I wanted to post a lot about Fahrenheit 911 today, but when ya’ blog, ya’ have to go with where your blogself leads you. Tomorrow Michael, for as always, you have helped me renew my political gusto. I thank you.

Nonetheless, here we are, on vacation, enjoying some frosty mugs of rootbeers and/or beers, in a local bar/grill. I actually witnessed the classic Irish da drinking debacle unfold while here. True, we were in Wisconsin, not Ireland. And the man was American. But here’s how it went down.

A man sat at the bar across from our booth and said something loud and friendly-like to the waitress. She served him up his beer. Two people next to him got his latest joke. Then he started to tell them about his latest trip. I don’t recall what he was saying because I was paying attention to my family up until that point and only aware of his charisma entering the room. But then a little boy ran up to him from the back of the bar. He was brandishing a cowboy gun and saying “Stick em up!” The guy smiled falsely at the boy and patted him on the head. Then the kid said “Bang!” and sort of jabbed at the man’s nether regions, which honestly was the only area the boy could see from that angle. The man then took a few coins from his pocket and said “Here ya go kid. Where’s your Ma?” and started looking towards the back of the bar, hoping to pass him off to the Ma. I just sat there with my mouth hanging open mostly. In my head, I was remembering all of the Frank McCourt-type stories I’ve read about dads boozing at the bar, larger than life, while the kids waited patiently to carry them home, or try to recoop some of the paycheck for mom to spend on groceries, or, as in the case of the most recent novel I read, trying to build a pyramid out of marbles on the bar stoop because dad promised a fiver if they did. Turns out this guy was grandpa and he was the sort who was used to being in charge, because his whole family was at the back of the bar (revealed by our bathroom visit) waiting for his return, so they could admire him more. My grandfathers were like this man. Collosal drinkers, friend to all party-goers, not so fond of children but benign enough to draw them like flies. Full of tall tales and hysterical stories. Hideously violent and cruel sometimes, and unbearably tender and generous other times. They flew stunt planes, played every instrument, punched out police, did wicked practical jokes, drove like assholes, had cocktail parties that brought down the roof, expected perfection from their kids and wives, and basically are from a bygone era. Did I mention they died pretty young too?

Well, here’s how I feel about the Dells. It was like our hometown. A tourist trap. Except I was the tourist, which made me feel wrong. Where we come from, the word to use is shoebies. The term shoebies was coined to describe tourists who came to the shore for the day with their lunch in a shoebox. I guess those were the days before coolers. So, I skulked guiltily about, not liking the touristy stuff, but getting sucked in anyway, while trying to find the original feature which made the Dells interesting to visitors. Turns out it’s the river and the canyons surrounding the area. Yet, the need to make a buck rules and the garish display of plaster fantasy buildings was alluring and nonsensical. Among the tamer stuff, we saw a giant Trojan Horse replica which was part of a ride, and a replica of the White House or some important building, but it had been built all upside down and destroyed looking. Still, my favorite money-makers were simple and classic.
I guess I make it sound so hideous that Wisconsin will be sending me a subpoena soon. Here’s the bright side. We got wet and swam a lot. We ate out (I shall refrain from describing the intricacies of the “taco salad”.) We laughed a lot and stayed up late and fell asleep every night in a big exhausted bundle. We got to hear our son tell a perfect stranger, loudly, in a small boutique, that we live in a hotel now. We got to hear people repressing giggles from all throughout the boutique. We even played a geeky live action wizard role playing game with complete abandon. Maybe it won’t rate as our most geographically pleasing or educational hotspot, but we do love to swim. It must be that ocean that is in our blood.