Saturday, July 2, 2011

Check's In The Glove Compartment

The temperature has hit such a number that the act of sitting down produces sweat in places you’ve only known to perspire during sex in a top floor apartment with no central air or  any athletic competition. The humidity has my eyebrows dripping at the touch of my neon-green sunglasses slightly pressed against them. Fuck it- dilated pupils are overrated- let the sun blind me while I drive- the glasses gotta go.

Switching cars is easy, like forgetting. I pull up to Colby’s back parking lot, nab the keys from underneath the front car seat, pack the merch in the back seat, and make the switch… and totally f----ng forgot the mini flip cam. Meh- I can do without. The weekend’s going to involve more moving than standing. I won’t have the time to shuffle around and record “brief” moments of immaturity.

My mild obsession with Milwaukee, and other cities outside Minnesota, bloomed into a full-blown geographic love affair within the past month. I can’t get enough of waking up on Brady St. after promoting a new event, booking a new event, or performing at a show. Aside from the segregation and multitude of bro-bars, I like the place. White people in Milwaukee aren’t like white people in Madison. Madison emotes an illusion of “acceptance” and grandeur “tolerance”, but really the only people of color I’ve seen amongst white social circles in Madison… are athletes. Black athletes are held in such a high regard in Madison, the deification leaves non-athletes of color (aka everyone else who’s not white) either to take to drinking harder than their liver can take or rapping & singing in a rock band for social credibility (aka me). Plus, Madison is like a phase. Remember that one time you were into NASCAR, or you wanted to date guys in cowboy hats, or when you actually bought 50 Cent’s music… yeah, that’s Madison: such a fleeting, passing moment-  a rights of passage if you will.

Driving 94E towards the promise land, there goes that giant bulb of a water tower with “Woodbury” tattooed on the side- Jesus Christ, I forgot that too! It hits me that I forgot to mail out the check for Rockmen’s bachelor party. His best buddy assigned himself to rally the troops for his bachelor party in August, notified everyone it’ll cost a few dollars, and I totally left that check in my car during the switch. It’s probably sweatin’ it up right now with the mini HD cam in the glove compartment as well, chattin’ about how long it’ll be ‘til I start forgetting to wear clothes in public.

This is a good time to throw an “Oh by the way” in. So, oh- by the way, Rockmen is marrying my sister. My cred with his best friend is within the likes of nil, I would assume, and it’s totally not his fault. I ran into Rockmen’s best friend on Nicollet Mall, once as I was heading into Target to buy a belt for work, and there he was- Hair dapper than Dan, polo shirt perfectly slung across his torso, and shoes worth more than your existence- “Hey Toussaint, what’s up?” I felt disheveled- I had only seen this guy at Rockmen & Annie’s Grand Old Days’ party, but this was different. This was pure daylight, class colors out in the open: Me in my server-boy-minstrel uniform and him in total swag attire, potentially for a job that pays more in two weeks than a year’s worth of serving tables at the Old Spaghetti Factory. “Not much, just buying a belt for work”. We exchanged a few more words, and then departed.

Those types of interactions don’t scare at all, however, I get anxiety for the other person’s feelings. Here, a lot of folks assume that me being out of town, doing shows 200 days outta the year, and acclimating online numbers would save me from serving tables once a week… and it doesn’t. So, in these cases when I appear human to people, I get nerves for the shock they might be going thru at the moment.

And now, the check being somewhere useless until I get back to mpls, it’s officially the first time I’ve done somewhat wrong by Rockmen. I like that guy. I’ll get into it later, but Rockmen could quite possibly be the slim sign that chivalry isn’t dead… in Minnesota.

All in all, I’ve got what I need for Wisconsin. I entirely will not make it in time for the Kanye concert, but definitely will for a brew with one of my favourite folk in the Midwest: Tesch. Old roommate, biology aficionado, straight common sense genius- Tesch is one of those people that will look at you funny if you’re actually doing something stupid. He won’t sugar-coat it, it’s not in his system to emote false impressions. Tesch, Brady St., Summerfest, the tattoo sleeved women of Riverwest Milwaukee… here I go.

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