Last Night in Grand Rapids
Eighties Night. Gypsy Muse. Emily.
Whooo Are the Owls? The Bouncing Baker Twins. River City Slims. $1 PBR Longnecks.
..."The overlooked and underrated art piece that brought us here to Grand Rapids is all bundled up like the baby Moses and ready for the wearisome journey back West.
Enter Sir Lawrence minus front teethe. Scaring the squirrel perched on the porch. Sir Lawrence takes a seat on the old weathered couch. He looks a bit cagey but seems harmless enough so I introduce myself, he looks at me with a flickering fire in his eyes and says, "G-M-J, write it in the sky. G-M-J. The G is for God. The M is Mother Mary. And the J is for Jesus, write it in the sky! (smearing his finger across the air between us in a Z for Zorro motion). Not Three Musketeers, not Three Blind Mice, not Three Wise Men, not Three's Company. G-M-J, write it in the sky. I'm chillin'!- but not like 'no' villain!" Signaling the end of his monologue, Sir Lawrence shoots me a gummy scowl and sips some booze from the can in the brown paper bag in his hand. In twenty years, if Snoop Dogg ever ends up becoming a homeless alcoholic in Grand Rapids, I bet he'll look a lot like this guy.
Indecisiveness and a hysterical man wearing a beard and top hat. Y-y-yeeee-aaa-I I I don't know-no, no, nooo. Yeeeaahh-no. Ya' know?
The wholesomely beautiful blonde Baker twins, there's the one with the nose ring and the one without the nose ring. They pull up in front of the Benjamin Street house just after the comfortably quiet next door neighbor 'Black Rob' pulls up in a Ford F150.
The twins live right down the old alley that just swallowed up the one twin without the nose ring. She needs warmer clothes before we head for the Beerhorst camp.
The one with the nose ring is swallowed up by the same dark alley only going in the opposite direction towards the Sparrow coffee shop. She would join us if it weren't for mesopotamian history in urgent need of careful study lest college kids everywhere be damned to repeat it.
The overlooked and underrated art piece that brought us here to Grand Rapids is all bundled up like the baby Moses and ready for the wearisome journey back West.
Its the last night in Grand Rapids and I don't want to think about that wearisome journey just yet. The fun girl on the other end of the wireless tower says she don't really care what my first name is and that the FedEx downtown closes at 9 pm, and don't be gettin' here at no 8:59 neither or she'll call security on my ass.
The twin lays in back with baby Moses and I drive her Saturn downtown. Its 8:15 and the FedEx girl asks if I'm Gabe. Yes, I am. Down to business, I tell her that our mysterious bundle needs to be insured for the estimated value of a human soul and shipped to Salem, Oregon in the least expensive manner possible. Pronto.
Business handled. Now for the rest of our last night in Grand Rapids. We bounce across the FedEx parking lot towards the Beerhorst family camp which is right on the banks of Michigan's mighty Grand River.
'Whooo Are the Owls' are in full swing in the open air tent. South African fiddle, Kalamazoo banjo, toe tappin' guitar fondling Justin, and some chick with her back turned to the world lifelessly fingering a bass guitar = ingredients for real good live music.
Geronimo, the pitbull baby that chewed through his rope and wound up in doggy jail last night, is front and center for the action. I don't think he's ever seen humans dance before.
We hoot, holler, clap, jump, make owl noises, giggle, wiggle, and successfully ignore all other bullshit for the duration of Whooo's performance. Music ends with much reluctance and great appreciation, people linger like the joys of travel when your reliving it in your mind as you look out from your homeward bound window or down at the precious dirt under your fingernails.
The night is alive and everyone is vibrant. Flaws do not hinder but only serve to add definition to the beauty. I am completely sober by the way. And so we have arrived at 'The Bitter End.'
Its at this point we decided it would be best if we consumed hot chocolate with old-fashioned whipped cream and assorted pastries until we figure out what to do next. My favorite part about 'The Bitter End' (besides the overall hot stuffy uncomfortable cramped-ness of the place) is the lavatory. Its got a 'rap' written by Bob Dylan and a sign reading "Why does grandma smell?" on the wall. We determined it'd be best if we moved past the Bitter End and on to River City Slims for 80's night and $1 Pabst Blue Ribbon longnecks. I was okay with this.
The non-pierced nasal Baker twin is a free spirit and I like that about her. My pool game wasn't bad but I can play pool anytime, so how about not right now. I am buying drinks for my fun loving fast friends because when its fast times the fun loving is more important then frugality. Plus $1 longneck PBR. That's a sentence needing no structure, you see- I know you know what I mean. Ya' know? Anyway. Kerouac did it and damn it so can't I too. Except, my stream of conscious is paragraphed for your convenience. Your welcome.
All the specific details here following seem frivolous, suffice it to say we had fun. Lots. We danced, we drank, we got drenched with sweat, laughed and danced some more. The DJ really knew his way around the 80's. I think I have had the hots for almost every girl I've spent more then 5 minutes with in Grand Rapids proper. And I don't crush easy, like a coconut. So that's saying a lot for the lower mitten kittens.
Emily lost her keys. Countless DJ announcements and hours later, the flashlight shining on the steering column through the window of her car found them dangling patiently.
Its late enough to be early and I am somewhere down the road from sober on the way to a place called drunk. Mad Hatter Matt and I Flickr and flounder with depths of field and total annihilation at the kitchen table as the credits rolled and the sheep counted.
2009-10-02 GR 3 of 3
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