put it in cases, and send it away for another year. With a few bribes to truck drives and throwing boxes on to pallets we were finally done and flying back home to rest over the weekend, only to head back out the next week for another show.

Fourteen days later I park my car in the usual place and notice the Toyota across from me. The rose, now wilting and brown, still sits on the windshield with a note under the wiper blade. Has she walked everywhere? Is the car broken? Is she stuck in her apartment still waiting for a repair man to show? I am tempted to look. What does the note say? Is it an apology or a declaration of love? A joke? Maybe it's a reminder. If not for the desired party, but a reminderto me, that the heart wants what the heart wants. There is no deciding whom you are attracted to, or desire. Silly girls in 1992 don't decide that a rose will make anyone a better match for her. A flower on the hood of a Toyota, missed for two weeks will not makeup for any fight or argument, no matter how sweet the letter may be. It is in the heart from the first five minutes people meet, a sense of trust, of openness, caring, and forgiveness. You either have it there to build on, or it's not there at all.

Last weeks question: What are the Five powers you would choose if you could have any powers?

Kristi

1. Healing powers. I want to be impervious to disease and whatever my enemies throw at me, and I want to be able to heal others as well.

2. Invisibility. That would just be cool, especially if I continue to teach.

3. The ability to walk through walls at will, perhaps also floors. It just seems like it would be easier, and it would work well with invisibility.

4. I would like to be able to speak, understand, read, and write any language.

5. I want to be able to read and sway minds. It would make teaching alot easier.

6. I'd want Ben's wallet to have a purse companion for me. (Her husband Ben would like to have a wallet with special powers. His wallet would have exactly the amount of money he needed in it at all times. So if he wanted a hotdog, it would have $2. If he wanted a steak dinner, $30. I'd like a purse withthe same ability.)

Paul

1. Time Travel – yes technically, I travel through time every second I am alive, but go back and forth through time is what this power provides

2. Shape Shift - look and sound like another person

3. Clarity of Truth – knowing the truth of incidents or statements fromother people. So if the media sys one thing, I'll know the truth - When a woman says, it's me not you, I'll still know it's really me. This should prove me to be crazy with in a week.

4. Limited Immortality – I would look young forever, and have one certain way to die that only I knew how to carry out (just in case floating through space forty millenniums from now after the earth blows up, I really want to end it all)

5. Forgiveness – true, I do posses this power currently, however I find it limiting and I rarely use it


Ann

1. To be able to let insensitive comments not hurt me.

2. To be able to think before I speak. If that doesn't work, because well, most of the time it doesn't, I would like to have a rewind button so I can go back and correct what I said.

3. To be able to rearrange time. When I'm bored I can take some of that time and put it in with the time when I am busy.

4. To be able to sound like any singer I wanted.

5. To be able to stay healthy without eating well and exercising.

This weeks question: What are the five things you think people over look the most?

e.g. Television shows, books, acts of kindness, people, laws. Check back next Wednesday

The Good Fight

You can’t claim to be “Everywhere Man” and only stick to major cities. While the hot beats of urban lifestyles are tempting with a never ending series of activities and adventure on each street corner – I tend to stay on back roads looking for the America of Paul Simon and John Steinbeck.

Two close friends celebrated their birthday in Monroe over the weekend. Monroe is the home of General Custer as well as the River Raisin where the Toledo War took place (Michigan lost Toledo in a Congressional battle but gained the Upper Peninsula in the end, and only a pig was killed, no humans.) Monroe is about as American as you can get. People are friendly, have known each other since a tender age, and are all attractive.

All that said, the real news, I had a glimpse to the other side. A nameless attractive man was part of our group. There have been tails of his ability to pick a girl from a crowd and whisk her away to a bed in moments. My experience is opposite, of plotting and planning, small talk and charm only to be told that I am the nicest guy in the world (Which is fine.)

As the handsome man and I sat together swapping stories, he mumbled “green top at the bar” and turned away to the window. He was right, there was a woman looking at him from the bar in a green top. She was considerably older, not very well put together, and would be most likely to be a last call Lucy in my book. Bold and assertive moves, surprise, action, are all tactics Custer used to win in battle. But when she approached our table to start small talk with the handsome man, we made it apparent that it was uncomfortable and her use of these tactics would not prevail.

Sobriety is one of the best choices for me this night. I could see the complexity of the human struggle play itself out in a way I never would have seen before. She was alone, and looking for attention, fulfillment, kindness, the old pony baloney. Who hasn’t been there? It took courage to walk up to the table. More courage then I have had in some time. He is engaged, grown beyond these one night stands, is involved in a mature relationship, and tried at first to be polite. He has a super hot fiancé at home. She could have used the most extreme of Sally Jesse make over specials. In the end, she made her play for him only to be brushed off. I felt bad for her. I felt proud of her. I felt sad for her. Then I got over it and started talking to the other cuties that we came with.

There is no greater battle then that of the sexes. Sometimes a greater power decides the outcome for us like the Toledo War. Other times we have no hope of seeing victory like Custer. Most important is that we continue the good fight, and never surrender.

Look, the fun is over there!

Birthday in Monroe

Birthday in Monroe

Birthday in Monroe

Birthday in Monroe

Birthday in Monroe

Birthday in Monroe