June 2010 Archives

I'm not going to attempt to cover everything we did over the next few days, since they were fairly packed with new experiences, in-jokes, and gastronomic adventures. Instead, here are a few firsts:

• My first time driving below the Mason-Dixon Line, and first time in anywhere in the South other than Florida
• My first night in a Motel 6
• My first meal at Waffle House
• My first time barhopping in Nashville during a huge country music festival
• My first city recognized only because of its description in a Gargoyle article (Horse Cave, Kentucky)
• My first time seeing an accident back-up so major that drivers got out of their cars and walked around for miles
• My first attempt to explain to myself what "barber's milk" is
• My first time backing out of a cave tour because of frightening torrential rain
• My first time hearing Ludacris' opus, "Sex Room"
• My first time soaking a shirt in sweat in under five minutes
• My first jambalaya (delicious, at COOP'S PLACE)
• My first Sneaky Pete (disgusting, at Sneaky Pete's)
• My first beignets and chicory coffee
• My first time swimming in a disturbingly warm and salty pool
• My first legal, public, open alcohol consumption in a major city
• My first time seeing a house Nicholas Cage has lived in
• My first Mississippi riverboat ride
• My first time wandering under a highway to find a fancy cemetery
• My first time enjoying coleslaw
• My first turtle soup (also delicious)
• My first live New Orleans jazz
• My first time trying authentic gumbo
• My first time experiencing horrible intestinal distress due to said gumbo
• My first glass of absinthe
• My first time watching True Blood with anyone else
• My first interview for a bona fide, actual, desirable, long-term job
• My first time driving 18 hours in one day (not that bad!)

More happened (so, so much more!) but it would take a long time for me to cover everything here. Suffice it to say, I had a great time. Despite the stifling, unbelievable humidity, New Orleans is a gorgeous, lively, eccentric, friendly town. I could seriously consider living there. As long as I had air conditioning, naturally.

I just returned from a second, less ambitious trip. This one was to Mackinac with my family and my sister's boyfriend, Adam. It was also quite pleasant and lower-key. We made all the normal rounds to the normal places, did a good deal of walking and nature-enjoying. Now I have to stop eating because I weigh 900 pounds. I made the drive back strapped to the top of the van.

On Monday, I texted Zack that I was bored, and he invited me to come up to his parents' house in Fenton to do some fishing. There was rain coming, so we spent the first half hour or so fishing for bluegills off his dock, since they were pretty easy to snag. After catching a couple and feeling dumb asking Zack to take them off my hook for me, I fought my live-fish-touching squeamishness and took one off myself. It was not that bad!

Soon after, we retreated to his house and I had a nice lunch with the Beauvais family after discussing the TV show Tracker Man, in which a man experienced in tracking gets to hunt the Most Dangerous Game. It sounded possibly illegal. After a while, the conversation turned to shooting and the fact that Zack hadn't gone shooting yet this year. So he asked me if I wanted to go with him. Now. In keeping with the trend that day, I said yes. A couple hours later, after picking up some clay pigeons, Zack's dad, and their family friend whom they describe as "a lumberjack," we were at the local shooting range and I was awkwardly holding a surprisingly heavy shotgun and hesitantly saying "pull."

Surprise, surprise--I was not a great shot. But Zack did just as badly as me and he's had much more experience. When shooting at a stationary target, though, I did much better. My souvenirs from the day were a spent shell casing and a vibrantly-colored bruise from where I probably held the gun wrong a couple of times. Main lesson learned: racking a shotgun is really fun.

The middle part of the week was spent more quietly, redesigning this site. Yesterday, though, while eating breakfast with (who else?) Zack, I remembered that our friend Natalie had wanted us to come to the Curwood Festival in her hometown of Owosso at the beginning of June. Soon enough, we were taking backroads and strange routes through Whitmore Lake on our way to the sleepy, heavily inbred town of Owosso. 

The Curwood Festival is an annual celebration of Owosso's most famous son, novelist James Oliver Curwood. We visited Curwood's (disappointingly small) castle, admired the historic houses, ate at a restaurant targeted towards old people, got local Owosso ice cream, rode carnival rides such as "Gravity Time," "Drop-Down," and "Crushy" (not actual names), and watched a competition where dogs long-jumped into a pool. After that full day, we bid farewell to Natalie, I dropped Zack off in Fenton, and I continued home to Ann Arbor.

Although I was kind of exhausted, I remembered that Salon Vox is open until midnight on Thursdays and that I really needed a haircut, so I popped over there. Very satisfied with the day overall. There will probably be at least another week of boring days now. This week's been a good experience, though. It's helpful to remember that good things can come from saying yes.