On Wisconsin: This Ain’t Over

Devil’s Lake, Little Devil

“This Ain’t Over” is the seventh and final chapter in The Gaytheist Gospel Hour’s series “On Wisconsin”.

Our Wisconsin visit, was, in the vernacular of the intellectually lazy and chronically slang-prone (guilty on both counts, Your Honor): AWESOME.  Kate, Mabel, and I communed with nature and crass commercialism alike, enjoyed the company of brilliant friends, confronted the forces of conformity and oppression, stared down death, and Helped The World.  We tripped through time. We made pahster tracks.  But as AWESOME as our visit was,  it wasn’t perfect.  When we packed up our tent and drove back over the Illinois state line, we suffered a couple casualties and left behind some unfinished business.

  • The nail on the second toe of my left foot?  Gone, daddy, gone.  I don’t know exactly how I lost it; I’m guessing it happened when I stubbed it on a  rock in the shallow end of the lake when I was leaping about, lost in the lubed-up, shameless beauty bacchanal that is the beach.  I know that’s how I ended up losing my pan flute and toga, anyway.
  • We did not consume nearly enough cheese, in my opinion.

Mabel: the ambivalent cheesehead.

  • My first experience with Wisconsin’s own New Glarus Beer was notable.  Under its influence, I badmouthed the Higgs Boson Particle, and alligned myself with the forces of chaos. I also looked directly at a picture of the state of Wisconsin and called it Michigan. Impressed, I insisted we tour the brewery on the way out of the state.  Unfortunately, our timing was off and we arrived just in time to be the last customers in the gift shop.  I was hoping I could send my beat-up, sweat-stained Indigo Girls ball cap for an assembly line ride atop a long neck, in a “Laverne And Shirley”-type homage, but that will have to be a dream deferred until our next visit.
Illegally parked in New Glarus.
  • I’m  bringing my guitar on our next visit.  Because I’ll be damned if I’m out-gunned again in the battle against the forces of summer camp sing-along oppression.
  • I would also like to present the Delightful Dave, our Dells Duck pilot with a box of chocolates and a bouquet of posies.
  • You can never have enough heroically posed photos of yourself and your loved ones.  You really can’t.   In the eye of the camera, Wisconsin’s landscapes are easily transmuted into set pieces in a gorgeous panorama of soaring hubris.  Its lakes, gorges, and bluffs are the perfect setting within which to station yourself: you, the chin high conqueror of nature, you, the badass.  We will return to Wisconsin, if only for the heroic photo opps.

Kate (L) and me (R): Queens of all we survey.

  • Adding insult to the injury already visited upon my toe, toga, and pan flute, my pride also took a big hit in Wisconsin.  It happened in a tiny pioneer church near Mount Horeb, of all places.   It was a small thing as far as life events are concerned, almost nothing, in fact, but its metaphorical cache was a bit staggering.  This nut-punch to my pride basket was captured on film.

Preaching the Gaytheist Gospel, as I am wont to do…

…to a less than full house. (Love ya both!)

It’s going to take a little time to get over this brutally truthful joke I’ve played on myself.  But get over it I will, for the Gospel must be imparted, at all costs, despite the frailties of its all-too-human messenger.  From the highest bluff of Wisconsin, to the yawning chasm of disinterest and apathy, let the word ring forth.  I build my pulpit from the lumber of trees fallen unheard in the forests of loneliness!  I bow to the applause of one hand clapping and sound of the other hand, clicking the “Close” button on the top right side of the browser window!  The message will travel the seas of the world wide web, secure in its baffling little blog-bottle, reeking of beer and good intentions, for all who care to open it.  To repurpose the words of a very wise woman: the Gospel is a gift, given  “to offer you the mindfuck experience of receiving something good, absolutely free, which you don’t deserve. There is no obligation, nor the acceptance of a return favor. You get the pure experience of receiving.”

Next time I visit Mount Horeb’s Little Ballbreaker On The Prairie, I vow not to return a humble woman (which is just out of the question), but rather one with a bigger congregation.  The GGH Shufflin’ Crew (depicted above) will be joined by a baby girl, and if she’s anything like her big sister was in her infancy, her outraged cries will instill a terrified quake within its quaint foundations.  Just you wait, Mount Horeb’s Little Ballbreaker On The Prairie.  Just you wait.

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2 Responses to “On Wisconsin: This Ain’t Over”

  1. Kelly Eddington Says:

    GGH Shufflin’ Crew!! That’s the best.

    Great series. Thank you so much for these seven laugh-filled installments. Sorry to read about your toenail. Perhaps over the coming months, it will regenerate another you underwater, and she will emerge from that lake in the spring, a la Botticelli’s Venus.

    http://alizarine.typepad.com/.a/6a011278ffd49328a4017c31647b62970b-pi

  2. 10hdt Says:

    You were born to spout off to the world from a pulpit on high. Go forth, spread the word and “Hit Us With Your Best Shot” ( my favorite fight song).

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