Things That Make You Go Hmmmm...WTF?

Audience participation time!

I'm going to tell you a true WTF story from my very own life. If you like it, offer up your own in the comments, and in a follow-up post I'll rate them for WTFness. OK?

Exactly.

Here goes.

From 1990-1991, during the last year of Jeffrey Dahmer's infamous killing spree in Milwaukee, I lived about a mile and a half from the apartment where he carried out his deeds - basically a straight shot up 27th Street across the viaduct. At one point he picked up a future victim at a bus stop near Marquette University, where my ex was attending graduate school - very likely the same bus stop where Ex stood every day to catch the bus home.

At least Dahmer kept his freezer full of bones neat and tidy.
I can't even find a bag of corn in mine.

Ol' Jeffrey was finally arrested about a month before we moved back to Texas. Last year Precocious Daughter and I visited Milwaukee - my first time back since 1991. I didn't take her to see the vacant lot that used to be his apartment building before they tore it down. It would have felt creepy.

So there's my WTF-brush-with-infamy anecdote.

Let's hear yours.

Hello, Milwaukee Part II

Day 3 in Milwaukee:

My parents and Precocious Daughter and I went to Grant Park in South Milwaukee and walked the Seven Bridges. Even though it was 30 degrees out, the beach on Lake Michigan still made me oh so happy.

Make it a bucket list item. You won't be sorry.

Then we toured my ancestral home town of South Milwaukee, seeing the apartments I lived in from ages two to five, the homes of three of my aunts (and uncles and cousins), and the cemetery where my grandparents are buried. You guys, I don't want to be buried in the ground, but there is something somber and touching about walking amongst the gravestones of the dead and wondering about their stories and honoring your own relatives. With PDaughter at my side, I felt I was finally able to present her to her great-grandparents. Yeah, I got a little choked up. I miss my grandparents, and I know they would have loved her to death.

We spent the afternoon chilling, and then PDaughter and I visited my dear friend South Side Shelly, who proved to be exactly as smart and funny and eclectic as I remembered her from high school. She and PDaughter hit it off really well. We had dinner at an Italian place in Bay View called Tenuta's that was really quite wonderful. I love you, Shelly.

Tomorrow PDaughter and I will drive around some more, visiting landmarks and whatnot. Definitely visiting the Mitchell Park Domes, which happens to be just a few blocks from the house her father and I lived in as newlyweds. Maybe going to Kopp's Frozen Custard, even though the temperature will be in the thirties (spoiler alert: not optimal frozen custard weather).

In case you can't tell, I'm having the best time in Milwaukee. PDaughter and I are having an experience we'll share forever. I'm cherishing this time with my parents.

This is my Thanksgiving.

What are you thankful for?

Hello, Milwaukee

DRUNKARDS. I'm in Milwaukee. I'm. In. Milwaukee.

And if you don't understand why that makes me so very happy, then you don't come here very often.

Where my heart is.

You guys, I haven't been in my hometown in 25 years. And Precocious Daughter has never seen her ancestral home. But for the next few days, we're here. And we're having the most fabulous time.

We arrived yesterday, and it was 34 degrees with a 25 mph north wind. Yeah, it was freaking cold. I honestly thought PDaughter might perish - not from the cold, but from her anxiety about the cold. Texas born and raised, she is. But I admit, while I tried to laugh off her cold-bloodedness and face the raw day with bravado...it's been 25 years, and I thought it was damn freaking cold. And it's only November; in January this will seem totally balmy.

Put on an extra pair of socks and 30 pounds of blubber,
it'll be fine.

It's been so nice to see my parents, and my brother and his wife. And tomorrow...you guys, tomorrow I'm having dinner with Southside Shelly, who is one of my best friends on Earth, and I can't wait.

I'm pretty happy right now.

Today, PDaughter and I went to the Milwaukee Art Museum, which is an absolutely amazingly gorgeous building designed by renowned architect Santiago Calatrava. It sits right on Lake Michigan, on the edge of downtown Milwaukee, just north of the Summerfest grounds.

Summerfest is the granddaddy of music festivals,
and it happens every damn year.

I wanted PDaughter to see the art museum in any case, but it just so happens that it currently is hosting an exhibition on German Expressionist film. You may recall that PDaughter and I are fans. So we were psyched to see it.

IT WAS AMAZING.

Special effects were on fleek in 1924, you guys.

We had a great time touring the museum collections, and the museum itself is awe-inspiring.

After the museum, I drove PDaughter through downtown Milwaukee to Marquette University, where her dad went to grad school, and then through the South Side via 16th Street with views of the Mitchell Park Domes, Miller Park, and Wilson Park, all of which I plan to revisit in greater detail over the next few days.

I'm so happy to be home with my lovely daughter.

I'm so happy to be on vacation for the first time in too many moons.

I'm happy to see my parents, who have become elderly without my consent and therefore all the more precious to me.

I'll be here for a few more days, so if you're in the Milwaukee area and want to say hello, drop me a note. I'm more than available.

And very, very happy.

From Where the River Flows to Where the Sunset Goes. Also, yah dere hey.

Three weeks from tomorrow, Precocious Daughter and I will fly to my ancestral home: Milwaukee.



If you remember that commercial, you are one of the chosen. Just saying.

PDaughter and I are going to stay with my parents in suburban Milwaukee in the days leading up to Thanksgiving. We'll actually be back in Texas for Thanksgiving, because it happens to be PDaughter's 17th birthday, and she wants to be...home. And as hard as it is for me to understand the concept of Texas being home, I totally get it.

We all just want to be home.

Home.

You guys, I haven't been in Milwaukee in 25 years. PDaughter has never been. I can't wait to show her my hometown.

The places I lived.

The schools I attended.

The neighborhoods I walked.

I can't wait to see friends and family I haven't seen in ages. I can't wait for them to meet her.

I really hope they don't look like this.

I want to see (and show) the South Side, the East Side, Downtown. I want to visit South Milwaukee, where my Daddy grew up and where I spent my earliest years. I want to visit Bay View, and the Third Ward, and Marquette University, where her father got his Master's degree. I want us to hang out at the lakefront and take a picture in front of the Fonzie statue.

A picture with the Fonzie statue is all I want, tbh.

I want to have Mama Mia's pizza, or maybe a George Webb burger. I want to find out what happened to all the people in Bay View High School's class of 1985/1986. I want to drive past the Oriental Theatre.

I'm old, you guys, and these things are my youth.

I know that some of my Milwaukee peeps read this blog. I know that others don't, but are Facebook friends with those who do.

To all: I would love to see you, and give you a hug, and laugh about how freaking old we've gotten.

My visit next month will make one hell of a blog post.

Help me make it one hell of a visit.

Three weeks from tomorrow, you guys.

Be there with me. OK?

The Pound Is Sinking

Bestest Friend is very wise.

She sent me a link to Paul McCartney's "The Pound Is Sinking," which of course is extremely apt today, because Brexit.

Aside: WTF, UK?

Aside aside: I love the way that actually spells out what I didn't want to write explicitly.

As does this.

The pound was indeed sinking after Britain so confidently believed it would stay in the European Union that it allowed itself to be voted out via the dirtiest of tricks: democracy.

And if one person believes that a) the United States won't be pulled into this crisis politically and economically, and b) we haven't just gotten a glimpse into our own future vis a vis the power of complacent assholes to not vote themselves out of catastrophe, then I want what you're huffing, bro.

Cuz it's not sweet, glittery freedom.

Anyway, "The Pound Is Sinking" is a track from Sir Paul's 1982 album Tug of War. Honestly, I hadn't made the connection, so good on Bestest Friend. It gave me a huge shot of life after a couple of exhausting, demoralizing days.

I emailed her and said I would probably end up listening to the entire album.

Which of course is what I'm doing right now.

And so is Sir Paul, seen here.

OMG, I love this album.

I haven't listened to it in years. But I remember buying it, I remember playing it over and over and over, and I remember exactly that period in my life: Spring/Summer 1982, just before I learned my family and I were moving to Texas and everything changed forever.

Listening to Tug of War now takes me right back to that place and time. Every song, every note, every background "oooooh" from Linda McCartney is burned into my soul. The title track is one of my favorite songs EVER. The aforementioned "The Pound Is Sinking" is one of my favorite Paul vocals EVER.

This is the album that featured the mega-smash duet of Sir Paul and Stevie Wonder on "Ebony and Ivory." But it also features another collaboration between the two, "What's That You're Doing," which I feel is far superior. It's super-funky and synth-driven. These two need to work together again, while they're both still alive and kicking.

Mostly I'm struck by how this album speaks to me, today, right now, talking at my feels and getting them just right. That's what great music is all about.

So thanks, Paul, for Tug of War. And thanks, Bestest Friend, for knowing exactly what I needed to hear this week.

Maybe I'll listen to Give My Regards to Broadstreet next.

Sort of a private joke.

And Drunkards: If there's a Tug of War in your musical memory, I'd love to know what it is. Hopefully it's on Rhapsody.

Sheesh. Or Is It Shitch?

This one time I was reading a book about vampires - it could have been Dracula, but hey, I've read a lot of books about vampires, so I'm not 100% sure.

Let's face it, it probably was Dracula,
 because I've read it soooo many times.

In any event, I was reading the book, and suddenly the word "blood" went all funny on me.

Has this ever happened to you? You're reading something, and there's a certain word that recurs throughout, and you read it and repeat it in your head over and over until it stops existing as a word and just collapses into a pile of meaningless letters that no longer make sense to your brain.

...that is the question.

That happened to me with the word "blood." My brain refused to acknowledge its actual pronunciation and meaning and decided that it was simply a string of letters that rhymed with "food." I lost my entire ability to comprehend what I was reading because my eyes focused in every instance of that one word and made my brain go "blooooooood." I finally had to put the book down, because you know, if you can't make your brain understand the word "blood," there's not much point in reading a book about vampires.

Watching this over and over has almost the same effect.
Go on, try it.

That doesn't really have much to do with what I'm going to talk about next. I just thought it was interesting.

So. You know the word niche?

Look at it until it loses all meaning, mwahahaha.

Without thinking, say it out loud.

How did you pronounce it?

Did you say "nitch"?

Or did you say "neesh"?

If you said "Nietzsche," you go way back and sit down.

I'm only asking because I recently realized that I've started to say "neesh" instead of "nitch." I'm pretty sure I used to say "nitch." I'm a girl from the south side of Milwaukee, and that sounds like a very Southsider pronunciation, like saying "root" so that it rhymes with "foot." 

By the way, I've assiduously trained myself over the years to say "roooot" instead of "rut," as well as "bag" instead of "baig."

And I almost never say this.

Those were all conscious decisions I made when I moved to a part of the country where such pronunciations weren't the norm. And they happened a long time ago. I'm not sure when my brain decided to say "neesh" instead of "nitch," but I know it was only in the last few years. I don't know exactly when, and I have no idea why. 

It's entirely possible that I've become pretentious and simply decided that the more French-sounding pronunciation made me sound smarter. I have no problem admitting such a thing; I'm somewhat self-obsessed and sometimes pedantic and I want people to think I'm smart DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT?

What.

The thing is, both Google and Dictionary.com give the pronunciation of the word niche as "nitch." Merriam Webster offers "neesh" or "nish" only as a secondary pronunciation. Clearly, whether I think "neesh" is the preferred way to say it means bupkus. Yet here I am, with all of my neuro-linguistic pathways convinced that the Frenchified version is the correct one.

This non-stereotypical Frenchman agrees.

I guess I just want to know if I'm crazy, if I'm the only one who says "neesh" instead of "nitch." And if so, do I need to knock it off? Clearly I've proven that I can train myself to say things differently if I think it's in my best interest to do so. I just need a reason.

So what do you think?

Nitch?

Or Neesh?

Or Get a life and worry about something even slightly important, you moron?

Let me know.