November 04, 2004
Early Tuesday morning, I sat before my computer eagerly contemplating the best possible time to make my political mark as a citizen of the United States and vote. I did not want to go too early and I had no intentions of hitting the hurried lunch time crowd, so I boldly stepped through the Waukesha City Hall doors at approximately 10:30 a.m.. I followed the maze of arrows to the right, down a flight of stairs, past a large table full of coffee, donuts and brownies (which nearly detained me from my greater goal) and into a room with a minimal line of people, all ready to cast their votes for the 2004 election. Nervously I waited in line, clutching my letter of registration, my photo ID and an electric bill, just in case.It was my turn...
"What's your street name, miss?"
"Ahhhh, North Street," I said with a shaky voice.
"East or West?"
"Ummm, my name is Laura Johnson."
"No, no," he said, "East or west - your street?"
"Ohh! Yes, of course, West North Street... Sorry, first time," I stupidly replied.
He quickly sent me down to the next table (with an agitated look of pure disgust). I was greatly relieved that the woman who sat at the next table was taking notice of my niave ways and sympathizing. She immediately instructed me on how I should connect the little arrows and where I should place my filled out card upon completion. I made my way to one of the boothes, gripped my small golf game type pencil with determination and concisely connected my arrows. I placed the ballot into a surprisely loud machine and strolled easily back through the City Hall corridors toward my car. I annoyed every single person I passed with the spring in my step and the large grin planted upon my face.
I returned to my apartment and donned my new Parisian hat while studying my Statistics homework. The hat goes perfectly well with the 28% increase in heating costs and, of course, my rebellious nature by refusing to contribute to the wealth of others, With slightly blue and quivering lips, I finally gave up paging with ice tipped fingers to the back of my Stats book, wondering if I had done each question wrong. I then became familiar with some French phrases with a pocket sized book called "Just Enough French" that John gave me. It has many of the usual questions I will be asking during my trip, such as; s'il vous plait, avez-vous un tire-bouchon? (please, have you got a cork-screw?) and Je voudrais du sparadrap (I'd like some sticking plaster).
I attended class as usual at 6:00 p.m. Tuesday night to find that my homework was completed correctly (wonders never cease) and that our class was not to have an assignment for Thursday. We were able to then leave early and I made my way to the parking lot with absolute elation. Upon my exit, I saw a group of students standing on the corner and waving large 'VOTE KERRY/EDWARDS!' signs to passing vehicles. Their chants promoted the obligation of our patriotic duty and I felt honored to honk my horn several times as I went by. They all of them screamed and wailed in approbation as I continued to honk halfway down East Street, encouraging my sense of enthusiasm (and scaring innocent sidewalk dwellers) on such an important and memorable day.
I drove to John's house in order to celebrate (well, in order to drink, really, but one has to have a reason, right?). My usual loquatious character was fueled to an even higher degree of continuous rambling as we began to discuss our trip to Europe. I could not contain myself! We made plans to get $400.00 worth of currency exchanged on Friday (since I believe myself to be a frugal spender, I am content that this will be enough, and between Dad's Gauloises and finding some exceptional rocks for Mom, I will secure a very minimum amount splurged on gifts). We then extended our festive hearts to John's familiar hangout in Milwaukee where we played a game or two of pool. He attended to my absolutely non-existant ability to play by giving me a few pointers until I found the striped pool balls to very much resemble the solids - at which time we decided to get going. A late night need for grease and carbs struck me instantly and we stumbled into a local restaraunt which was almost empty (I think). After placing my order in front of me, John somehow managed to scare off the waitress. Instead of checking on us in normal fashion by coming to our table and inquiring, she kept her distance of about 20 yards, looked strictly at me and yelled over the vacant tables,
"Everything all right??"
I gave her a thumbs up.
Back at John's, we made a roaring fire and continued our reverie late into the night.
I slept in late to ensure the effects of the evening's indulgance to be mostly abaded and was immediately instructed to shower in preparation for a day's worth of mystery. John would not provide a single word of insight as to what he was planning and so I simply followed suit. We drove to Plankinton Avenue, which I had recalled from previous enterprises to the charming Third Ward, and parked in a $3.50 All Day parking lot. He charged me to place the money in a large box which had numbers corresponding to our parking space. I had never experienced such a trivial event as this and was entirely amused by folding each dollar three times over and stuffing them, one by one, with a small tool, into the number 3 slot. This seemingly simple task was made overly difficult by my inability to stop, even briefly, from roaring with exuberant laughter. Easily amused...
Still groggy with too much alcohol and an insufficient amount of sleep, I fell behind John's quick pace as he pushed forward down the street. Completely oblivious to what he had been planning, I let a sharp gasp of surprise as he easily strolled through the doors of the Milwaukee Train Station. I had never before been on a train! He stated that this would be my opportunity to gain a bit of experience for our European endeavors on le metro. At noon, we purchased tickets for the next train destined to Chicago and were set to depart at 1:00 p.m.. We went outside as to dissuade me from making a scene inside and so John could laugh at my little skips and hops of excitement. Our regularly full stock of cigarettes had been dispensed with the prior evening's passing and so I bummed one from a patron on the sidewalk. Ahhh, even disgusting taste of a Newport menthol cigarette could not dampen my charmed and exhilerated spirit. I was about to embark on a new and exciting experience! A TRAIN! Easily amused...
We returned to the waiting area inside and commented on the passersby. Well, really, it was only one passerby upon which we remarked who was about 5' 7", 375 poundes and wearing a scantly red tank top, showing the world an usually hairy and well endowed chest. I still shiver at the mere thought... At quarter to 1:00 p.m., I secured a spot in line as John made his way to the facilities. I started a casual conversation with the man who had lit my cigarette outside, relaying to him that this was my first voyage on a train and intended to be in preparation for my trip to Paris. He then inquired as to whether or not I was to take a train to Paris as well. I proceeded to let out an amused chuckle until I realized that he was quite serious with his inquisition and I merely corrected him by stating that I would be flying to Amsterdam and then taking a train to Paris (as opposed to berating him with the fact that there is not, to my knowledge, a 'scuba train' which crosses the Atlantic ocean). Shortly after the abrupt ending I made to that conversation, John assumed his position next to me in line and we were soon standing on the train station's platform. I grasped blindly at John's arm and within an undetermined amount of time (for I believe I briefly blacked out), found myself sitting on the Hiawatha Amtrak headed to Chicago!
This everyday, routine method of transportion to some, was of great importance and newfound wonderment to me. I inhaled each surpassing scene with exuisite appreciation and absoulte joy: The short man with an appropriate conductor like hat (whom I referenced several times as 'The Little Ticket Man') made a call for tickets and I was graced with the pleasure of handing him our own (hence my disappointment that tickets are no longer 'punched', but merely ripped apart). The food cart wheeled down the aisle from which we purchased a bottle of water and a Hieneken (costing only about $40), just as one might do on a plane (if, indeed, they're unGodly rich). The whistle blowing as we made our way through bustling towns of flashing lights and railroad crossings where the traffic stopped at our expense. The games we played in reference to Paris (John failed to fill in the blanks of Hangman with 'Montparnasse.' Tisk tisk). Easily amused...
A little after 2:30 p.m. we entered Chicago and John gallantly helped a woman with two children traveling to Dallas by carrying her heaviest bag off the train. We then immediately began a pointed search for cigarettes. Just as one would suspect in an airport, so it was at the train station; cigarettes, soda and other ammenities cost ten times more than if we were to have been patient enough to acquire them at a nearby convenience store. Alas, our anxiety gave way to near desperation for nicotine and we spent over seven dollars on one pack of cigarettes (thus intelligently purchased three). We quit the station and found ourselves upon a bridge, shaking as we hastily staved our craving for tobacco. As I exhaled my first puff, I followed the billows of smoke upward and there I was, minute in comparison and enchanted by the brilliance of Chicago towering boldly over me. Though the chilling force of Lake Michigan could be felt on this open space, we were treated to a day of sunshine and mild temperature between the shelter of buildings. Regaining my sense of being, I spun around in dazzled comprehension of my surroundings. The Sears Tower caught me in dizzying reverie as my eyes fought the force of such an extreme apogee. John encouraged me to respect my current location (with regard to ensuring our successfull return to the train station) and thus my mind secured a lasting snapshot of the Sears Tower before we made our way into the bustling streets of Chicago.
My heart rate slowly returned to a normal (ish) beat and our next goal was sustinance. After a relatively short stroll, we each agreed to the quaintness of a bar and grill called Elephant and Castle (and since we are both so very fond of each, we entered) where a lovely waitress named Jen seated us by the winow in the smoking section. We looked out at the people of Chicago: The handsomely dressed businessmen who all seemed to have the same tie (must be a 'Wednesday thing'), the stylish women with perfectly fixed up hair and painful looking pumps, the beggars, tired of vocally announcing their hunger, held signs asking for money, the casually dressed teenage girls with high shouldered purses that could not possibly contain more than a tic tac, the old dotard with a cain in one hand and feeling his way into the pub with the other only to sit alone yet be contently surrounded, the college students, tired of vocally announcing their poverty, held signs begging for money that their parents would not grant. I took them all in. An overhead TV could procure the only cause for any discontent as we scoffed at Bush's smiling face. Well, there was also the three or four highly knowledge set of patrons who happened to carry an advanced intelligence over the rest of the population regarding their officiating opinions of this year's election and one or two others determined to show off their technologically offset social skills by screaming into their cells phones. Besides that odious and unavoidable drama, we were happy as clams! I sipped a Bloody Mary while John indulged in the usual whiskey on the rocks before devouring a rejuvinating meal of mustard and mayo slathered hamburgers. Topping off the meal, we split a Hieneken before commencing forth once again into the cool and open air.
While crossing the busy intersection of Washington Street, we noted a large group of band members dressed in blue suits and squared off hats, bearing instruments of every assortment and canaling into the same path of city dwellers as ourselves. We followed them with curiosity to the steps of a beautifully architectured building where in front stood a lifesized, bronzed cow. Naturally, John recognized it as the Chicago Cultural Center while I was still pondering over the absurdity of placing a cow directly in the midst of such a wonderous establishment (and we weren't in Wisconsin, after all). An exhibit that John had wanted to see was being displayed, but he ventured to assume that closing time was encroaching and asserted that we should perhaps move on. Yet I watched the band members file through the double doors and insisted that we at least check it out while we're here. I was only required to wait patiently for a about a minute before John started forward, making the tail end of blue suits ahead of us.
With an inquiry as to the hours of operation, we found we had approximately two hours to wander as we pleased and thus began our venture through the building. To the right, we came across a few very unusual (and, to be honest, rather disturbing) displays of so called art to which we readily rejected in equal bewilderment. One of which was a video recording of a woman hyperventalating and another was something like little balls of bouncing blue light... Entirely too odd, even for us. We looped around, came to small sitting area where John relaxed for a moment with an unoccupied newspaper, while I prodded onward and upward with innocent curiosity. The wide set of marble railed stairs had taken over the inviting notions of resting my feet and on I went, soon followed by my companion in travel. I insisted on completing this journey by going all the way up and, to our surprise, the top floor held the very exhibit John had been interested in viewing. Thus, we meandered about the '30 Years of Collaboration by the Zhou Brothers' which demonstrated the unusual artwork and sculptures of two Chinese brother's. I rather enjoyed the contents of their work and John was only all too gracious for me prodding on as I did - what we would have missed had I not done as much! All because I was so easily amused with a set of stairs...
(To be continued...)