How Do You Like My Walking?

There is a treasured family story of my aunt as a young girl traveling to the mysterious and foreign nation of Wisconsin. We tell it often and laugh and laugh. It goes thusly:

My aunt is traveling in Milwaukee and has decided to try out the lovely public transportation. She and her friend ride about town on the bus. A nice man notices they are from out of town and strikes up a conversation with them. He says, "So, how do you like my walking?"

"I'm sorry what did you say?" my aunt queries.

"My walking. I said, how do you like my walking?"

My aunt being the good non-confrontational overly friendly and helpful Minnesota girl that she is doesn't want to hurt the stranger's feelings, so she feels she must be totally honest with him.

"I'm sorry, but I hadn't really noticed."

Giving her a puzzled look the man seems either confused or offended. My aunt soon begins to think this gentleman is a little queer. (It is important to remember back then queer did not have the connotation it has today.) The man alights at the next stop.

My aunt's friend starts laughing. What is just so darn funny? My aunt's friend then explains that the man had asked, "How do you like MIL-WAUK-EE" and my sweet little aunt riding on a public bus in Milwaukee simply says, "I'm sorry - but I hadn't really noticed."

This family story, re-runs of Laverne and Shirley, as well as the following excerpt from Wayne's World:

Wayne Campbell: So, do you come to Milwaukee often?
Alice Cooper: Well, I'm a regular visitor here, but Milwaukee has certainly had its share of visitors. The French missionaries and explorers began visiting here in the late 16th century.
Pete: Hey, isn't "Milwaukee" an Indian name?
Alice Cooper: Yes, Pete, it is. In fact , it's pronounced "mill-e-wah-que" which is Algonquin for "the good land."
Wayne Campbell: I was not aware of that.

are really the only things I have learned about Milwaukee in the course of my life.

I was quite un-prepared for my visit to this strange Eastern neighbor, but I forged out anyway in the spirit of any true explorer. My curiosity was just as that of Cletusphor Columbus; my adventures would be just as harrowing as those of Sacagecletus leading Lewis and Clark.

Dear readers, I invite you now to sit back and enjoy my tales from "the good land".

Part 1: Cars Make Me Cry

Generally I have no strong opinions about cars. I am not quite enough of a pseudo-lesbian butch to pull off interest in gear shifts, crank shafts, drive belts, and imaginariaum spark boxes (or whatever the hell else goes into a car.) I know how to check fluids, and if need be change a tire. I don't have the brain power to learn anything else. My car means so little to me I can't even recall the year. On a good day I can sputter out the make and model, but usually I just respond "white" when asked what kind of car I drive. My car has a whopping 2 horses and half a crippled donkey of power.

This is why I didn't have to drive to Milwaukee. I was simply a passenger.

However five and half hours in a car - is still enough to make me hate them. Especially after going on about 3 hours of sleep the night before. A once benign object now causes me to weep silently as I approach them. Driving to and from Milwaukee in the span of three days has crushed any urges I might have for a road trip for at least a few months. I'm full up on that - thanks anyway.

I do remember a truck stop. If a robotic gospel singing and dancing sheep would have been 10 dollars instead of 20 it so would have been our mascot for the trip. I was also very tempted by the technicolor "Jesus is Lord" t-shirts they sold. Good old truck stops. I love how they announce when a shower is ready. It's like a big fun frat house that sells a lot of snack food and knick knacky crap. It is sort of a Mecca for me.

I also recall one gas stop where I was beaned in the head from across the station by a giant purple jelly tentacle ball. I was so dazed from lack of sleep - I didn't even really mind. The stars I saw were a nice change of pace from whizzing highway lines.

Sadly on this summer road trip - there were no Christian school buses for us to flash.

Part 2: Factory Tours - Americas Love with Industrial Revolutions.

I also learned that Milwaukee is home to this famous motorcycle. Harley Somethingerotherson. Since I was traveling with two kick ass biker chicks it was a foregone conclusion we were taking the Harley factory tour.

I had never been on a factory tour of any kind. This was semi-exciting to me. I felt I was getting in touch with my inner touristy-American. I had the fat ass and pasty legs in shorts. I was just one fanny pack away from achieving full tourist status!

It was all so exciting. There was movie in a real live theater detailing the history of Harley. There was beat driven music and the urgency of assembly line was brought out full force. I was clutching the arms of seat in anticipation of what would come next!!!! One man (who I think may have taken the Miller Beer Tour more than once that same day) was so moved he couldn’t help but exclaim in awe and wonderment. I think he even broke into thunderous applause when the lights came back on.

We learned our tour group would be broken in two. While the tour guide explained Miller Man was vigorously nodding his head and finishing each directive sentence uttered by our guide with a “sure”, “you bet”, or “ok”.

Sadly this ball of energy, beer, and probably mystery gasses wasn’t on our tour group. Yet like a good little weird drunk guy on a factory tour he wished my girlfriends and I a happy tour.

Dick would be our guide. Yes. Dick.

Dick asked us all if we had our little tour guide cards and IDs’ ready to be checked. In the true spirit of weird drunk guy, my friend Christy piped up: “We Do Dick!” She was serious. Of course Becky and I equipped with our 4th grade senses of humor started giggling like fiends ensuring our popularity with the other tour groupies and illustrating to us all the importance of a well placed comma.

After our security check we got some spiffy glasses and a nifty ear piece so we could hear everything Dick had to say. Dick was not much of a public speaker. Had about all the umphf of a wet firecracker. The tour itself was pretty random and haphazard. It was also only the factory for the engines. Any part of a motorcycle I might be able to recognize was not at this factory. This was random sprockets, gears, and metal shavings. It was hot, dirty, industrial, and not nearly the haven of hot gay action I was hoping for. It was smelly, Dick was a total wet blanket, and the only fun I got out of the tour was pointing out eye injury signs to Becky. Oh and I also got a giggle when Dick made us all huddle in closer to let the big honky girl get in close too. Even the gift shop was a tad lack luster for me. My inner tourist was bored out of my gourd and really wished we’d opted for the Beer Tour so that I could be as charming and fun as the exuberant man in the other group. My inner TV nerd wanted to take the beer tour and bring a work glove to pay homage to Laverne and Shirley.

It was now onward to the hotel!

Part 3: Old Milwaukee - It Doesn't Get Any Better Than This



Points of interest to me in Milwaukee were Brady Street, Lake Michigan, the Milwaukee Art Museum, and check this action – we stayed across the street from the Laverne and Shirley tower. I have since learned it’s called “City Hall”.

Brady Street was a kick ass little neighborhood that reminded me a lot of Uptown. Very hip, small, and while the storefronts are old the people are young and hip little urbanite hippies. My kind of people. There are cute little thrift shops, nice little bistros, and really great old houses. They also had a plethora of my kind of laid back hole in the wall bars.

Lake Michigan. It’s no Lake SUPERIOR, but it isn’t a mediocre lake. It is in fact great.

The Milwaukee Art Museum was pretty awesome. It’s built to look like a giant ship docked in the lake. That Santiago Calatrava sure knows how to build his-self a nice little building. It's a very unique space, and I especially enjoyed the human tube glass elevators, the amazing Chihuly piece, and the breathtaking view of the lake from inside. It’s very kick ass,


City Hall would prove helpful to us in our quest to find our hotel. More on that story to come. Calling it Laverne and Shirley Tower also helped our popularity with the locals I am sure.

Oh oh – and they have trolleys. In keeping with traditions laid forth by my aunt I made the Milwaukee public transit my new friend. It was excellent – for the most part – again, more on that story to come.

The Hi Hat had great food, and a super hot waiter. The Up and Under is my new favorite bar away from home. And yeah they have this little event every year called Summerfest.

Summerfest. It's a giant musical event. Stage after stage, beer tent after beer tent, all on the waterfront. The weather for us was perfect for just such an event. The mid to upper 70’s, a cool lake breeze, and not a cloud in the sky.

For Minnesota readers I would describe it as a all the atmosphere of the Minnesota State Fair, sans the livestock and in a smaller space. And quadruple the drunks. Those Wisconsinites sure know how to binge drink!

Part Four: Drunks; A Field Guide

Like I said, these are a drinking people. I am pretty sure they have more drunks per capita then any other city. While fun to goof on at first a weekend full of them can be a bit annoying.

At Summerfest the beer flowed. As the day progressed so did the stumbling and slobering. It was the drunk leading the drunk. It was an interesting tug-o-war to behold. Drunk girlfriend teeters and weaves. Drunk boyfriend stops and leans in the other direction, pulling stumbling girlfriend back three paces. He is looking at the clever cracks in the cement. She presses forward - heaving him loose to continue their circular/figure eight-yish path.

I shit you not even pets and babies were drunk! I'm pretty sure I saw a sparrow fly into a window, shit itself, and then flip it off.

From our hotel room on the 6th floor we were able to watch Drunken Masterpiece Theater in the Park. We all ate our pizza and watched a girl walk on the wobbly legs that would give any toddler a run for their money in a walking competition. Soon she had to be led by the shoulders by her two girlfriends. One on each side trying to steady her. They were doing ok until it was time for the good old dumping of the guts on the street, flower bed, shoes, garbage can, bench. There was collective "oh!" when we saw her blow like some drunk geyser. She stood after covering everything in a three foot radius with puke only to take a step, then throw herself back down on the bench to heave again between her legs. We all shook our heads knowing her pain because we'd been there - and laughing because for once it wasn't us.

I believe Milwaukee should start an ad campagin in the vein of Las Vegas. Instead of "What Happens Here Stays Here" it should be "Welcome to Milwaukee, Here's Your Drunk!"

Allow me to elaborate. Our first night in the hotel we gathered in one room to smoke a blue streak, and drink a dirty mile. We were all rather sloshed and noisy. We heard a knock at our door and quickly all of us reverted to naughty 15 year olds getting busted.

"Shh shh!" Cigs were stubbed out, everyone stood up trying to look less drunk, assuming the hotel and been alerted to our rowdy behavior.

Instead in weaved a drunk kid. He mumbled something about how his friends in the next room wouldn't let him in the room because...mumble mumble.

Welcome to Milwaukee - Here's Your Drunk!

He then preceeds to tell us in a sloppy drunk fashion that he has a girlfriend but he can't stay loyal more than two or three months. He just has "urges ya know - I get horny".

I then being more sober took it upon myself to mock the drunk behind his back saying "I doubt they'll be a problem for you tonight" and made the universial whisky dick hand gesture.

The man in the red shirt demonstrates it here for us:


I knew our one friend was gone when he leaped from his chair and exclaimed "look at my kick ass pants!" and shook the crotch of his pants in our faces. Further proof was when he farted in our group and then took none too subtle two steps out of the semi-circle we had made.

Christy: "Did you fart?"
Drunk Friend: "Nope"
Becky: "At least he didn't try to blame it on his girlfriend"

We knew his girlfriend was drunk when she locked herself in the bathroom and started crying.

These two represent our first two sub-catergories of drunk.

1. The Seems Sober Until They Talk Drunk. This would be our Friend. He looked fine. No glassy eyes, no stumbling, he didn't even slur. The only give away was the fact that his topics of converstation changed faster than lighting round on Cross-Fire, and were generally about the oddest things. Such as his "kick ass" pants.

2. The Emotional Roller Coaster Drunk. This was our friends girlfriend. She came to our hotel a little tippy - was laughing loudly and having a gay old time. 2.8 seconds later she was locked weeping in the bathroom.

3. The Comatose Drunk. We saw an example of this at the Up and Under Bar. I drunk college boy sat poised on his bar stool. Head hung over, limp posture, occasionally he would muster a thumbs up sign to let his friends know he was in fact not PVS.

4. The Horny Thinks He's Sauve Drunk: This would be the guy who crashed our hotel room. Somehow by telling us what an assclown he is he assumes with help from his friend Alchohol that all women find him attractive. He merely has to suggest you leave with him, and you will.

5. The Alzhiemers Drunk. All drunks eventually fall into this catergory. No matter how many times you tell them, where you're going, what you're doing now, or where the rest of your group is they have to ask one more time five minutes later. Example:

Drunk Friend: "Where's Christy?"
Us: "She went to get some food at Jimmy Johns".
Drunk Friend: "Ok"

Repeat this conversation every two minutes and you see what I am talking about.

There are Angry Drunks, Happy Drunks, Stupid Drunks, Funny Drunks, Sloppy Drunks, Slutty Drunks, it's basically the run down of the Seven Dwarves but with "Drunk" after it.

No way in hell I am giving up what kind of drunk I am. You'll just have to take me drinking sometime.

To Be Continued...