Detroit MI to Milwaukee WI

Odometer: 86376

I made it out pretty early. Would have been even earlier, but there was cruising to be done at the motel. Seems the “high school/homecoming kid” we’d noticed earlier was (a) a couple of years older than originally pegged, and (b) cruising me really hard. Unfortunately, we never completely connected and we didn’t get to fuck to a background of Judge Judy. Pity…

 

Southern Michigan is not the most exciting place in the world. There’s Ann Arbor, the cute college town, Battle Creek, the depressed cereal town, and Kalamazoo, the town where I couldn’t stop singing that song about “I got a gal…”

I made it through pretty fast, ate somewhere, and all of a sudden I was in Indiana again. There was cheap gas. There were cheap cigarettes. And I made my way through Gary, the dowdy gateway to Chicagoland just a little too close to rush hour for comfort.

Logistics (OK…money…) kept me from spending any time at all in Chicago. I didn’t even drive through the city since I arrived so late in the afternoon. I flew through the far western suburbs on I-294 and didn’t stop ’til I was in Wisconsin.

Somewhere along the way, I realized I was running a day early, and I was hoping this wouldn’t screw up my chance to meet up with Dave in Milwaukee. Fortunately, it didn’t. We met up at the bookstore where he works part time and were soon joined by boyfriend Doug and roomie Davee. At this point, there were far too many Davids in one room. We survived.

 

I’m told Milwaukee has more queer bars per capita than any other city in the country. This is a pretty reasonable notion since Milwaukee is traditionally “Beer City USA”. Strange thing is, all of the bars we hit were tiny sleazy little corner bars. Of course, I liked this aspect of the place. There was This Is It, with the big booth an the strange man who wanted to escort me to the bathroom. At C’est La Vie, Dave and Doug won a lovely porn video playing pob-ball. At the Ballgame, there was wood panelling, strange statuary, and a security camera. And there was also this straight bar which I really loved. Cheap beer all around. I really loved that too…

 

And (again) it was really cool to meet people and instantly feel like old friends. We hung out. We drank beer. We watched demolition video. I was in awe of all the techno toys in the house. I was in awe of all the HOUSE in the house. After Detroit (where I lurked in a house being purchased for an obscenely low price) and Milwaukee, was becoming increasigly impatient with the walk-in closet I call home.

The Earth Moved

Before anyone asks, it was a complete and total non-event. A magnitude of 5.4 according to the fine folks at Richter (a subsidiary of Microsoft). If not for the accompanying media frenzy, half the Bay Area might well not even have noticed. Of course, native Californians being such a jaded bunch, they generally don’t admit to feeling anything less than a 7.0 anyhow…

From the coverage on local TV, though, you’d think this was the first time California had ever had an earthquake. Jeez…talk about overkill… It brought to mind the panic that hits in places like North Carolina, when the TV stations spend hours going over emergency procedures in preparation for the two-inch layer of snow which MIGHT be on the ground in the morning…

I wouldn’t have noticed either, except for the fact that the damned thing woke me up at 7:15 in the morning (almost two hours earlier than I needed to be awake) and I never quite got back to sleep. This was not amusing at all, since I was already up half the night thanks to the hunger of the El Nino-generated mosquitoes.

This was probably the fourth or fifth noticeable but minor quake in my six years here. The first coincided, as these things do, with my mom’s first visit to SF. It came just after I’d dropped her off at her hotel. I called to say good night. Suddenly my roomie (who was watching the news) yelled “earthquake” from the next room. I asked where. I got my answer pretty quickly.

Mom seemed a little nervous. My aunt, who was also visiting, sounded terrified. I, working on my “Californian” credential, was mildly amused…

The second came a few months later, as I was lying in bed having…ummm…some quality time by myself. Suffice to say, when the earth moved that night, it REALLY moved…

By the way, no one believes that last story, but it’s really true…

Ultimately, I’ve been in storms back east which sacred me lots more than this earthquake. Keep in mind that SF has had two (maybe three) quakes of any particular significance in the past 100 years. I know a few trailer parks in North Carolina which get that many tornadoes in a decade…

Another Year Older

Thanks to all who sent birthday greetings. Best gifts so far came from Mom and Dad, who (among other things) sent me a Matchbox Brady Bunch station wagon and a copy of “Jungle Book” (the animated one, thank you…) I love that I have parents who are cool enough to send me toys and cartoons for my birthday. They KNOW that I love toys and cartoons. They aren’t SCARED that I love toys and cartoons. I love my Mom and Dad. Of course, I’d probably still be pretty fond of them even if they didn’t send me toys and cartoons…

Other than the above, the birthday was pretty uneventful. I had pizza with my roomie and a friend, and then we went to Baskin Robbins. And then I cleaned the commode ‘cuz it smelled kinda funky. Definitely a low-impact day compared with some past birthdays

At the Airport

Charlotte/Douglas International Airport. After several false starts, I’d estimate that I now have about a 75% chance of getting on the next plane headed for San Francisco. And I am definitely ready to get home. I hate that I had to leave my mom feeling so bad. She was in worse shape this morning than yesterday. I also hate that I never caught up with my friends Duncan or Daniel in the strange and surreal crush.

Or Maybe Not

This fucking hospital has the smallest emergency waiting room I’ve ever seen. And I’m getting pretty experienced with emergency rooms as it seems I get to visit one every time I come home lately. This time it’s my mom who’s being examined. She tripped over a boat displayed in a mall in Fort Mill SC, while we were en route to the airport in Charlotte. Busted her nose, lip, and teeth. Litigation may beckon. Needless to say I missed my plane.

  … …

Jeez it sucks in this suburban nightmare hospital. Sick people are sitting on the floor because there are only about 16 seats. What the hell were they thinking? Guess I’ll just get a little cozier with the potted plant I’m suing as an armrest. Charlotte NC, the city that wishes it knew how…

Of course in keeping with the size of the waiting room, there’s only one phone which is perpetually in use. This place sucks. We’ve been here over two hours; they say it will be at least another hours before she can be seen. After all, she’s only bleeding profusely.

Four hours have now passed. I’m watching “X Files” and the cutest boy who ever lived across the room. I’d peg him as 18 or so, shoulder length stringy black hair. He’s a South Charlotte rich kid who doesn’t want to look the part. Dirty brown hiking boots, grass-stained slightly baggy jeans which still reveal a great butt. He hurt his arm playing football, I heard. Stunning. It was hard to concentrate on my mom with him in the room.

Turns out the delay is due to a five-car accident caused by a drunk speeding 15-year-old redneck kid who was running from the cops. It’s now five hours and counting.

Smoke break outside. I talked to the boy. I now crave him even more. He actually hurt his arm on his motorcycle (which his parents don’t know he owns). He’s 20 and goes to NC State. we shook hands. It was cool. Why is it that that (mainly in the south), straight boys are so much more interesting and appealing than fags?

My dad’s pissed about the accident and the wait at the hospital. They’re finally looking at my mom now. Time for a another cigarette. Less cute boy this time, but still adequate. I like these little suburban South Charlotte boys.

While talking to the obese 45-year-old repo man who showed me the scars from his five bypass operations, I noticed a woman in a wheelchair begin to scream and moan in pain. Maybe it’ll only take two or three hours for them to see her.

The good news is Mom’s nose probably isn’t broken. the bad news is that the treatment is the same whether it is or isn’t.

New Year’s Eve

Made a trip downtown and did some thrift store diving with no success whatsoever. Why is it I do so much shopping when I’m here? And why have I been so damned SLEEPY the whole time I’ve been home?

  

The bash, my mom 15 minutes later, and my first photo op of ’98.

Tonight’s New Year’s Eve celebration consisted of a coffee and Krispy Kreme Doughnuts toast at home with Mom and Dad, just like last year. Am I a party animal or what?

Wait. More Snow.

 

Note the steady decline in the weather forecasts.

Suddenly it’s snowing like crazy outside. About four inches on the ground so far and no end in sight. This is just a little disturbing since it seems unlikely to go away for the next few days either. I haven’t seen snow like this is years (six, to be exact). It’s very pretty. And it’s making me a little crazy since it’s forcing me to lurk about the house as the whole damned city seems to have closed in deference to the weather.

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Museum and Snow

Today brought a visit to the Greensboro Historical Museum in the light snow. Just call this the “Greensboro History Tour” I guess, as that has seemed to be the running theme. Spent the rest of the afternoon shooting pictures around town for a new section of the web site (coming soon).

  

Tonight, I met my friend Taylor at New York Pizza. We first met on the Baltimore leg of the US Tour last fall, and an evening with Taylor is an always entertaining thing, from stories of Tennessee Williams to recollections of my hometown to comparisons of strange southern eccentricities.

Back to history, though. I seem to feel this need to collect my memories of the old hometown while I can still write them down and while they remain relatively fresh in my memory. I’m not really sure why, but I have a feeling it will seem even more important to me in my later years. I’ve always had a fascination with the history of almost anyplace I’ve lived. And Greensboro, boring as it may be, has an interesting history to be sure.

Boxing Day

Had lunch with the Bosnian refugee family my mom has “adopted”. They’re really nice people, although there was a pretty significant language barrier. Why is it that children who were raised by non-American parents seem so much better behaved than those born and raised (and coddled and spoiled rotten) here? I guess I may have answered my own question…

 

Tonight, we headed next door to my aunt’s house. No badly behaved brats to complain about here either. I was relieved.