Chapter Three: The Pace of Walking (2013)

Summerfest 2013 (cont.) 07/05/13 (Friday.)

I wonder if the opposite sex can sense just how desperate and lonely I am, just by looking at me.

I’m sure writing like this in public isn’t helping things.

It’s probably 83 degrees Fahrenheit today here in Milwaukee. Humid, but a nice breeze is keeping it from sweltering.

I thought, on the way down here, that the word of the day is, “SKIN.”

Coventry Jones and an analysis of walking….The pace of walking.

Firstly, I saw Coventry Jones at Oakland Gyros around 12:45 AM early Wednesday morning. I happened to be securing my dinner after a long day of helping friends move to Chicago.

(Side note #1: Had to switch spots because I was afraid the bees would sting me. The festival is crowded today, and finding a spot to sit down and write getting more and more difficult. Whatever.)

(Side note #2: I’m already on beer #2. Slammed a Guinness on the 1.72 mile walk down here from my apartment. This one’s a Black IPA.)

#3: A small crowd has gathered to my left, surrounding a bunch of black kids playing drums on 5 gallon buckets.

The sun is directly overhead as it’s 4:30 and I’m facing due west. The giant freeway overpass won’t block it for another two hours, at least.

Someone just threw a cob of corn away in the garbage can to my left.

A couple just walked past me, holding hands.

(They couldn’t have been a day past 12.)

How cute.

How gross.

A couple in their mid-40’s just walked past me, going in the opposite direction, also holding hands. In both of their free hands were matching bottles of Miller Lite.

I know.

How cute.

How gross.

The black kids are still drumming.

The two ladies to my left are drinking Coors Light.

The Asian guy points East, and a black couple wait in line for the photo booth.

A group of Hispanic teenagers all have tattoos on their arms.

The white guy is wearing a camouflage hat, and his shirt, a picture of the American flag.

A white lady with a green visor is walking slowly, smoking a cigarette.

This reminds me. Coventry Jones and walking paces.

(Jesus Christ.)

1. Stroller pace

2. Stroller pace with other kids

3. Stroller pace with other families

4. Eating while walking pace

5. Trying to cut across pace

6. Trying to find your drunk friends pace

7. Drunk, trying to find your drunk friends pace

8. Woozy pace

9. I have to go to the bathroom pace

10. Looking at the food choices pace

11. Drunk, with food, trying to find a place to sit pace

12. Side note: Glory be. There are some extremely attractive females here at this festival. Oh my fucking god.

13. Pushing a stroller while child is crying it’s time to go home pace.

14. The drunk, smoking a cigarette, texting on the cellular device pace.

15. The, I work on the ground’s crew, I still have another 2.5 days of walking in the godforsaken sun pace.

16. The I’m late for work pace

Side note: Even the tough guy with all the tattoos has one that says, “Love.”

Side note: Just finished a plate of food, not to mention 3 beers. Cigarette cravings are totally absent from my day. Thank fucking god!

17. The wife beater, sunburnt farmer’s tan guy with frosted jean shorts walking really fast outside the festival for unknown reasons pace.

18. The I don’t care pace

Sunday, July 7, 2013

Last day of Summerfest

It’s around 4PM. Tail end of a long holiday weekend. Most folks go back to work tomorrow.

I’m sorry.

That sucks.

(Lucky me, I have the next 6 weeks off.)

This last guy looked angry. Fists clenched.

Some teenager with an exposed belly just walked to a group of other teens. Her dude was smoking a clove cigarette, of course.

Shirt #1: Keep Calm and Chive On

Reminder: this writer lives in Wisconsin.

The acoustic guitar couple just packed up their stuff and fled.

Two young girls sat down to my right, to take a rest…..to smoke a cigarette.

She just said, “He’s like a fucking beacon.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about.

(Beacon….not bacon, asshole.)

T-Shirt #2: Keep Calm and Forever Sanctify

(No joke.)

Couple of older ladies to my left, communicating with men on the other side of the bushes, trying to get in to see The Eagles.

“Hi, we’re Joe Walsh’s daughters….no, sisters….daughters.”

Gentleman with a 4 year old sat down to my right….to rest….to smoke a cigarette.

This question needs to be asked. Where do all these people get all the money to pay for all these goddamn tattoos?

Seriously. Maybe the economy tanked because people spent all their cash on tattoos.

Two middle aged white men, both wearing tourquoise shirts (tucked in, with beer belly overhang reigning supreme) walked past me, chatting about the Green Bay Packers.

(It’s July. Go figure.)

The vans that roll past with tinted windows house the bands who play throughout the festival. I can see the sunglasses and beards, but little else.

(All I want to do is flip them off.)

T-Shirt #3: Keep Calm and Chive On

(On a different person; female this time.)

Jesus Christ

T-Shirt #4: Keep Calm and Smile On

(Oh, how zany, Summerfest!)

T-Shirt #5: Cornstar

(Fucking Iowans)

It takes a certain kind of guy to wear a visor. It’s not a hat. It’s not a cowboy hat. It’s a visor.

(Visor = asshole, right?)

Except for me.

Every once in a while, to protect my precious forehead from a vicious beating of the sun, I wear a visor.

I’m certainly not an asshole, though. (Not even close.)

Don’t look at me, bro…..I’ll stare straight through your soul.

I think these people are standing in line because they don’t know what else to do with themselves.

(And the lady with the missing teeth smiled.)