So this weekend was pretty ridiculous. The muffler fell off of The Deathtrap on Thursday, and I couldn't find a professional to fix it on such short notice, so I ended up driving my mom's gigantic SUV, an Eddie Bauer edition Expedition affectionately called "The Eddie," to Milwaukee and back.

I stayed at Jenna and Manney's on Friday. Predictably, I was way behind schedule and wasn't able to get dinner with Jenna and Kevin (one of their other housemates), which is just as well because I'm told they blew $50+ on raw fish.

Once those two got back, we sat around deliberating whether or not to go to Edina, where some friend-of-a-friend was having a wild shindig. The problem wasn't how to get there but how to get back. No one wants to sleep in Edina.

So we didn't go. Eventually, everyone got sick of fretting and we somehow got ourselves to the Turf Club, some sort of hipster joint. Or a joint filled with hipsters. There were sad clown pictures all over the walls, so I think it was the former.

Two more Hamlinites had joined us in the meantime, and after Jenna's well-meaning attempt to get a conversation going between me and the philosophy major led nowhere, I ended up spending most of the night talking to a Hamline English major with an ungodly amount of liberal guilt. Manney's belated arrival saved me from pontificating further on the Democrat's ill-advised efforts to win back the South.

Several pitchers of beer later, we somehow got back to Manney and Jenna's, where I seem to have sat motionless in a chair until deciding to go to sleep. As I drifted off, I heard Kevin trying to organize a drunken trip to the beech. Again, there were no drivers.

On Saturday I got lost on the way to the wedding, and arrived minutes before the procession. Or so I thought. I actually walked up the aisle and past the groom's parents, who were being ceremonially shown to their pew by the groom's younger brother. They didn't notice, but everyone else certainly did.

Moments later, the rest of the wedding party filed into the room. It was a good interdenominational wedding, with a rambling sermon on C.S. Lewis by the Catholic bishop and a much better though similarly themed speech by an Episcopalian bishop closely related to the bride.

I grabbed a cookie and drove to Milwaukee, via Madison.

Some observations from the drive down.

A few hours into the drive I walked into a Burger King and caused quite a stir with my Blogger T-shirt. I bought it a few years ago during an online promotion but I've only now atrophied away enough muscle mass to fit into it. Now that the DNC has thrust Bloggers (or, as Samantha Bee and the Daily Show erroneously and redundantly call them, "Internet Bloggers") into the hazy edge of the national spotlight, a shirt that says "Blogger" on the front and proclaims that "The Revolution Will Be Bloggerized" on the back actually means something to a decent amount of people.

The cooks (teenagers) exchanged knowing glances and, behind me, I could hear restaurant patrons speaking in hushed tones. If I know anything about hushed tones, someone actually pointed out that "That shirt, that's the thing they were talking about." Referring, I assume, to some pundits, and not other diners.

Also, I passed a billboard for what must be the world's most poorly named gentleman's club: "Cruisin' Chubbys." Given the state of contemporary spelling, my guess is that it's missing an apostrophe (stolen by whomever took the "g") and Chubby is supposed to be someone's name. Because, well, could you actually put something that crude on a billboard?

Otherwise, southern Wisconsin is beautiful.

The concert was good. I paid an outrageous amount for parking ($18), met Jubb at the appointed place at the appointed time, then spent an outrageous amount of his money ($6.50) on a bottle of MGD.

But the concert, yes. There was music, not just gouging. We stood off to the right, behind a cluster of tall people and in front of a cluster of short pot-smoking girls. I'd like to blame the location, but the main reason that this was a good concert and not a great one was Modest Mouse's choice of songs.

Too many from the new album. I liked them, but they didn't build up nearly the energy that the smattering of old songs they worked in did. "Doin' the Cockroach" alone made the drive worthwhile. Wow, what a great song. And I have a special place in my heart for "Cowboy Dan", another song off of Lonesome Crowded West.

I saw about a half-dozen people with Oktoberfest-themed T-shirts, which struck me as odd. I still don't know if people were wearing them ironically or what. It's hard to tell with these ignorant new fans.

Ah, elitism.

Back at Lawrence after a gas-station hunting misadventure, we got the cooler from the Eddie and had a few beers. The nights run together, but I don't remember doing much of anything Saturday.

Sunday, Jubb and I did a great many things, which was great because it made me feel less guilty for missing the rest of the wedding. We had some unambitious Mexican food at a little place on College Ave (I swear that my chimichanga was just a burrito with cheese on top), bought a bunch of beer at everyone's favorite grocery store, and played a nice round of disc golf at Plaumen.

I don't remember what Jubb got (I think he golfed his best game ever there) but I got a +9. It's such a great feeling to be under ten. But then again, Plaumen is a forgiving course.

Dinner was on Jubb. He'd been excited about sushi all day, and the place we went to (also on the Ave, near the PAC) was great, gigantic golden bear-phalluses notwithstanding. The sushi was delicious (and cost much less than what Jenna and Kevin ate) and the green tea was of jade-like resplendency.

Apparently, Jubb's gone there a few times, but only with men. We assume that the staff thinks he's gay.

The last scheduled event was seeing The Bourne Supremacy, an enjoyable flick with some very good action scenes and a decent enough plot. It doesn't revolve around cell phones, which is looking to be a huge plus.

While I (just?) self-mythologize, Jubb has a penchant for gilding his past experiences. His first reaction to the movie was "meh" but I think he's now decided that it was great.

Then there was drinking. Since Jubb's summer crew was spending the day watching pretentious piano-themed movies, we went to Lawrence's under-utilized woods and sat on some train tracks that no longer lead anywhere, unless "partially over the river" is a place trains would like to go.





There's Jubb. The only good picture I have. We'd opted for top-shelf beers, and the Bavarian Lagers were might tasty. The New Glarus I.P.A., on the other hand, seems to be just yeast and a few drops of water.

Once all but one beer (and far too many cigarettes: remind me not to do that any more) was gone, we marched back to Plantz, the designated summer housing unit for Lawrentians. The night ended in fits of conversation and a best-of Will Ferrell DVD.

Drove home the next morning. I didn't meet up with the Freiburg people tonight because, on further inspection, The Suburbanite's cabin is farther from my house than St. Cloud.