Interstate Everywhere

Monday, 7 July 2003

I re­turned late last night from the wed­ding of my friend Jeremy in Tipton, KS. For the most part, the trip was event­ful, or bor­ing, and some­times both to­geth­er. The Interstate sys­tem is a won­der­ful thing, It can take you most every­where, and if it can­not get you there, it can get you damn close, but it takes a hel­la long time to get most places.

Tipton is a severe­ly small town. Due to re­cent con­sol­i­da­tion, it lost its high school to neigh­bor­ing Downs, arous­ing much ire from the denizens of Tipton. I came up with an Idea for the mas­cot of Downs. Currently the Dragons, I feel that they should be­come the Syndrome, and each team should have an ex­tra play­er.

The ini­tial thir­teen hour haul from South Bend to Tipton with the best man, Sven, was bro­ken up by a stop in KC to see the Royals thrash the Cleveland Indians. This was the be­gin­ning of Jeremy’s bach­e­lor par­ty, he con­sumed rough­ly one beer per in­ning and threw up in the back­seat of my car on the way to the gentlemen’s club.

I’d nev­er been to a strip joint be­fore, and I re­al­ly have no de­sire to go ever again.

Granted, it was fun to watch Jeremy, but the whole at­mos­phere seemed hol­low. One of the guys bought me a lap dance, and while my body en­joyed the car­nal [i’m at work right now — a nun just walked in and asked for a com­put­er] as­pects, it didn’t even re­al­ly get me that turned on. It was like those Easter rab­bits, choco­late­ly on the out­side, but noth­ing fill­ing it up but stale air. I was bored af­ter the first half-hour. Apparently the on­ly at­trac­tion that the club held for me was the cu­ri­ousi­ty of the un­known. It on­ly took me thir­ty min­utes to un­der­stand the in­ter­ac­tions be­tween cus­tomers and staff, that is how shal­low it felt. It was a baby-pool cul­tur­al­ly.

It did teach me some­thing of my­self thank­ful­ly. Pure unimag­i­na­tive phys­i­cal­i­ty does not turn me on. I need at least the ap­pearence of ap­peal­ing per­son­al­i­ty to give me that nudge. I have no in­ter­est if there is no rec­i­p­ro­ca­tion of de­sire. So when I crush hard on a girl, I’ll know there is more to it than just lust. Boobies in the face aren’t that in­ter­est­ing un­less there is a vest­ed emo­tion­al in­tent be­hind them.

We Notre Dame folk were put up in a small house that dou­bles as a hunt­ing lodge right down the street from both re­cep­tion hall and church. Hell, every­thing is right down the street in a town that has on­ly a gen­er­al store and one restau­rant.

The next day I met most of Jeremy’s gi­gan­tic fam­i­ly. He has some cute cousins but told me not to hit on them. That evening, af­ter the ridicu­lous 115 de­gree weath­er, there was a pool par­ty in the near­by town of Beloit. I had not been swim­ming in ages and the heav­i­ly chlo­ri­nat­ed wa­ter was good in­deed.

The 4th was the re­hearsal day, af­ter the re­hearsal, we had pork brisket, baked beans, pota­to sal­ad, and home­made ice cream at the huge lo­cal hunt­ing ranch. Then we blew up an ar­se­nal of fire works for sev­er­al hours.

The wed­ding day was boil­ing hot, es­pe­cial­ly in the church in a suit. I video­graphed the wed­ding with­out a hitch and the re­cep­tion din­ner was roast beef, mashed taters, corn, rolls and amaret­to wed­ding cake. The dance was great, I sup­pose I en­joy danc­ing when I don’t feel ob­lig­at­ed to try and dance well, and can just be crazy. I was crazy, and it was a blast. I al­so caught the garter. Apparently it was arranged by Jeremy and Christy to get me to­geth­er with Christy’s friend Theresia. Well we end­ed up danc­ing to­geth­er and we talked a bit, but I’m not re­al­ly in­ter­est­ed. Besides, she lives in the mid­dle of nowhere Kansas.

We ND folk stayed up ass late talk­ing and then arose ass ear­ly to dri­ve home. The dri­ve home took a bit longer be­cause of a traf­fic jam, and we didn’t ar­rive in SB till 11:30. It was a long but good week­end.