I hate the ways language is used to condemn and “other” groups of people.
Ever hear people in America refer to our form of government as an “administration,” but talk about someone else’s government as a “regime”? It’s a subtle but effective condemnation of those other people over there in that god-forsaken place who aren’t like us.
Most of us don’t even notice it.
The same thing happens among races, economic classes, and other groups. For example, the local police force in Ferguson doesn’t “intimidate” or “threaten” or “use violence,” they merely “respond.”
The good guys don't have guns. They have cameras. #Ferguson
We sat in lawn chairs in our building’s parking lot and watched fireworks with the neighbors Friday night. It was an enjoyable 30 minutes, even with the power lines in the way, because we didn’t have to deal with a crowd or drive anywhere special to see them.
Champaign was not my first choice for relocation last year when I was job hunting. I really, really, really wanted to move to Milwaukee. But for this and many other reasons, Champaign keeps growing on me.
On Wednesday, we went to Milwaukee for a couple of days to catch Dave Matthews Band at Summerfest and hang out with Dan’s mom. It was the kind of mini-vacation that threatened not to be a vacation at all. First, it was 57° and misting the entire time we were at “Summer”fest. Yes, we were in Wisconsin…but damn!
Then, during DMB’s second set, the speakers went out. If you had lawn tickets–and we did–then you were treated to the muffled sounds of a band the size of ants being drowned out by Bonnie Raitt playing the next stage over. (Nothing against Bonnie Raitt at all, but I paid for DMB tickets.) I understand that we live in an imperfect world. Things happen; there are technical glitches. However, when the second half of a performance blows, there’s no recovering.
But it was our stay at Candlewood Suites that really sucked. The room they put us in had a bum door. It was nearly impossible to open and we knew it when we dropped off our bags at check-in, but we had places to be–namely, Summerfest. We left thinking the door would be nothing more than a minor inconvenience. We got back to the room many hours later, completely exhausted after the concert. All we wanted to do was crash, so we threw our hips and shoulders into the door to get it open. We were in, and went quickly to sleep.
It turned into a real problem the morning when Dan went out to Dunkin’ Donuts to grab breakfast while I slept in. When he came back, he couldn’t get the door open from the outside, and I couldn’t get it open from the inside. Much crankiness ensued, including some rage Tweets and a Facebook post warning all who were watching not to ever book a room at the Candlewood Suites hotel in Milwaukee. We got moved to a different room after the maintenance guy judged the problem to be to complicated for a quick fix. We took the problem to the front desk and ended up with a downgrade to a Queen from a King room. When the hotel staff told us, “Don’t worry, it’s a cheaper rate,” our response was “Damn right it is.”
The only thing worse than an uncomfortable bed? A smaller uncomfortable bed. And that’s exactly what we got.
And Now the Good News
Despite the problems, the trip still had plenty of great moments. On Friday morning, we drove to Grant Park Beach in Dan’s hometown to watch the sun rise over Lake Michigan. It was a breathtaking 10 minutes. When it was over, we went back to the hotel and slept until checkout.
For lunch we went to Kopp’s Frozen Custard, where we didn’t order frozen custard at all. Instead we ordered jumbo cheeseburgers. It was the best diner-style cheeseburger I’ve ever had the pleasure of cramming in my pie hole.
We spent some time with Dan’s mom too. On Thursday evening, we sprung her from her retirement home, and in return she treated us to Trattoria di Carlo. She talked about her grandmother and grandfather who went to college here in Champaign-Urbana at the University of Illinois (total coincidence we ended up here–my father went to U of I too), how her mother taught for a while in Homer, Illinois (another crazy coincidence), and how when Dan was little they caught him literally swinging from a chandelier. (There are other great Baby Dan stories too…maybe another post?)
Somehow, toward’s the end of our meal the dinner conversation turned to pot. Dan mentioned that (legally) smoking pot was on my bucket list, when I corrected him and said, “Actually, I don’t want to smoke it. I’d prefer to try mine in brownie form.” To which my mother-in-law replied, “Me too!”