u s e y o u r h a n d s

I went to Simon’s last night to do some writing/imbibing while Phineas was drawing some naked guy. I love eavesdropping. It’s the best thing ever, even though (or perhaps because) I can’t hear that well. Not only am I being sneaky, most of the time if people speak so’s I can hear them, they’re being assinine.

A drunk gal was teetering atop her barstool and (I think) trying to pick up this guy next to her. When I came in, they were affecting a Scottish accent. In fact, they were trying to sound like Jimmy Doohan. Then this gal went on to tell that night’s mister that she works at Navy Pier. Doing what? She plays three different roles in a show called:

CAPTAIN NAUGHTY AND THE CASE OF THE MISSING CANDY!

Schnikes!

Oh! I got into some spiffy cords I bought two years ago as incentive pants, forgetting that my closet was chock-a-block with incentive clothes. But anyway, they fit and boy, my ass looks fine!

Eating: Cinnaraisin bagel; salad; water up the wazoo; tootsie-roll.

I get into Tootsie-Roll ruts. They taste like chocolate but aren’t fatty. When you take them out of their package and cardboard, they are slightly sheened with moisture, like a fat guy climbing stairs.

Reading: This letter I’m sending to people who I want to mentor me.

Musing: About how people got so stupid as to agree to work five days just to get two to themselves.

I was hummng along to a fun song (OKGO’s “Get Over It”) on the radio this morn on the Kennedy. Humming. Not singing. Humming. Humming? I was in my car, alone. So why not belt out the luscious tune?

Because I didn’t want to be dumb.

Whenever I could be doing something stupid or silly, lately I’ve instantly stopped myself. Not too long ago, I loved being the center of everyone’s attention. From scream-singing tunes at karaoke to dyeing my hair blue, I liked having people look at me and think I was eccentric. But somewhere along the line, that changed and I can’t stand to have people look at me, especially with disdain.

This makes me feel like I’m completely encased in plaster and can’t knock my way out of it. Actually, a better analogy is this: One remedy for killing a tick is to smother it in a blob of Vaseline. I feel like the tick. I’m a dying tick.

I want to do umpteen fun and goofy things, but so terribly don’t want to look at all like an asshole. We went to see Lynda Barry last night. She was nervous and to get over it, she sang. She said singing is the scariest thing ever, and she was already nervous, so why not? Wow. That was great.

It’s like I’ve been sitting in a really warm room, but what I really want to do is go outside. The cold will fucking sting for a minute, but then I know I’d get numb to it and carry on. So that’s what I should do, dammit.

Lynda Barry said if your internal naysayer voice was a guy in a bar, you’d know he was a jerk. My internal voice is an asshole! Not me! I’m high-quality raw material. I am new Play-Doh.

(BTW, did you ever make play-doh? We did. And I think, if you needed some low-rent ceramicy knickknacks, baking play-doh would do, in a pinch.)

What I’ve Eaten Today: nanner and cinnaraisin bagel. water. salad (with lots of chickpeas. kidneys do not fucking cut it.) WOW! chips, soda. But I’m hungry. Animal crackers call me. Their siren song, like the crackers themselves, is sweet.

We began Saturday with a furious packing-nagging-map printing session. Get your shoes, get your keys, let’s get get get! Our morning errands included picking up a sumptuous Swedish Bakery coffeecake lousy with toothsome fruit and cheese. Num! After we filled up Cleo’s hungry tank and tires, we remembered I left my driver’s license and proof of insurance in the house. Bah! Then, we were on the road, stretching before us like a road, a road leading only to MILWAUKEE.

After a cursory and obligatory period of being lost in Milwaukee’s downtown area, rife with children queuing up for Sesame Street on Ice, we made it to the Miller Brewery in time for the 11:30 tour. Before the tour, I visited the potty, and while it was clean, it was still disturbing because each stall is equipped with an ashtray. What was the dealio?

A large wall display told me all I needed to know. Miller’s owned by Philip-Morris! And before they owned Miller, WR Grace did. Wow. What else does Philip-Morris own? DiGiorno and Tombstone Pizza, Kraft, Velveeta, Capri-Sun, and more. A film before our tour informed us that Miller owns not only the fine Miller family of products, but also Mickey’s, Olde English, Milwukee’s Best, and Leinenkugel. Phineas and I like Leinenkugel! Feh! Feh!

After a very interesting and musty tour, we headed up from the Miller Caves, where beer used to be fermented and stored before refrigeration, to the Miller Inn for our three free samples. Another couple was seated with us. The male half of the couple either had a mouse poking from his ears, or a serious hair issue. Every question he posed to Mrs. Mouse sounded like this: “You want to do that, don’t you?” or “I thought that was great, didn’t you?” Well, at least he’s freeing her mind up for more noble pursuits, like trying to devise a system for ear-based cornrows.

A feedback form asked us about our tour and also about our knowledge of Miller responsibility programs. Apart from a little “Live Responsibly” tagline on everything, I wasn’t aware of any program. What’s more, nobody seemed concerned how us tourgoers were getting to our next destination after three beers. Huh.

But Milwaukee was nice. We had a super-yum Greek lunch at Apollo, strolled up and down Brady Streeet, peeked in a joke shop, and kept our eyes peeled for roaming mobs of murderous children. We finished our day in Milwaukee with a cup of tea at Rochambo, a hippie tea/coffeeshop/bar on Brady Street. My Milwaukee experience was not at all what I expected. I would definitely go back.

Leaving town, Phineas drifted off while I tried to find some local radio. This is becoming so difficult to do, except for isolated bits on the AM band. We have to much Clear Channel and not enough locally-produced programming. But, it seems that Milwaukee’s NPR station features local talent on a radio drama/cabaret hour called Hotel Milwaukee. Some of it was hokey, but some of the performers were great, and it’s taped in front of a live audience at a downtown eatery. I love radio. It can be produced cheaply and relatively quickly and makes an audience imagine.

I almost moved to Madison a few years ago. We took a spin around the capitol building and down State Street. Lots of great used book stores and fun eateries. A liquor store posts elaborately funny ads targeting their student population. Wine from Moldova! A line of shiny firetrucks paraded down State Street while we were at Noodles & Co. At the other end of the street danced a dirty bunch of hemp lovers at World Hemp Fest. You know, if pot will ever be legalized, the movement really needs more cleancut advocates. Nobody will listen to a whirling Phish-head.

We returned back to Phineas’ friend Lioness’ house to say goodbye and pet her many cats again and headed home. A potty/cheap gas stop at a truck stop held a special surprise. Cheese curds! I finally saw cheese curds! I’ve heard about them, but hadn’t ventured to a suitably backwater location yet. What are cheese curds? Besides icky.

We had a nice weekend, me and my special boy. And New York is next!
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