The $160 Million Question

First of all, a disclaimer: I am hardly a bastion of fiscal restraint. Spare dollars spill from my pockets like bold-roast from the nozzle of a Bunn machine; the irony being, of course, that many of my spare dollars are poured into my coffee-drinking habit. And I also want a MacBook. One of those shiny new aluminum ones that if they were any smaller… sleeker… thinner… they would probably be considered a concealed weapon by the Department of Homeland Security. I want one so badly, in fact, I almost told myself that I wasn’t going to write this bloggie-post until I was typing it in Pages, in my new iWork ’09 suite, on the crisp, back-lit keyboard of the aforementioned shiny Apple thing. I went so far as to imagine myself withholding any further creative contribution to the bloggie-thing lest I was given a small, user-financed stipend with which to purchase a MacBook, in return for more bloggie-posts from yours truly. (And, by default, more chances for me to look way-cool sitting in coffee shops tapping away on my aluminum slate, that Glowing Apple Symbol exuding my Ultimate Hipness as I sip away my last simoleons… sigh…)

But I digress. My frumpy blue Dell will do. Why? Because I don’t need a MacBook. And I can’t afford one, anyway, because the economy is in tough shape. And because the economy is in tough shape, my place of employment could no longer offer me enough hours to stay financially afloat in my current position. I’ve stepped down to a lower position for more hours, but less pay, and also because keeping that position would have cost my coworkers precious hours that they needed, too. You may have heard me mentioned in Barack Obama’s inaugural address today. He knows what position I’m in.

So why the hell did he shell out $160 million of taxpayer funds to throw himself a housewarming party?

Naturally, I was a bit shocked to hear this number. But the knowledge came to me not from hearing it verbatim, but hearing about people who were angry about hearing about that figure, which I shall heretofore refer to as The Number. Someone had written an angry-sounding status post on Facebook which, some sources say, is a Very Effing Accurate indication of when something truly touches a nerve. And another someone was overheard to be angry about it, too. Another, and then another. Pretty soon, my Millennial Generational truth-seeking instincts kicked in, and as Lyra worked the intricacies of the alethiometer in The Golden Compass, so I worked my keyboard and GOOGLED IT.

My top hits included a veritable crapsmear of conservative bloggie-things, raging at the ridiculousness of it all: “160 million dollars?! Dubya spent a paltry 42 MILLION! And Clinton before him, 33 MILLION! That double-talking scoundrel Obama!” etc. etc. Somewhere in the middle of the second page of hits was an ABC News release, channeling a guy named Some Sources Say, repeating something Mr. Say had pulled off the AP wire. Frick, I thought, it’s true! I’ve been heedlessly supporting a self-absorbed tax-me-so-he-can-spend-it-on-himself LIBERAL, and am now entering 4 to 8 years of purgatory for my belief in False Hope. Forgive me, Ronald Reagan, for I know not what I’ve done!

But in my despair a still, small voice whispered in my ear to move to the Bookmarks menu in my Firefox, and scroll to the “M” section. Upon my arrival I was comforted, as that of the presence of an old friend, an old Indecision ’04-era friend named Media Matters for America. From their website: “Media Matters for America is a Web-based, not-for-profit, 501(c)(3) progressive research and information center dedicated to comprehensively monitoring, analyzing, and correcting conservative misinformation in the U.S. media.” Eureka! A media watchdog group! Surely now the truth about The Number shall be revealed to me! But wait… it says they are a PROGRESSIVE organization. Doesn’t that mean… LIBERAL? That means they might lie for partisan gain! My High Hopes dashed for the second time in 5 minutes, I scrolled down the page aimlessly and hopelessly, until something caught my eye… Is that a picture of lefty blowhard Chris Matthews? With a special watchdog section dedicated just to the misinformation he peddles on Hardball? My Hope-a-Meter shot skyward, as I seemed to have found a progressive-yet-truth-seeking and honest oracle of record-straightening research from which to glean the answer to the question of The Number. And sure enough, on the front page, an entire section was dedicated to sorting through the media’s misinformation surrounding The Number. I pored over the information:

-The Number was concocted by an AP writer who cited no sources whatsoever. Oh.

-The Number was then dutifully reported by FOX News who, when they repeat something three times and Rupert Murdoch clicks his heels together, causes all other media outlets to report the same, lest they be deemed as “UN-FAIR AND LEFTY-BALANCED”. Okay.

-The Number seems to have been created by taking the estimated $40 million-ish cost of ceremonial trappings and organization, balls, meals, parades, and other celebratory necessities, plus a rough estimate of security and infrastructure, transportation, and making sure visitors don’t tear apart each other or our nation’s capital. Wow.

-The Number, when put in the context of Clinton’s $33 million and Bush’s $42 million, IS ridiculous. But what’s ridiculous about the Bush/Clinton numbers is that NEITHER of them includes the security/infrastructure/transportation/chaos-control numbers that make up the bulk of the cost of any Inaugural event, numbers that WERE included in Obama’s The Number. Geez, that’s not fair!

-The Number is, then, when inflation is accounted for, actually right on-par with any of the Inaugurals of the past 20 or so years. And the number for Bush’s 2005 Inaugural, when it’s all tallied up and put in the same context as Obama’s The Number, was not $42 million, but $157 million! Adjusted for inflation, that might even mean that Bush’s number was bigger than The Number! The scoundrel!

-The Number, when broken down to a per-capita-spending basis, looks positively frugal. Approximately 400,000 people attended Bush’s 2005 Inaugural. If we take the $157 million number, that means that Bush spent approximately $400 per attendee. In contrast, if this year’s pre-Inaugural estimate of 4 million people actually descended upon Washington today, and we used The Number for the sake of argument, the number that we pull out of the wash becomes $40 per attendee. That’s less than what it cost to see Sigur Rós at the State Theater last fall!

And 40 times less than a MacBook! Thanks, Media Matters! You answered my question!

I know we can debate the merits of spending taxpayer dollars (whatever that means anymore) on frou-frou, faux-royal events for our political elite. I’d probably lose that argument, as I’m one of those starry-eyed Hopey McHopefulpants who thinks it's pretty damn sweet to watch one of the few true peaceful transfers of power in the world on such a grand frou-frou, faux-royal stage, no matter who’s being inaugurated. I’m proud to spend that money. The fact that 4 million people can make a pilgrimage- 4 million people who most likely have 4 million much more useful things to spend their money on- to the center of the most powerful nation in the history of the world and watch firsthand as a man not so different from themselves assumes the responsibility of guiding this nation through one of its most trying times, and not risk getting, ya know, sliced to pieces with a machete or anthraxed to death or something… yeah. That’s pretty amazing.

They say that freedom comes with a price. Are we so willing to send- or maybe I should say, “spend”- 4,000 human lives in some foreign country in the name of this “freedom” and yet we’re not willing to spend a relatively modest sum of money to celebrate and display to the world what it means to be free? Isn’t that what 4,000 human lives was supposed to buy us?

Are we so wrapped up in money that we no longer see value as anything more than a price tag? That’s so sad to me.

And on a significantly lighter note, that’s why I think I’m going to buy a MacBook.

**The Media Matters articles I pulled from can be found here, and here.

Ian's Winter Weather Survival Guide!

Today is the coldest day of the year. It’s so cold, the national television networks have been dropping some of their poorest souls into Minneapolis to report on how it is that 3.5 million people can properly function in this coldest of American cities. Since they’re likely not going to venture far enough outside their warm hotel rooms to find me sitting in my favorite coffee shop on this frigid afternoon, I thought I would instead spare them the shivers and share some of my winter weather survival tips via the internet.

Ian’s Winter Weather Survival Guide

1. Stop Complaining. You are not the only one who is cold. Everyone is. And saying how much you hate it when it gets this cold is not going to make Mother Nature say “You know, you’re right… this whole cold thing was a bad idea. 78 degrees for everyone!” If you don’t like the weather here, fly south. But first, try the not-complaining thing. You’ll be a lot happier, and all that hot air you’ll conserve by keeping your mouth shut will keep you all the warmer…

2. Dress Warm. This is so easy, and yet it seems to be so hard for some people. I know all the hottest fashions coming out of New York, Los Angeles, and Paris don’t involve winter jackets and knit hats, but then, how often does it get below zero in those cities? New Yorkers would get meaner, LA would cease to function, and Paris would probably revert to 1870 Siege form and begin eating their pets for dinner. These are not people we want to emulate. Instead, in Minneapolis we take our fashion cues from those farther north… Norwegian sweaters, Inuit parkas, Canadian Sorel pack boots, knitted wool hats, mittens, and scarves. I prefer to wear a Columbia ski jacket, a knitted hat, and fleece-lined gloves. Yeah, I might look a little frumpy, and my hair gets messed up and it takes a little while to get dressed, but I don’t regret it for a moment when I step outside and the first breath I inhale dries out my lungs and makes my nose hairs freeze. Layer up. And if your body will allow…

3. Grow a Beard. Sorry ladies. You’ll have to figure something else out. You would not look good with a beard. For guys, however, this is a must. Nothing keeps your face warmer. And nothing can make you look more rustic and yet… classy… at the same time. For those dudes who can’t grow beards yet, keep trying. The more your shave, the more grows back. You’ll get there. And on your way there…

4. Drive Smart. Seriously, don’t be stupid. Allow your car to warm up. And when it’s snowing outside, drive steadily - not slow, not fast, but steadily. Driving slow causes more accidents than driving fast- the idiot doing 70 in his SUV will put himself in a ditch; the person driving 15mph slower than everyone else and constantly riding the brake will cause the spinout, and the 15-car pile-up that will follow. Keep a steady speed, as close to the speed limit as the conditions will allow, and don’t make any sudden moves. Keep your wheels straight, turn slowly, change lanes carefully, and again I say: lay off the brakes! When you have to, brake gently, and gradually. Learn to use the “2” and the “3” below the “D” on your shifter - they allow you to brake using your transmission, and will keep you from spinning your tires at every stoplight. Braking sounds great on paper, but it’s bad for you and your health. And speaking of your health…

5. Eat More Food. There’s a reason why we subconsciously seem to eat more during the holidays. See, your body already knows it’s going to get this cold. And so it feeds itself, stocking up for the next 3 months. It’s okay to carry around a few extra pounds in the winter. I saw an article posted on the website of the StarTribune, the local daily tabloid newspaper, trying to tell us all how to shed those holiday pounds and stay fit during the winter months. To which I tried to imagine what the columnist had in mind was the point. “By all means, stress out over your figure in January! You may have to dress like you’re about to pop, but under all those layers there needs to be a slender, tan, beautiful woman ready to shed the North Face garb and prance about in a swimsuit at Lake Calhoun!” Nevermind that Calhoun Beach is a snowdrift right now. And if you’re dressed for all to see that perfect figure, you’re probably one of the cold complainers, and you won’t find sympathy from hardly anyone. Go grab a burger and one of our fine microbrewed beers, and suspend the calorie counting for a few months. But if you insist on remaining active…

6. Learn to Enjoy a Winter Sport. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em!” If winter gets you down, take that cold beast and say “I hate you so much, I’m going to ENJOY you!” A Minnesota winter is full of all kinds of opportunity for activity. Go down to Play-It-Again Sports and pick up a pair of ice skates. They’ll run you about $20-30, and it’s like having a free pass to walk on water. Go slide around on a lake. Or shoot a puck around at the park down the street. Skating not your thing? Try broomball: it's like hockey's equivalent to bar-league softball. You could also get into cross country skiing. Our parks and trails are just as beautiful in the winter as they are in the summer, and you don’t even have to worry about the bugs and poison oak. Or grab a pair of snowshoes and go for a hike. You can even stay inside and burn plenty of calories watching a hockey game. And you won’t even have to bundle up. But that takes away from one of the most satisfying perks of the winter…

7. Learn to Enjoy a Hot Beverage. There’s nothing like coming in out of the cold and sipping a steaming hot cup of hot chocolate. Or coffee, for that matter. Tea is good, too. I know some people who wouldn’t drink a hot liquid if their insides were turning to ice. This is usually the Diet Coke/Iced Skim Mocha/Evian-bottled-water crowd. You’ve got to kick those habits, at least for the winter. For the Diet Coke crowd, learn to drink coffee. It’s got the caffeine and that same bitter kick, and you can put all the sweetened carcinogens in it that you’d like, lest you lose the perks of drinking your Coke. For the Iced Mocha crowd, hot chocolate is your answer. It’s sweet, it’s soothing, and your chocolate addiction will remain intact. Maybe even try your mocha hot. And for you bottled-water drinkers, tea is for you. It’s like your Evian, only hot. In fact, you could probably just heat up your Evian and use that to steep your tea in. And tea drinkers seem to develop that same sort of religious loyalty that bottled-water drinkers have to their brand. You could obsess over which brand of Earl Grey you prefer, or become a rooibos aficionado, or learn about the characteristics of the terroir and growing season in regions of China you never cared to know existed. The opportunities are endless, but for goodness’ sake, it’s cold outside: drink something hot! But when even the hot beverages aren’t enough to warm your soul…

8. Smartwool Socks. I’ve never tried it before, but I’m pretty sure you could be stark naked and a pair of Smartwool socks could almost keep your whole body warm. Almost. I bought a pair my first winter in Minnesota, then bought a second pair with which to alternate, and they’ve now thrived for 7 winters. They are warm, and they are cozy. And since you’re not going to prance around the house naked, they are a wonderful compliment to…

9. Woolrich Pajamas. Another first-winter purchase, they’ve lasted just as long as the Smartwools. They are very comfy and warm, and they can also make great long underwear. Basically anything made of wool is great. Get some. And since you’ll need a good excuse to sit and sip your aforementioned hot beverage while dressed in your aforementioned wooly garments…

10. Find a Good Book and Read It. Winter is a great time for fiction, so shed the cold weather and get lost in a story that takes place somewhere warm, or wherever you would like to find yourself. Right now, I am reading The Golden Compass which is, ironically, the first book in a trilogy about a little girl who has an obsession with the North, goes to the Arctic, makes friends with polar bears and travels to parallel universes by way of the Northern Lights. Go figure. But lastly, and most importantly…

11. Enjoy ALL The Seasons. You’ve only got four of them. And each one of them is great in its own right. I prefer fall and winter, but also enjoy the fresh feeling of spring. I even enjoy lazy, hot summer days dipping in the lake, tossing a Frisbee, sipping brewskies and grilling out. So if you hate winter, you’re in luck: spring will come, and then summer, and it will be warm again. Be patient, like I was on all those humid, 90-degree days during the summer. I loathe hot weather, but I know it’s coming and I’m okay with that… the crisp fall will follow, and I can live in my hoodie for a couple of months, and then get juiced over snowstorms and sub-zero temperatures all over again, like I am right now. Your season will come. If the weather was all the same, it would become an incredibly boring, monotonous existence. What would we have to look forward to? I will leave you with one of my favorite quotes, from George Santayana:

"To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring."

Road Trip - Day Three

Cooperstown, NY to Portland, ME - 320 mi

Waking up to a fresh, cool summer morning on top of a foothill of the Adirondack Mountains is a pleasant experience to say the least. And an early morning drive back to Cooperstown was just as pleasant. Arriving at the Baseball Hall of Fame twenty minutes after they opened their doors and having basically the whole place to yourself is something else entirely.

Baseball has always been my sport. Well, I shouldn’t say always- I played soccer from kindergarten to 4th grade, at which point I realized that running is not my thing, and so I switched to a sport that only requires you to run in short quick bursts, and where everyone looks as frumpy as I do running. I played baseball right up until that point in high school where it became not “for fun” anymore, but for competition, which sucked all the life out of the sport. But I love baseball. So to show up at Cooperstown and walk into the Hall of Fame, you feel like you’re a kid again, reading about all the greats of the game and the memorabilia and little-known facts, and finding all your favorite players and sports announcers bronze plaques in the Hall, and then finding a distant family member.

I’ve known for quite awhile that I had a great aunt (grandma’s sister, is great aunt correct?) who played in the women’s pro baseball league during and following WWII. What I did not expect, though, was to find her name and see her picture at Cooperstown. Aunt Audrey (for whom my sister is named) played for Kenosha in the women’s league, and has a place in the National Baseball Hall of Fame. I had to walk that one off.

Anyone who has ever played or enjoyed baseball needs to make a pilgrimage to Cooperstown. It is a religious experience.

After Cooperstown, we hit the road toward Albany, which seemed like a really nice city, not small enough to feel like there’s nothing going on, but not big enough to feel impersonal and gross. After a Starbucks break, we drove out through southern Vermont and New Hampshire. I’ve seen the Rocky Mountains before, and they’re impressive and all, but there’s just something about the Appalachians that always gets me. I think I can some it up in this very dudelike sense: the Rocky Mountains are like that super-hot girl that’s really great to look at, but is just a little too distant and you know you’d never have a chance with her. The Appalachians, on the other hand, are much more accessible, like that super-cute girl that you can actually DO stuff with and have a conversation, and surprises you at almost every turn. Driving through the Green Mountains in Vermont was a fulfilling experience, both putting the car through its handling paces and allowing amazing views of the surrounding mountains.

A few more lakes and hills in New Hampshire and a quick run up the coast, and we arrived in Portland, hooking up with Adam and his dad, knocking back a few cold local brews and then calling it a night.

Road Trip - Day Two

Sandusky, OH to Cooperstown, NY – 500 mi

Today was a driving day, a day in which the full weight of “road trip” rested its full weight upon our shoulders. These things sound great on paper, when you’ve been working long hours all summer without a break, and you just want to walk out the door and walk until you don’t want to walk anymore. Road trips are kind of like that, except that you have someplace you have to be, so even when you don’t want to walk anymore, you have no choice but to keep on truckin’. And New York is not the state you want to truck across like that.

The day started with a failed attempt at finding functional wifi, as the Starbucks we stopped at before we left Sandusky was having issues with their system. So I had to settle for a cup of coffee, and then we hit the road, passing through Cleveland. If Milwaukee has a twin, Cleveland is it. An industrially-oriented Great Lakes city with a few skyscrapers and that rough-around-the-edges feeling to everything, you just get the feeling that the city is inhabited by people who work too hard to worry too much about keeping their city looking impressive at all times, which to me is impressive in itself and exhibits in the people a certain quality of confidence that while it might not be the pretty thing in the world, they are leading good lives. I could never live in Cleveland.

Upon exiting Cleveland, we realized that we hadn’t exactly stopped for food that morning, and it was approaching 11am. And it seemed as though as soon as that thought had been thunk, God placed a Waffle House just off of I-90. Anyone who knows Dustyn and I knows we have an obsession with the Waffle House, the cheap goodness that’s available there, and the refreshingly familiar yellow-block W-A-F-F-L-E H-O-U-S-E. For just a hair over six dollars, I got myself my “3-2-1” breakfast that I’ve developed over a period of 5 years sparsely frequenting the Waffle House: a triple hashbrown, a double waffle and a single glass of water, which is enough food so that toward end, you’re challenging yourself to finish it. It was wonderful.

So off we went across the little corner of Pennsylvania that reaches up and claims the city of Erie, and then into New York state. Now, to get across New York, you have two options: the first one is the New York State Thruway, which is a bit more direct but is also a toll road. And we’re cheap. So we took option #2, the Southern Tier Expressway, Interstate 86 which winds through the hills of the southern part of the state. We pulled off at a rest stop to grab a map and ask how long we were looking at until we reached Cooperstown, and were told it would be about 5 ½ to 6 hours. This blindsided us because we ignorantly assumed that a) once you reach the state that contains your destination, you should be at least kind of close to said destination, and b) all states out east are small. So we put our heads down and did the drive. The closest thing I can compare it to is driving the stretch of I-94 between Tomah and Eau Claire, except that the hills are a bit bigger in New York. And the stretch is 6 hours instead of one. It was a struggle, not only staying awake, but keeping our sanity. We began singing silly repetitive songs, and creating faux church names based upon towns on the highway signs we were passing, such as “Jerusalem Hill Tabernacle Fist Congregational Assembly of God, Scientist” and other such things.

We finally reached Cooperstown, which is set back in the hills on a lake in east central New York, and has to be about the most perfect all-American town. All the houses are neatly kept, and there are little mom-and-pop shops everywhere, and a big baseball field complex and then, just around the corner… a gigantic Howard Johnson hotel. Cooperstown is the home of the National Baseball Hall of Fame, so this makes sense, in a really odd way. It feels like plopping down a SuperTarget in a town of 300 or something. Anyway, we grabbed a variety-pack case from the local microbrewery, Cooperstown Brewing Company, and drove off to our campsite, which turned out to be about 25 minutes away from Cooperstown, set back on the top of a hill in the middle of nowhere. We set up the tent in the last remaining light of the evening and set about building our campfire and firing up the grill. Two steaks and a few beers later, we crashed for the night, and even in my dreams, I was driving across southern New York on a never-ending trip.

Road Trip - Day One

Milwaukee, WI to Sandusky, OH – 380 miles

As I write, I am currently sitting with my laptop at a picnic table, in the dark, at my campsite overlooking Sandusky Bay on Lake Erie in Ohio. Unfortunately, by the time I actually get this posted, it will be Sunday morning, and I’ll probably be sitting in the Starbucks a few miles away, because we’re in the far end of the campground and I can’t get a strong enough signal from the wifi transmitter. Meh.

So we ended up not going to Cedar Point. I will probably never outlive the personal guilt I feel, but it was hot, humid, and we weren’t really able to go until after 5pm, and the park is only open until 11, so with all the waits in line, we would’ve got about 4 or 5 rides in and wouldn’t have really got our money’s worth. So we decided to go and get some fish for the grill at the Meijer store nearby (Dustyn, a slab of rainbow trout; Ian, a hunk of garlic and herb-marinated salmon), have a few beers from Cleveland’s Great Lakes Brewing Company (when in Rome, right?) and throw the Frisbee. This actually turned out quite nice, because between the two of us, we got about 3 hours of sleep, and seeing as I got 3 hours of sleep last night, that means Dustyn got zip for sleep, as he got off work at 7am and we left right away.

Shortly before 8 this morning, we left Milwaukee accompanied by The Cars’ greatest hits album. I stopped by the Dunn Bros down the road from Dustyn’s apartment, which is the apartment complex that I lived in when I lived in Milwaukee for a year, so I’m trying to get over the fact that the store opened RIGHT after I moved back to Minnesota. Anyway, we hit the road, drove through Chicago and Indiana, and into Ohio.

We were pretty much zombies all day today. But not zombified enough to notice what seemed to be the theme of the day, and that was smells. The air smells really funky as you go south and east in our great country. In Chicago, it’s your standard exhausty 10-million-people-are-surrounding-you scent, and then you drive into Gary, where you breathe sulfur, exhaust, smoke, and metal. Further into Indiana, fertilizer. Enter Ohio, more fertilizer, but with some really odd industrial toxic waste smells. I can hardly smell the Great Lake that’s about 100 feet away from me right now.

I also notice a lot more classic Americana around here than up in Minneapolis. Aside from the dozens of John McCain campaign yard signs we saw all over (you just don’t see those in Minnesota), and the “Drill Here, Drill Now!” mantra being repeated by a fluorescent sign in front of a local bar here in Sandusky, I’ve never seen so many motorcycles, Dodge pickups and lightning bolt-illuminated Old Glories as I’ve seen here today. At the liquor store, the man put my six-pack, which had a perfectly good handle on the top, inside not one but TWO plastic grocery bags without giving it a second thought. You have to ASK for a bag in Minnesota! And at the campground here, we brought our tossables to the garbage area and began to sort out the recyclables from the garbage, before realizing that there was one large bin in which to throw everything. We got some sideways looks when we began playing our music (Cloud Cult, Death Cab For Cutie, Sufjan Stevens) and as soon as we turned it off, our neighbors in the campsite next door quickly replaced the musical silence with Pearl Jam and Limp Bizkit. I haven’t heard Limp Bizkit in 5 years. Are they still around? Dustyn and I feel a little out of place. Maybe we’ll go and chat with the Canadian group that’s set up camp down the path. I know they’re Canadian because they have a maple leaf flag hanging above their campsite, and I overheard one of them talking about “fishing for trow-oot” in the Delaware River.

Wait, no, Dustyn’s passed out in the tent. Geez.

I think I’ve calculated that I’ve got about 12 hours of sleep since Wednesday, so I’ve got some catching up to do. Unfortunately, I think I just overheard one of the campground employees tell some people he’d been hunting a bear for the past couple of hours and warning them that he might come around tonight. I might just sleep in the car tonight. I don’t understand, though, because this area totally does NOT look like bear country. I guess I underestimate our furry friends.

I'd post some pictures, but apparently the capability is down for the moment... I'll check back later.

Road Trip - Day Zero

Minneapolis to Milwaukee – 390 miles

Yeah, so I took the long way. But let me tell you that there is nothing more soothing to the soul than driving down Highway 61 along the Mississippi, with all the hills and bluffs slowly drifting by, while listening to the latest Sigur Rós album.

I decided to take the “long way”- Highway 61 to LaCrosse and then Highway 14 to Madison- because I had an experiment to carry out. I set out with a goal of driving about 60mph the whole way and seeing how far I could go on a tank of gas. I figured that if I took Barack Obama’s advice and properly inflated my tires and didn’t drive like an ass, I could really make this happen. And I did. I’ve gone 402 miles on this tank, which will end me up somewhere in the neighborhood of 34mpg, which is about 5mpg more than the EPA estimates I’m supposed to get in “realistic” conditions. So, my nerdlike tendencies aside, I’ve saved a few bucks to spend on something else. Huzzah.

The other reason for taking the “long way” is that I wanted to drop in and surprise my parents. Which I did, quite successfully. And I even got a bonus out of it- steak was for dinner, and seeing as my family seems to eat at 8pm every night, arriving at 8:30 was close enough to earn me a steak. Not like the store-bought Cub stuff, but the small-town Wisconsin stuff- my family just bought an entire side of Angus beef, as in half a cow, from a local farmer. Yum, steak. And for dessert they also happened to have two pies from Michael’s Frozen Custard, which is pretty much the best frozen custard ever. My Minnesota friends will insist that Culver’s frozen custard should carry that distinction, but that’s okay because, well, they don’t know any better. And my Milwaukee friends will insist that Kopp’s frozen custard should carry the day, which I agree it is a close match… but I’m sticking to my guns.

As long as we’re talking about food, I’d have to say that if Minnesota is the Land of 10,000 Lakes, then Wisconsin has to be the Land of 10,000 Frozen Pizza Brands. Seriously. On top of the Jack’s, Tombstone, Bernatello’s, Freschetta, DiGiorno and Tony’s that you find in Minnesota, you’ve got Roma, Orv’s, Palermo’s, Connie’s, Home Run Inn, as well as Uno, Gino’s East (!), Infusino’s, and scores of little ultra-local mom-and-pop brands. What’s a hungry dude to do at 2am? Which begs the question: what’s a dude who just ate an amazing steak doing still hungry at 2am? And why is he up?

Because he’s on vacation.

Anyway, here’s some pictures. We just bought us a new camera at the National Camera Exchange Tent Sale, so I was able to mess around with it some:


The moon was really bright, and this picture turned out well.



Catching everyone offguard...


My little sister Audrey is amazing. She won 15 blue ribbons, 2 red ribbons, some super-important trophy, and two other top-notch awards for her 4-H projects at the Dane County Fair.

I really do miss my family. And my wife.

But tomorrow is the real fun, and the actual "road trip" begins. Stay tuned...

Road Trip Bloggings!

After a long, hot summer (actually, it wasn't so bad, but still... summer's summer) I shall be cashing in some vacation time, hopping in the Focus and taking off across the country. Two countries, to be exact.

My friend Dustyn (college roomie, best man, and veteran of numerous shared hole-in-the-wall apartments in Minneapolis and Milwaukee) and I will be driving to Portland, Maine, where we'll meet up with our friend and (my former, his current) roommate Adam, who chickened out on a road trip and decided to fly. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But there will be much merry-making, and between here and Portland, many delightful side-trips and other such nonsense.

All of which shall be recorded right here, on my blog.

So stay tuned...