It is only day 2 in CRapids and I feel like I am getting back in the swing of things. Recreationally shoot stuff all afternoon, for dinner eat a big chunk of meat a poor immigrant making minimum wage killed, and go have teenage runaways expose their genitals for $1 in the late evening. You’d think I was at a bachelor party, but this is just a kind of Iowa Alumni Skull & Bones-type elite society initiation. I tried explaining that I was a liberal arts major, but they didn’t seem to care. Seems recruiting is down for some reason and even I qualify.
I actually had myself a nice little weekend here in CRapids. As I get older, there are fewer and fewer chances for many of the old homeboys to get together, especially for a bachelor party. That was quite fun. We rented out a “party bus” and drove around from bar to bar and then gentleman’s establishment to gentleman’s establishment. While I can’t really drink, I was able to sample some of the marquee beers of the upper Midwest, most importantly Leinenkuegels Berry & Honey Weiss and Old Style (I did see a few cans of Grain Belt on the bus…WHAT WERE THEY THINKING!!!)
While at Al’s Red Frog in the Czech Village in Cedar Rapids, I was seated next to a gentleman who clearly had arrived in his stool quite early in the evening, and put it to good use. He seemed like he really wanted to go with us as we cavorted around town yelling “Tow Us Your Shits” out the window at pedestrians and rabble-rousing generally. When I ordered an Old Style Tall Boy, he told me with horror that Old Style was no longer a union beer, and that I shouldn’t drink it. Of course, I will actually not drink it anymore for that reason, but I don’t think that abstaining from my bi-annual can of Old Style will cripple the new robber baron brewmasters, especially since I had already paid for it.
When a small – but quickly growing - posse of compassionate conservatives formed outside the bar with torches & hot oil waiting for the man to come out, I did my best to diffuse the situation. While highly visibly clutching my non-union beer (for cred with the mob), I told them he was drunk and he didn’t know what he was saying – he probably supports race-to-the bottom economics when sober. I quickly put Bob Seger’s Like A Rock on repeat with $5 worth of credits on the jukebox and used my Old Style can to propose a toast to Karl Rove. That did the trick. The man lived.
Huzzuhs went up from the crowd and we all took turns talking about stuff we have used Chevy Trucks to smash and run over, all-the-while with trusty Bob Seger crooning away in the background. Thankfully, I had grown up in CRapids, so when the conversation turned to who has the best loose meat in town, I could chime in with an informed opinion. If I had failed that test, they might have started to smell an unelected activist judge lover from the Northeast. Phew.
Our final stop of the night was a BYOB “Gentleman’s” club that features complete nudity. I must say, I don’t often go to these clubs – usually only for bachelor parties – but there is something different between seeing a little booby-shaking to a Quiet Riot song and a full-on visage of the female business-end. If I may be a Midwest chauvinist, Midwestern girls are the greatest. I love ‘em – even clothed. I must also say, inflation hasn’t touched the Midwestern Gentleman’s Establishment. It really is still just $1 for some face/ass time, and private visits are like $25 bucks. This is very very cheap compared to the coasts; and not only is it cheap, it is a steal given the quality of the local talent. Absolute robbery. Makes a man want to give this gift to friends.
I will just come out and confess that I didn’t get my usual feeling of dread and guilt for being there. It was a bachelor party, we were all very nice to the ladies, I think we tipped rather well, and for the first time, I didn’t detect that whiff of misery that always seems to pervade these places. I think was the first time where there weren’t any hard luck stories out of the ladies, and the first time there were some “why should I flip burgers when I look like this?” stories out of a few of them (and they were all completely natural – a feat in itself.)
I will never think titty bars are a good thing for society in general, but I think there are ways them to make not be a scourge to all involved. If young ladies aren’t the product of abuse or fuct-up families and the doods aren’t total pervs, then I think that makes a difference in the impact on society. I have no idea how you would establish the presence of that dynamic in every club, but, much like the way that gambling has become clean, well-lit, unashamed, and civil, there might be room for a place for men to enjoy looking at the bodies of women who consent to being looked at. Maybe, maybe not (not sure how the CRapids Police come down, but clearly, they are researching the topic with gusto.) All I can say is that this was the first time I didn’t get the skeeves at a titty bar, and the first time I didn’t detect any of the misery-vibe one usually gets from the employees (I once had a stripper grab a lighter off of our table and huff the butane, then keep walking.)
As I get older, I am getting way less uptight about these things, and I think I would have done so even if degenerate Bush voters hadn’t set in motion the new Puritanism. If something brings people pleasure, and that pleasure doesn’t require the misery of other human beings, I am for it. Most legit “normal” companies will displace people to build new outlets, or will fire people with families en masse to cover for their shitty decision-making. This is all done so a literal handful of people can by second or third homes and bigger boats. That is much much worse; much more immoral.
If the fact that I can't honestly say I had a bad time, or say that I was horrified by corn-fed midwestern ladies naked in the breeze makes me a degenerate, so be it. I did have a good time. I don't intend on hanging out in strip clubs as a result, but I also don't want to act like seeing naked young women was a trauma for me. It wasn't. I feel much dirtier for having worked in the advertising business.
At the other end of the day’s activities, I enjoyed the shooting of stuff quite a bit. One need not formulate a defensible position on guns to shoot one and understand the appeal of one. I shot an empty bottle of detergent with a semi-automatic rifle, and it felt fucking good. Watching others – each better shots than I – blowing up stuff via their marksmanship was also cool. I will never own a gun, but I am glad I am becoming increasingly familiar with how they work. I don’t become turgid at the idea of killing stuff. The kind of sport killing called “hunting season” is Red State Red Neck bullshit. I am fascinated at the technology; almost anthropologically. Humans no longer need to be great predators (the world would be better off if we were great herbivores), but as it turns out, we are the smartest monkey, and sometimes we come up with some boss gear baby.
So anyway, I am back in CRapids for the wedding in 2 weeks. That will be barely 24 hours in town, but it will be fun. This is one of the fun weddings where the bride and groom belong together and we are all happy for our friend. There is none of that pit-in-your-stomach feeling ya get with some weddings (one which I no doubt caused for others during my brief foray towards marriage); so it will be fun to go the wedding and see everyone together an having fun. I will get back on the plane happy for the visit, and happy to be heading back to New York. And maybe; JUST MAYBE, the wedding will finally prove my last visit to that God-forsaken place.
Maybe. Maybe not. At the last moment – upon seeing a real estate guide – CRapids entered the running for the obscure city in which I finally purchase a place. The prices are very right, I know the city and what to expect, and I can get there on weekends if I like with minimal hassle (I don’t want to leave the impression I would live there full time, nor would I ever consider raising children there.)
No point getting into that….if I actually followed through on every such impulse I had like this, I would own as much land in this country as Ted Turner. The difference is that I wouldn’t pork Jane Fonda with James Dobson's dick.
See, I am a man who sees both sides of these complex issues.
Posted by rudayday at August 14, 2005 07:56 AM