Boulevard of broken Bambis.

Kate and I and a few zillion other motorists hit I-94 this weekend, and I-94 is hitting back. If we’re going to spend any time at our lake cottage this summer — and I foresee a drastically reduced visitation schedule, for reasons I’ll get to in a minute — we’re going to have to develop some alternate routes. Construction and various improvements have this vital thoroughfare a snarly mess, and a mess it will remain for months, I fear. There’s a stretch west of Ann Arbor where the eastbound lanes have been taken down to bare dirt; they’re rebuilding the road from the ground up, it seems, which does not portend smooth sailing by the Fourth of July.

Anyway, the road is still carrying plenty of traffic, some of it of the winged and insectile variety. The carrion-eaters must have ordered venison this spring, because it seemed there was a dead deer every three miles between the Detroit Metro airport and I-69, where the carnage continues. If there’s a dead-animal pickup crew, they’re either running behind or have thrown up their hands. Since I’ve watched a little “CSI,” I found myself less grossed out than curious at the full range of decomposition on display. One unfortunate doe looked untouched, but appeared to have been snacked upon, anus-first. Ewww. (“That’s where the tender meat is!” chirps Mr. Crow. Ewww.)

Why were we on I-94? Opening the cottage, sweeping away cobwebs, scrubbing the winter off the place. Why just me and Kate? Because Alan was on a road trip of his own. Where to? Southern Indiana. Why? To look at a sailboat.

Yes, a hole in the water you throw money into! He’s not coming home with this one — he and the seller are still $1,200 apart — but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before we dock something at our city marina on Lake St. Clair and start spending our weekends tearing up $100 bills in a cold shower, so to speak.

The boat is like this. We’ll see if he gets that one, or something like it.

Much good bloggage this weekend. Too much. I’ll leave you with but one, a delightful NYT piece about the still-standing drag-ball underground. (If you saw “Paris is Burning,” you know. I dragged Alan to that movie early in our courtship. He dug it, proof that marrying him was the right choice.)

Oh, and Lance has a useful explanation of a sometimes-confusing point of theology, vis-a-vis that Santorum profile in the NYT yesterday.

Posted at 11:03 pm in Uncategorized |

5 responses to “Boulevard of broken Bambis.”

  1. jcb said on May 23, 2005 at 12:38 am

    Nance, there are some really nice back roads on either side of Ann Arbor heading over south of Jackson that can make the trip really nice..or at least, not bad.

    Sammy might be able to point a couple out once she comes up for air after her writing onslaught.

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  2. Lance Mannion said on May 23, 2005 at 9:12 am

    Help! I’m turning into a male Amy Welborn. What’s going on? Every time I try to leave the church, they keep pulling me back in!

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  3. danno said on May 23, 2005 at 10:10 am

    Opening up the cottage!!! Aaahhhh, now that brings back a rush of memories from my youth on Big Long Lake. I can still remember that smell like it was yesterday. Ours was always done over spring break. I can remember putting the pier in sometimes as soon as late March. God the water was freezing!!!! I miss the lake. Mostly reservoirs here around Indy, just not the same as a good natural freshwater lake. Hope Alan gets his sailboat. We had three at one time; two cats(a Hobie 18′ and a Sizzler 16′) and a monocat(Hobie).

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  4. Nance said on May 23, 2005 at 10:38 am

    Lance: Even though TBogg mostly confines himself to humor-based snarkology, I thought he made the best point about that stupid Santorum profile — it lacked follow-up. When he says, “Yes, gay marriage threatens my marriage,” the next question must be, has to be, “why?” Or, “Explain how, exactly.” And it wasn’t.

    Danno: Anyone would know you’re from Indiana, because you call a lake dock a “pier.” It’s a quirk of local jargon no one was ever able to explain to my satisfaction. To me, a pier is something you pull an ocean liner up to. A pier should be big enough to support a restaurant at the very least, a warehouse complex at best. A pier is big.

    Everything else is just a dock.

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  5. danno said on May 23, 2005 at 11:43 am

    Thanks Nance, never knew that before. Is it just an Indiana thing? Actually, we interchanged pier and dock alot, but pier seems to win out in my memory. It was more so ‘we are going to dock the boat at the pier’. BTW, ever take out a pier (dock) with a boat?? I had and my father was not pleased!!

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