Friday, August 26, 2005

Mirror in the bathroom recompense
For all my crimes of self defense
Cures you whisper make no sense
Drift gently into mental illness.

The following is another Guest Blog, this time from the Gooch. He has written me a series of really entertaining emails since I have been in Montana, and I have been begging him to use one for a guest blog. He finally agreed, and I hope he will be a regular contributor to The Dude Abides.

It is a hilarious look at like Up Nort'. If you ever spent a little time in those small Northern Wisconsin towns and asked yourself,
I wonder what people do up here? Well, now you know.

Hey Dumbass-

I'm writing you.

It's my anniversary today, thanks for caring, jackhole.

I sense a note of hostility in my words. Maybe it's because I got in a fight with my brother-in-law this weekend, only to then see my two sister-in-laws get in a close fisted fight. I believe the recommendation "Enjoy in Moderation" is aimed directly at me, my wife, my wife's family and the Dude.

Oh yeah, and to my parents, for whom I used to be the "cartender" in the car when we would go on rides in my formidable years. I seriously did not know it was illegal to drink & drive until I was around ten or so.

I now can see the flaws about living in the land of beerfarts and cowshit. My typical weekend consists of driving 40 miles. This is usually a three beer trip. That's how we judge distance in Wisconsin, by how many beers you can drink in getting from point A to point B.

I drop my wife off at a small local tavern to tend bar. (We call them taverns not bars, but I'm not sure why.) Then I kill some time before I return to said tavern, to take my place at the bar and talk to each and every one about the same thing I talked to them about last week. I also take out the garbage in return for free beer. It's good work if you can get it.

When 2:30 AM rolls around, I'm shithoused and my wife drives me and the new love of my life, a chicken alfredo pizza, to my parents cabin for a wonderful nightcap of gorging myself and passing out. Now, ten years ago this would have been heaven. Do it for that long, and it becomes hell. The one funny thing that I think about as I type this, is that most of the people that I know do this every weekend, minus the bartending. It is ingrained into our small town nature.

Saturday morning rolls around. I wake up at 7AM. I feel like shit but I cannot sleep anymore because I normally get up at 5AM on the weekdays to go work out. Yesterday, while I was on my three beer, forty mile, trip I had devised great plans for today. Get some of my hunting shit together, do a little musky fishing, generally do some fun things outside and enjoy where I reside.

Instead of embarking on something healthy and productive, my dad and I make some breakfast. Whilst making breakfast, my wife yells at us to "Make a little more fucking noise!" from the loft in the cabin. We eat breakfast, feel groggy, and lay on the couch til noon. At noon, we go to one of the local taverns and eat some deep fried food.

Up here we have no subway, no chipotle, no boston market. Every tavern/restaurant has a grill and a deep fryer. So we "Grease up" and head back to the cabin to lay around some more. Then around four o'clock my father says "Let's go see who's at the (insert the name of your tavern here)" So the vicious cycle starts all over again. We end up staying out til 2:30 again, surprise surprise.

Sunday is a little less active. Most people in our little community have a saying which is "Everyone knows the best day to drink is on Sunday". I agree to a point. They have another saying, "If you're gonna drink all day, you gotta start early." SO, look what you are dealing with.

The thing that gets in my way of enjoying "the best day to drink" is the forty mile drive. So I concede on Sunday. We are normally back at our residence somewhere between noon and two. We make homemade hot wings (my wifes favorite) and lay on the couch watching one of the following: 1. The Milwaukee Brewers; 2. The GreenBay Packers, and my least favorite; 3. Nascar.

It really bothers me to admit that I watch Nascar. I started watching it so that I could root for the few drivers that all the rednecks hate because they think said drivers are gay. Now I find it strangely amusing to watch. So in a nutshell Sunday is spent sleeping on the couch, eating and watching tv.
This is Wisconsin.

"The Gooch"

Gooch, I miss you, dude. Say "hi" to the old boy for me. Kiss the wife and Marley, and get your ass to Montana, post haste.