Terrible Analogies

Whelp, tonight wraps up our grand tour of Wisconsin.  The wife has successfully caught up with friends and family, and as we head back to sunny San Diego we’re left with the feeling that we’ll be missing all of the kind, honest people we’ve seen this past week.  The suitcases are packed up, the alarm is set for 4am, and the plane tickets are at the ready.  

And so, with a fond “farewell”, we bid adieu to Widmer’s Cheese factory (awesome cheese!),

Dr. Myerson’s teeth,

the John Deere factory,

the never ending fields of corn and soy beans,

Amish literature,

and last, but not least, this orange moose:

That, in a nutshell my friends, is Wisconsin.

Meandering the long, dimly lit hallways of the Mayville museum on a private tour, pondering the rusting mining equipment, the dusty tomes slowing aging on sagging bookshelves, and archaic medical devices lying forever frozen under gentle florescent lighting on chipped glass shelving, I found myself impressed by the history of these amazing artifacts lovingly gathered together in this one location.  The tools of trades long since past, replaced by modern equipment and techniques was standard fare for museums such as this.  I was captivated but emotionally unmoved…until I noticed this photograph:

This photograph, when taken in as a whole, is not that remarkable.  What made it stand out in my mind was the face of one young soldier in particular.  Inching forward, hands clasped behind my back to give the observing docent the reassuring feeling that I wasn’t going to touch anything, I stared intently for several minutes at the forlorn face of this young man:

As his comrades seethed in anger, anxious to pounce on the enemy with conditioned hatred and well-practiced war cries, this was the one soldier who was not looking at the camera, but rather at a distant point well beyond the camera and our understanding.  It’s as if he’s had a long talk with himself in recent days, and he was deeply disturbed by what he heard; I can imagine him numbly accepting the terrible truth that, odds are, this was to be the final picture that he was ever going to pose for, and in the next few days he’ll be on the chaotic front lines, his unavoidable fate sealed with the dull impact of a predestined bullet, a slow choking invisible death deep in a rolling cloud of mustard gas, or in a quick blinding concussive blast of an exploding shrapnel-spitting shell.  Bound by duty and contract, heavy with the acceptance that he most probably will not be coming back this way again, his solemn expression tells me everything I need to know about the horrors of war, and how brave the World War I generation truly was.

Today we traversed the wilds of Wisconsin, barreling through the invisible border into Minnesota at 85 per, eventually skidding to a stop in the parking lot of the jewel of the midwest…the Mall Of America.

Anxious to see what this side of the country considers their Disneyland, their Taj Majal, their very Mecca itself, we braced ourselves for close contact with NASCAR aficionados, recent Favre converts, and rugged ranch hand farmers.  Oddly enough, contrary to our misguided preconceived big-city notions, we had a great time.

I’ve heard a lot about the Mall Of America, and wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to travel a scant five hours via car to take bask in its capitalistic glory.

Upon first entering this uniquely American mosque, we found ourselves swimming in a sea of rabid scrap bookers queued up by the hundreds, each hoping to secure a spot in a seminar being hosted by the Home Shopping Channel.  While the women were standing in various lines waiting to take part in either scrap booking classes or partake in scrap booking business transactions, the husbands were busy doing this:

Poor guys.  I sympathize.  Soldier on, brothers…  

But, after making our way past this madness, rounding a few corners, and valiantly avoiding the Orange Julius stand (mmmm….Orange Julius!), we were greeted with the main attraction of this particular mall (click to embiggen):

The central amusement park!  Like a overactive child fresh off his meds and flying high on a can of Coke and two bowls of Lucky Charms, I broke free and headed straight for the ride that had the most screaming:

The Rock Bottom Plunge offers a 90º free-fall drop, speeding into a tight loop, over various twists and turns, and straight into my palpitating heart.  This, the Avatar Airbender ride, and the Fairly Odd Coaster were the big “E” ticket rides, and the wait for each was mere minutes.  

The Flying Dutchman, guarding his towering wall climbing attraction.

After taking in the rides, if you’re feeling the romantic urge to get married, there’s a chapel on the grounds that provides just such a service:

And so, with the power of 20/20 hindsight, if I had to give the Mall Of America a rating of 1-10, I’d have to give it a solid ‘B’.  I feel sorry for the families who make this hive of activity their vacation destination.  But for the curious and the bored, the Mall Of America offers enough distractions to fill an afternoon.

After ten hours of travel, we’ve finally arrived in Wisconsin.  On the car ride through the quiet country tree-lined roads, slowly working our way to our hotel, I was halfway expecting the Mothman to jump out of the darkened forest and into the path of our car, eyes glowing red in the headlights, mouth agape, hissing and spitting through ragged teeth and over forked tongue, telepathically warning us to turn back, to go back home before it’s too late.  

Country roads are something that I’m just not used to.

I picked up Dan Brown’s newest novel The Lost Symbol before we departed from the San Diego airport, and have very nearly finished it.  If you haven’t already dug into this book, I’d highly suggest that you pick it up.  It’s some serious literary candy, guaranteed to give your brain cavities.  I’m already looking forward to the eventual movie.

By the time you read this, Karin and I will be well into our fight to Wisconsin to visit her folks.  I will return on the 24th, so if there’s a dearth of postings between now and then, please forgive me.  I’m not slacking off, but rather doing my best to fool Karin’s folks that I’m a fine, decent, upstanding member of society.

I’m praying that I’ll be able to access the ‘net from Wisconsin, but from what I’ve heard they only recently got electricity and running water, so I’m not holding out much hope for a decent network connection. I am bringing my camera on the slim chance that I’ll be able to post updates in between my tours of famous barns and vast fields of whatever they grow over there.

So….can I pick up anything from Wisconsin for anybody?  Perhaps a nifty shot glass from the airport?