Lollapalooza of Lions

“Gosh. The Minnesota Zoo sucks!” I said in one of my dreams.  A few friends of mine were joining me on a trip to the good ol’ Zoo to see what was new.  It was clear that the Zoo had lost its funding and was going down the tubes fast.

This was the Minnesota Zoo…in the future.

Okay, I won’t send that message again, like I did in Just a Flying Frog in Paris. In this particular dream, the Zoo just sucked. That’s it.

(Let me say right here that I love the Minnesota Zoo and it’s awesome and clean and awesome.)

My friends laughed as I overplayed the Zoo’s inadequacies, which is so me. I had a moment of Okay, Brian…You’re not fourteen anymore. Stop yelling. So I calmed it down and just tried to enjoy the Zoo.

Nothing was really blowing my mind until we turned a corner to check out the lion’s cage.

Ooh, lions.

But this experience with lions was different than the usual, “Look-at-that-lion-sleep-at-the-back-of-the-cage,” or the, “Whoa!-I-think-I-just-saw-it-move” experience. There, in a concrete enclosure with straw on the ground, bordered by two layers of nine-foot-high chain-link fence, was a family of about eight lions.

When the eight of them saw me and my friends, they licked their lips and, one by one, jumped the two layers of fence.

(I should probably mention at this point that when I was in fifth grade I won the “Young Authors” award for a book I created called The Fraidy-Cat Lion, a story—which has sadly vanished from my house—about a lion who had a crippling fear of just about anything. The story ended with the lion realizing that if he just wore a helmet everywhere he went, he could face his fears more easily. It would have won more awards if I had a better publicist as a ten-year-old. Anyway, the lion that I drew in that book remains the best lion I can draw, so you’re going to be seeing a lot of it in this post.)

[That's me in Fifth Grade with my book. If anyone sees a book that looks just like that, give me a call.]

Holy shlaMOLY, I’m pretty sure I thought as the giant felines sauntered over to us.  The trainers also sauntered over—they didn’t run, mind you, just merely moseyed with a look of Oh crap, we’re going to have to do something about this, aren’t we? Hopefully this zoo didn’t have a “Leave Your Comments” box, because let me tell you, they would be getting a nice big one from me for this kind of service.

This is when I decided it would be best for my friends and I to leave.  Getting eaten by a bunch of lions was not on today’s itinerary. We retreated to a dreamfriend’s house (I say “dreamfriend” because this person seems to have been created just for the sake of this dream) and sure enough, his house was full of lions!

Are you serious?

I had had enough of the freaking lions. They were big and dangerous and getting in my way and I was not in the mood for them anymore.  I stormed back to the Zoo to make my complaint.

As I slalomed my way through the hundreds of lions at the Zoo, one of my friends came up to me and said, “Oh, Brian. I was just told by the trainers that all of these lions know a phrase that sends them back to their cage.”

“Oh really?” I said, “How about you tell me that so we can get these damn lions away from us.” My friend laughed as if I was being sarcastic, but I was completely serious.

“The phrase is, ‘Go home, lions,’” she said.

You’ve got to be kidding me. 

Don’t you think, at some point in my frustration, I would have said, “Go home lions”? 

So I said it, and sure enough, the thousands of lions turned away from me and strolled back to their cage.

For crying out loud.

And then I woke up. I’m sure some of these dreams mean something, but I have yet to figure out what. 

[prolonged sigh]

Well, it’s almost over, my friends.

Summer.

They days are calming down, I’ve got Chaco lines on my feet, I’ve got boxes waiting to be stuffed in my van and driven up to my junior year of college, and I’ve eaten more corn on the cob and drunk more sweet tea than I care to mention. (The answer is a lot.)

Yes, summer’s almost over.

This may be the last time I get to sit in my hammock until next May.

[sigh]

Well, it was great while it lasted.  And the cool thing about seasons is that they keep comin’ round, so no worries.

On to sweaters and cocoa and scarves and leaves and…homework. Hoo boy. 

I'd Like To Read Everything in the World, Please.

I took another trip to The Pearl Street Bookstore in La Crosse the other day. Though I have very little money and have a reading list the size of my arm, I still check out what’s new in the store so I can buy it and write it down somewhere near my armpit.

And, as is quite common when I spend a half hour browsing in that place, I end up with a stack of thirty or more books that I would be totally willing to lay down the dough for (if that dough existed).  And then I leave. Empty handed. Longing for the capability to just sit in a chair and read every book ever printed in one afternoon, and gain the knowledge and insight and philosophy and satisfaction my heart has always ached for.

But that’s not the case, unfortunately. Technology and Science have become too focused on making a better iPod and curing cancer and not focused enough on what I want: to read every book in the world. And what’s worse: people keep writing books! What in the world am I ever going to do? 

It's a busy, noisy afternoon at Jules

I'm meeting a friend at my favorite coffee house in La Crosse. The place is noisier and more crowded than usual. However the chai remains delicious.

Here's something that wasn't sent from my Blackberry Smartphone provided by Alltel. This is a picture that was taken looking through a mirror out a window at a guy sitting outside of the coffee shop.  His right wrist sported a strange sunburst-looking tattoo and he was complaining to a woman who was much younger than himself about politics when I entered Jules. 

Pictionary This: Scrabble with a Twister! It's so Taboo! Sorry!

It's happened many times before:  "Man, I wish proper nouns were allowed in Scrabble.  I have the best word!" 

Well, Christie and I tried it. We decided to play Scrabble using only proper nouns. It should be easy, right? We always wish we could use proper nouns. This will be a breeze. 

Not so much. 

Turns out not being able to use real words is insanely difficult. We played through half a bag of letter tiles and quit. Here's our outcome. 

My favorite is the name "Fergie," and I think "CW" (the television station that plays shows like One Tree Hill and Dawson's Creek reruns) is pretty hysterical.

I think we'll stick to regular old Scrabble from now on. 

(And as far as the title of this entry goes, I'm sorry about the corniness.) 

Just a Flying Frog in Paris

The other night I took an unconscious adventure in Paris.  It was not the Paris I know, however; this Paris was crammed with towering, dusty skyscrapers and crumbling, gray industrial buildings instead of the charming and historical buildings and simple but elegant parks I’m used to. 

This was Paris, in the future.

Okay, I was never told that in my dream, but let’s just clamp on an environmental message to make things interesting.

Somewhere in the mess of city the itty-bitty Eiffel Tower was squished and hiding beneath the other buildings.  (For those of us who have seen the Eiffel Tower, we know that a good-sized building could fit underneath it.  But this is my dream, people. I can’t take responsibility for what my head does on its own.) My only guess is that the Arc de Triumph was now a Burger King.

Despite its drastic differences, Paris remained its crowded, touristy self even in my dream. Travelers with cameras hanging from their necks swarmed like flies to different sites around the city. I was annoyed to be among them.  Following one of the groups, I came to a new attraction called...

“What is this about?” I asked the person manning the attraction.

“It’s your opportunity to see what it feels like to push over Roman ruins!”

“What?”

“We had this attraction in Rome, but the real ones got to crumbly. So we moved here to Paris, where you can push over these replicas! Go ahead; give them a push.”

This is weird, I thought, I have to try it. The attraction was a series of Romanesque columns, about 36 of them, lined in a 4x6 square.  Fancy.

I gave it a timid push and, like giant dominoes, they crashed onto one another and all fell to the ground in a non-messy, plasticky heap.

Pretty dumb.

I looked around for the attraction attendant, but he was nowhere in sight. Umm…I have to stand these back up. I tried to lift some of them into their original positions, and even though they were not heavy at all, they were too cumbersome to align perfectly. I cautiously tiptoed away, hoping no one saw.

OH MY GOSH! ALL OF A SUDDEN I HAD TO GO SOMEWHERE REALLY FAST!!

(Don’t blame me for the choppy storyline. Blame my brain.)

There was no time to take the metro or a car.  No time! I needed something faster!

I needed…

…my helicopter.

(Cue the James Bond theme.)

Yes, my helicopter.  It hovered down, piloted by Christie, to where I was standing. I jumped in and took the wheel. (This helicopter had a wheel.)

We flew low, past the old dusty city. Everything was going well until the helicopter’s spool of string fell out of the side door. Apparently this helicopter was some sort of kite. I watched it drop, and drop, and unwind, and unwind. Reaching out to grab the string wouldn’t work; it would just keep unwinding.

Now some of you readers may not know that if you have a helicopter with a string, it can’t fly correctly unless the spool is in your control. So we were forced to land atop an old apartment building. Luckily for us, our helikite had an emergency setting that allowed us to bound from building to building—like a frog. An Amphibihelikite, if you will. So we leaped our way along, trying to get to that certain place we had to go. Boing, boing, boing.

Finally, someone on a roof caught the spool of string and began to wind it up, and in effect, bringing Christie, me, and our Amphibihelikite down. We landed safely on the roof.  Jumping out, we took the spool from this kind man’s hand an began to hop back in our flying frog/kite thing.

“I’ve been expecting you,” said the man on the roof in a croaky, deep voice. On the far side of the roof, a large glass door pssshhed open, steam rolling out from inside.

And then I woke up, fell back asleep, and had a dream about using the toilet in the middle of a crowded hallway.

Oh, my head. 

In Love with La Crosse

A few days ago I decided to explore downtown La Crosse, a place I tend to frequently fairytale-ize to others. The truth is that it’s really just a grimy old city with a brewery and a big, dirty smattering of bars.  (Actually, I was told once that La Crosse has more bars per capita than any city in the U.S. How flattering.) But still there’s still something lovely about this place that warms my heart when I speak of it.

Here’s what I found on my La Crosse excursion. There are only three things, but still I think they’re fun.

I was on Pearl Street when I saw a man sitting at a very colorful table. A lemonade stand! It’s my lucky day! Turns out he was promoting Gay Pride Fest. Who knew La Crosse had a Gay Pride Fest! Needless to say, I bought a button.

(They would have the coolest button.) I’ll be there this weekend for a bit, but I’ll most likely bring my girlfriend since I still suffer from a slowly declining case of homophobia. And yes, that is my muscular chest beneath that guitar-inside-a-pine-tree shirt.  Hands off, ladies; this guy's been claimed. Any complaints you have can go directly to www.crispinator.blogspot.com. 

As I walked down a street I can’t remember now, I found this old billboard that was obviously covered up for a long time and now was bare and awesome. The old advertisement is pretty hilarious.

I hope no one ever leases it. It makes me laugh.

Next to my favorite coffee house is an aged, musty bookstore that I explore whenever I get the chance. On the bestseller pile in front of the store, I found this book. 

La Cabaña = The Shack, in Spanish. I would highly recommend this book, by the way, in whatever language you speak.

The city of La Crosse holds an endless amount subtle gems like this. Perhaps that’s why I enjoy being among those scuzzy bars and historical buildings so much. There’s always something new and interesting to find down there. That something may smell like beer, but it’s still pretty cool.