Travel Blog: Milwaukee

This past weekend, The Freaks took the show on the road (hah, Freak Show) to visit the Freaky Ambassador, Katie (AKA Abby's sister) in Milwaukee. Because everybody talky 'bout Milwaukee.

Thursday: The day started on a dark note, because our mother wouldn't let us use the GPS - she had to pick our grandma at the train station in Windsor (because Windsor is so far away and difficult to find), and she threw a big stink about us supposedly getting lost because I'm a female and I can't use instructions printed off the Internet. BECAUSE YOU'LL GET LOST IF YOU FOLLOW ROAD SIGNS. ROAD SIGNS THAT TELL YOU WHERE TO GO.

Shelby had a half-day at school, so Abby and I ran errands for the morning (and by "errands," I mean fucking around at the grocery store for an hour and spending $52 on groceries for the trip because SOMEONE told me that Milwaukee isn't a veg-friendly city, even though it totally is), and were totally geeked by the time 11:00 rolled around. We had Toshi thumping some freaky music via awesome cassette adapter. We stopped for snacks in South Lyon (WARHEADS, BITCH!) and then resumed our Jeffree Star dance party all the way to the middle of nowhere southwestern Michigan.

Along I-94, near the Indiana border, we saw many a raunchy sex shop, which was perfectly amusing to us. Also entertaining was the "Michigan agriculture grows for you!" billboard.

In Soviet Russia, your Maserati is a face!

We stopped again in Indiana at (my favorite) a Pilot truck stop for gas and a lunch of soy ham and Muenster sandwiches, which is where we saw this:

Periscope Jeep!

Back on the road, approaching Chicago, we switched from random music dance party to Kill Hannah dance party, which we grew weary of after NEARLY TWO FUCKING HOURS OF TRAFFIC! I swear that everything that came out of my mouth from the outskirts of Chicago to the Wisconsin border was "FUCK!"

We finally got to Wisconsin, and to Katie's shortly after; around 6:30 central time. We unloaded our stuff and piled back into the car for a journey to Pick 'n' Save, the local grocery store, which must always be spoken with a redneck accent. Then we ventured to Cheng Wong, the best Chinese place known to man, except for the fact that they don't serve tofu. Shelby and I both ordered the mixed vegetables with brown sauce (!), and Abby settled on the chicken with Chinese vegetables, which she describes as "bleh. The chicken was rubbery."

Next came Kopp's Frozen Custard (!), which is the closest thing to God that exists on this planet. The place is a simple building as you pull up, but the entrance around the side is completely glass with a sanctuary-esque waterfall (AKA babbling brook) park close by. Since the place was absolutely packed, we decided to take a seat on a myriad of stacked logs near the street, which offered some riotous humor and non-comfort. I wept about forgetting I Heard a Voice in my DVD player and forgetting the vegan ice cream in Abby's freezer the whole time. I'm still scarred.

When we got back to Katie's, her girlfriend Lacey went to take the garbage out and got attacked by a giant raccoon that was hiding in the dumpster. We played on the swing set for a while, until I almost met my demise in slippery mud, and Katie almost totally ate it on her skateboard. When we went inside, we hung out and learned how not to attempt crime in Milwaukee county: DO NOT STEAL SEWER GRATES. Oh, and we all wept about the passing of Rue McClanahan (why is the world unfair?! She was my favorite Golden Girl!), before drifting off into Blaqk Audio-induced sleep.

Friday: We were all early to rise on Friday morning due to the time change and the presence of the maintenance man fixing the light in Katie's kitchen. While waiting for said maintenance man, we had the radio tuned to 102.1, Milwaukee's alternative station, waiting for the Davey Havok that we were promised the night before. It was kinda lame; they kept pronouncing Havok, "Hav-OK." But it was still nice to hear his sleep-laden voice early in the morning. And I'm a creeper.

We mostly lazed around all day, since Katie was at work and Lacey was lost somewhere in Hales Corners on her bike. At around 2 PM, we all decided that we needed to fancy ourselves up for VergeFest (which was the following day!!), so we walked to Pick 'n' Save while trying to find a Walgreens, which was right in front of Pick 'n' Save, but we didn't notice, even after we walked right through the friggin' parking lot. At first, we ended up walking the wrong way and passing The Olde Store (not kidding), which had an awesome garbage can:



And My Father's Mustache (also not kidding). After we left Pick 'n' Save to go to the Hallmark Store, looking for a heart-shaped hole puncher to give Abby a Crash heart manicure for the show. They didn't have one.

Then we went to Blockbuster, thinking that just maybe there was a small chance that they would have a copy of I Heard a Voice, since Milwaukee is a hotbed of AFI fans and a cult town. They didn't have one.

When we got home, Lacey was playing video games, so we worked on our nails and waited for Katie to get home. After a dinner of barbecue soy sandwiches and cheese pizza, we drove down to the marina and hung out around by the art museum to listen to the distant sounds of the first day of VergeFest and play with sequin tacos. We also stopped for photo-ops, of course, when we weren't busy looking for the Bronze Fonz.

We headed back toward the pier to wait for Shelby's friend Amber, who never showed up thanks to bad planning on the parts of both parties. Katie and Lacey played catch, and Katie got hit in the knee with a baseball. We also found the best boat in existence:

On the way home from the lake, we blasted some rap guys out with Gaga, and when we finally got there, we were all tired enough to go straight to bed. After all, we had a big day coming up (!).

Saturday: The day of VergeFest was upon us, and after months of planning this trip, The Freaks were finally going to reach our goal. Except we ended up leaving late, which wasn't a bad thing, and Lacey stayed home. And it rained. And Weezer fans suck. And the set was really short. And the pit was terrible. But other than that, survey says: TOTALLY WORTH IT.

Festival started at 2 PM, but we didn't leave the house until around 2:15. We had to stop at Walgreens, after we finally knew where it was, to get a silver sharpie, just in case. We ended up using it to immortalize AFI on a bathroom stall door. Oops. It looked something like this:

Except the bathroom stall doors were not lined note pads.

I was stuck driving (ugh) because Katie decided to chug the majority of a serving of liver poison before we left. When we got to the venue, we dodged scalpers and scoped out the place, which was really big, so the stages were really separated and you could barely hear the other bands that were playing at the same time. We sat by the lake for a while and then headed over by the skate demo (which got rained out) for a while before we spotted the playground. We spent a good hour there.

Our original plan was to get over to the main stage at 6 PM, but after we ate at 4 (the only thing Shelby and I could have were a disgusting variety of cheese nachos), the pit was already filling up. The last band before the main acts finished up and most people left, so we ended up right behind the barrier which confined the DFers that had traveled longer distances than us to see the best band ever.

The first band was The Ravenettes, who were pretty good. They were the only band that played the main stage with a girl in their lineup. And she could fucking shred. But we didn't really pay attention to their set, thanks to Davey Havok and Adam Carson's attendance on the balcony. They were also watching the set. Davey had on the brightest pink shirt I think I've ever seen. Oh, and Weezer was up there too, but we don't talk about them.

After The Ravenettes departed, so did Davey and Adam. One of the stage guys was wearing a fedora and had a beard, and we speculated whether or not it was Smith Puget (it wasn't), and we also were privy to the Terrorist Salesman, as Katie called him, because of his completely mingin' beard and uniform grey suit. The next band was Cold War Kids, who were some kind of funky dance alt rock thing (?). They caused stupid ho-bag bitches to try to mosh/dance. One of them was griding on Katie, because apparently she looks like a guy from behind. A really short, feminine guy. Said ho-bag bitches were taken away by security soon after, causing our crowd-family to erupt into cheers. Davey, or at least we think it was Davey, made another surprise appearance on the balcony during the set. Overall, Cold War Kids were okay, but nothing beats what came next.

With the first appearance of Reno (AFI's drum tech, who looks remarkably like Hunter Burgan), the rain began to fall harder. When Smith came out, we started getting smashed together like soy fibers in a Boca burger (vegetarian similes. WHAT.). The biggest surprise of the moment was that Smith had trimmed his beard down to normal, less-refrigerator-y capacity, and he wasn't wearing a fedora. Weezer fans decided to trash AFI before they even started performing, but by the time Adam hit the stage (he was the first one out), The Freaks were in our own, blissful world where Weezer fan douches don't exist. Next followed Jade Puget with the opening chords of "Medicate," and it all went uphill (and downhill) from there.

Here's the set list:

"Medicate"

"Girls Not Grey"

"The Leaving Song, part 2"

"I am Trying Very Hard to be Here"

"Kill Caustic"

"End Transmission"

"Beautiful Thieves"

"Dancing through Sunday"

"Perfect Fit"

"Love is a Many Splendored Thing"

"Veronica Sawyer Smokes"

"Love like Winter"

"The Days of the Phoenix"

"Silver and Cold"

"Miss Murder"

During "Girls Not Grey," Davey almost decapitated Smith with his mic cord. In the middle of "The Leaving Song, part 2," Jade smashed himself in the face with his own guitar. These are typical antics. The A-typical antics happened when I was the only one fighting to "Kill Caustic," and everyone got the memo really late and started fighting to "End Transmission." Durp.

I freaked out for "Beautiful Thieves," I fought some more to "Dancing through Sunday," (which was when the real shit started to happen), Davey went down in front of the barrier on the other side of the stage from our location during "Perfect Fit."

Again, I was the only one fighting to "Love is a Many Splendored Thing." Come on people, the main lyric of that song is, "I HATE YOU!" How do you not fight?

Ben Grey, the lead singer of usual AFI opener Scarlet Grey, joined Davey in the singing of "Love like Winter," but none of us were really paying attention due to douchebags singing the wrong words, crowdsurfers (Jesus Christ, Crowdsurfing Sucks!), and getting separated by the pit monster. Katie got pushed into the DFers (in front of Hunter), who were pissed about the goings-on of the night (especially the rain, which was getting worse, and the wind was picking up. We actually exhaled vanilla lace at an AFI show.). Abby ended up in front of Davey, two rows from the barrier. Shelby and I got sucked back out of the pit and toward other DFers who had been avoiding the whole area. The last three songs were bittersweet, as we won't be seeing AFI again until August, on our home turf in Clarkston. Everybody do the Pine Knob dance!

After the show was over, we all knew that there was no chance that we were staying for Weezer, which is good, because the DFers at the show said that they sucked. Apparently the lead singer was totally trashed and forgot the words of their own songs, and they did some fucked up Gaga cover. Ugh. We stopped at the merch table (where Fritch wasn't) and Abby snagged a tee and Shelby and I got a poster which stares out into the hallway from Shelby's room and creeps everyone out.

When we got home, Lacey nursed Katie back to health. I guess someone jammed her hip into the barrier when everything got fucked. This was Katie's first concert, by the way. We all stripped out of our wet clothing and restored our voices with post-show vegan hot dogs. We tossed our wet clothes in the dryer in the basement, which reminded us of Hunter's creep-tastic video in the bonus features of I Heard a Voice/the secret beginning of the "Love like Winter" video. Which isn't a secret. My driver's license and Shelby's Hot Topic card got dried, along with our VergeFest tickets, which were lame and on receipt paper anyway. After the clothes were done, we did some more AFI-induced sleeping to prepare for our journey home the next day.

Sunday: Sunday morning pretty much consisted of scramble-packing and clean-up, followed by our last trip to Pick 'n' Save, gas for Toshi, and hitting the road. This time, we went around Chicago, even though the tolls can kiss my ass. We partied to AFI, Blaqk Audio, and Hunter Revenge for a vast majority of the time before a sleepy Shelby requested Paramore at the Indiana border. The drive was uneventful until the Michigan border, where we snacked on the remainder of our vegan hot dogs and complained about how much we hated being home. After Gaga in Paw Paw for gas, we grew weary of the highway, so we took the back roads home from Whitmore Lake. It rained most of the way home. When we unpacked, we realized that Abby's Chinese had leaked all over the cooler, and the ice water was now chunky with Chinese veggies. Vomit.

The end...for now.

Freaks are Your Friends

Over the years, the word "freak" has obtained a negative connotation. But I am here to tell you that freaks are your friends. Similarly, friends don't let friends see Sex and the City 2. Today, Shelby and I discovered this the hard way - by discovering it. Prepare for a long, dragged out, public service blog post.

First, a culture crash note. Er, another culture crash note. I'm watching Jackass on MTV2, and they just showed a commercial for some Zantrex 3 diet pill with two people who have obviously never been overweight in their lives. And they're naked. Because that will totally sell your product to people who want to look like naked, oversexed models, even though said product is detrimental to the users' health.

Anyway, back on track. Even though I may try to displace my natural born stars, the whole Cancer influence will never go away (yes, I'm an astrology nerd - kiss my ass) - I'll always be a hopeless romantic who is continually barking up the wrong tree. When I was young and stupid, I believed that there was that one special someone for everyone except me. Until I saw the famed HBO series Sex and the City. It was fate. Carrie Bradshaw was an inspiration to girls like me (despite sharing a name) - fashion forward, sassy, literary, but always lacking in love.

I spent 147 minutes in a movie theater this evening trying to figure out how I could ever have identified with Carrie.

It was, I suppose, bad enough when the sexist antics occurred in New York City. But the sequel to the blockbuster smash moved the douchebaggery to the United Arab Emirates. Because Carrie, Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte are sou cultured.

The first scene of the movie pissed me off by taking multiple stabs at gays; the setting, of course, being a gay wedding. Guess who married Stan and Anthony? Liza fucking Minelli. By the power vested in her by...Broadway? And every gay male character ever portrayed in Sex and the City is an expert on fashion and interior design, speaks with a lisp, and is a fan of eighties chick pop. What the hell? Oh yeah, and Charlotte's nanny? She never had to worry about her husband cheating with the nanny because (NO WAY) she's a lesbian! The horrors! The best part: the nanny is a hippie lesbian who NEVER wears a bra.

The most disturbing to me, however, was the fact that the whole movie (if you couldn't guess from the title) revolves around sex. Sex, by all means, isn't a bad thing. Hell, I think it's fantastic. But that's all well and good in New York City, center of a culture that is enthralled with sex. In Abu Dhabi, however, where the religion is Islam and sex is a means of reproduction and nothing more; in a place where sex for pleasure is taboo and unholy, sex DOES NOT belong. Thank goodness for Miranda - at least one character had the common sense to attempt to learn about the culture of the Middle East (and out of respect to her host country on her ALL EXPENSES PAID vacation, conforms to those cultural norms) before blindly traveling to what is quite literally a different world.

After the movie, my mom goes, "I liked it," her usual movie crit opening. My only response was this:

"Did that movie have a plot?" And upon further reflection, yes, there was a plot. In a nutshell:

The women of New York City are liberated, and women all over the world should be liberated as well. They shouldn't have to be subservient, they should have their own voice instead of the voice of their husband, they shouldn't have to wear a birka (but instead should wear Dior, Versace, and other superfluous designers, who show the true worth of a woman), and should be able to fuck whoever they want whenever they want, just like the women of New York City (which is far superior to anywhere else in the world).

And they're going to take 147 minutes to demonstrate this plot, which actually paints all of Islamic culture in a bad light, just like Americans want to see it. And, they're going to do it with guest appearances by Liza Minelli and Miley Cyrus, and *GASP* the return of Aiden and Smith. "Word" (direct quote from Samantha from the movie. Not kidding).

Overall, two heartily and absolutely enthusiastic thumbs down. Actually learn about and experience a culture before you go around intentionally trashing it based on what you see in the media. That goes for gay culture too.

Be a friend, and don't let your friends see Sex and the City 2. Even if, by some dysfunctional stretch of the imagination, you do identify with Carrie Bradshaw. Just let us know how the crash was when it's over.

Outlaw Freaks

I feel we've been lacking off in our posting of the crazy mishaps of Freakdom, but I promise you, there's a big event coming soon, so don't fret, non-readers.

For now, here's a little fable to tide you over: Saturday night/the wee hours of Sunday morning, the Freaks were almost caught trespassing in a cemetery, which would have broken Brighton city ordinances. Oops.

The moral of the story: make sure there are no cops on foot patrol at the Mill Pond when you break into the Old Village Cemetery (even though the gate was unlocked).

You Might be in Howell if...

while on your way to the county recycle center, you see a handicapped guy driving down Grand River in a minivan with hydraulics. No joke.

A Second Helping of Ukulele and the Truth about Twilight

Hello fellow outcasts! This past weekend, the Freaks decided to kick it on our own turf, so we could bring you the best of the worst of Livingston at its finest. We began it on Friday, when Abby and I decided to celebrate the birth of our favorite bassist with vegan goodies (Happy Belated Birthday, Hunter!), and were also persuaded to purchase a key lime pie, which went well with the viewing of one of our favorite movies, Forrest Gump. Saturday was filled with AFI Chronicles and Super Smash Brothers Brawl, but the real magic happened on Sunday.

Each year, Brighton Area Schools hosts an art festival, displaying the best art work of students first through twelfth grade. As art fans, we generally frequent the art show, and this year was no exception. Fine young talent was on display, as usual, showcasing the wonderful arts program at Brighton High School (which, unfortunately is one of the first programs cut when the budget gets needy - along with the drama program, of course). Much to my dismay, however, most of the artists showcased were female, and I've been noticing this trend over the past few years. Being female myself, I think it's wonderful that we get respect where respect is due. But come on! I swear, I only saw two displays dedicated to male artists (that weren't graphics displays). We stayed, admiring the art for a while, until things got dicey - we narrowly escaped without being noticed by the notorious Mrs. Peters, our most hated teacher throughout our high school careers.

After the art show, we made a trip to Downtown Howell to see what was hip-happening down yonder. The central parking lot is under construction, so parking was a bit unusual, but we found a spot by the courthouse, where some unfortunate Howell High School senior was getting his senior pictures taken. Inconsequential, since he was obviously a douche, but I couldn't help but admire the photographer's pro-series Cannon. I long for my photography days.

Anyhoodles, we decided to visit our favorite upscale consignment shop, Le Boutique, because we firmly believe that one man's trash is another freak's treasure. None of us had any legitimate money, but most of our shopping excursions lead to shenanigans anyway. After coming across some not-so-friendly patrons of said consignment boutique, we wowed each other with bad fashion (like usual), tried on shoes that mooed, just for the fun of it, and then went on to Dairy Queen to get our ice cream on.

Outside the Dairy Queen, we came across a street performer with a myriad of instruments tossed carelessly into his bicycle wagon. Among these instruments was a ukulele (again with the ukulele?! Come on people, this is Michigan, not Hawaii!), a banjo, a guitar, and some sort of keyboard thing. Inside the Dairy Queen, we came across a rude server who didn't even know what a brownie bottom sundae was. Can you imagine that? Shelby and I settled for brownie Blizzards, while Abby got some funky concoction with whipped cream, oreos, a brownie, and fudge. And ice cream, of course. While om nom nom-ing, we people-watched (one of our favorite past-times), and saw whores and douches, kids, old people, and a strange couple wearing cowboy hats sitting on a bench in front of whatever shop is next door to Dairy Queen. I think it's either a travel agency or a law firm, I don't remember. Then, as we left, a group of girls decided to stare at us like they were intimidating, but obviously nothing scares us. Besides ukulele man.

I have to reiterate this: HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT A BROWNIE BOTTOM SUNDAE IS? IT'S A SUNDAE WITH A BROWNIE ON THE BOTTOM. ADAM CARSON IS VERY ASHAMED. That is all.

After the whole Dairy Queen debacle, we went off to Kroger to get birthday cards for yet another Sometimes Freak, Abby's sister Katie, who lives in Milwaukee and will be twenty-one on May 22.

When we got home, Shelby went to take a nap, while Peanut and I made some headway on our OVER 9000 Rummy Game. Soon after, Ansley, the Freaky Protege, came home from her friend's house with a copy of Twilight in her hand. Which brings me to my next point:

TWILIGHT IS THE WORST BOOK EVER. And if you agree, you must find out the truth about Twilight from Mark (AKA PanasonicYouth), staff writer at Buzznet.com/DF staff member/hilarious guy/my hero. I promise:

1. You will laugh

2. You might vomit

3. You will be in pain

4. You might even cry

So please, do yourself a favor and read Mark Reads Twilight (So You Don't Have To). Even if you already read Twilight, read Mark's version anyway. It's infinitesimally better.

Oh, and then, there's this,

but that's just a bit of trivial nonsense.

Ah, yes. Exec Week at BHS. I will never miss you.

Exec Week: when all the people on exec bored act like douches so people think they're cool and vote for them. But, everyone knows, once you put cool in front of something, it's not cool anymore. Unless it's cool with a "K" according to Shake-man-zilla-of-many-men.

The teams that are voting this year are, Team Zealous "over zealous, no such thing." and Poise (isn't that a magazine?) they don't have a catch fraze, unless you count, "VOTE FOR POISE!!!"

Of course, I think they're both Nazi's, but that's just me.


-S

Stay in Your Own Lane, or Things Could Get Ugly

Greetings and Salutations, freaks! I have been severely lacking in my updating, and I sincerely apologize to all of our pretend readers. We love you guys. Anyhoodles (now I sound like Shelby), I have a dare for you:

Ask anyone about the worst thing that could happen while bowling. They will almost undoubtedly say that the worst thing would be to bowl a gutter.

Now ask a freak. We will reply in the same manner, but with a freaky twist: The worst thing that could possibly happen while bowling is to get a gutter...in a lane besides your own. Granted, this has never happened to one of us, but Abby and I witnessed this disturbing phenomenon on Monday night.

Abby, her mom, and I were at Brighton Bowl getting our balls on by playing dollar games this Monday night. The lane next to us was vacant for our first game, but halfway through the second, a troop of miscreet-like douche-bags took over. They turned out actually to be quite entertaining.

At first, said douches were trying to be showoffs. They practically bounced the bowling balls down the lane, and it proved effective, or at least until the leader of them, Craig, bounced a ball into the gutter, but then, as if it were magnetized, the ball jumped up over the barrier between lanes, and rolled down our gutter, and into the arm on our lane. It was HI-larious. I'm pretty sure everyone in the entire alley saw, and most of them were laughing.

The mishap messed up my frame, as I was the next to bowl, but re-doing the frame was superfluous, as the outcome was the same each time. The guy, Craig, apologized, but I just laughed.

So, what happens when you don't stay where you belong? Things get ugly.

The most normal thing about us freaks is that we are eighties-style mall rats. We go to the mall almost every weekend, whether it be The Green Oak Mall, The Brighton Mall, or The Twelve Oaks Mall. But no matter which mall we're at, we like to play a game called, "How out of place can we feel?", a delightfully fun social experiment. And from this experiment bred another: "Which store has the ugliest fashion?"

It all started one day when I was cleaning out my closet. I pulled out some hideous eighties bridesmaid dresses that I keep around for shits and giggles (also, I'm a half-assed seamstress, and maybe one day, I'll make something of them, but for now, they just sit in my overstuffed closet and collect horror stories). Shelby decided that it would be hilarious if she tried them on and we put them on the blog. This eventually led to scouring the malls for similarly ugly dresses, photographing their unholiness, and putting them right here in The Hole for you all to revel in.

This is just the beginning.

Shelby, in a ravishing red, walking like an Egyptian, and giving birth to the Freaks' biggest scheme to date.

Me, getting in on the action.

I started out as designated photographer, but couldn't resist this one-shouldered monstrosity.

Abby, looking like a waitress.

From this point forward, we weren't just looking for the ugly ones. No dress is safe from the freaks!

Our Freaky Protege, Ansley, has been in on it since the beginning.

Surprisingly, she's the most versatile of freaks: she fits in both girls' and ladies' sizes.

Sometimes, even the Sometimes Freaks got sucked in.

Danielle, looking as if she'd been attacked by an orange monster.

Emily, rocking the hippie look.

Even the demon child got caught up in the fashion fever.

There are plenty more where those came from, and if we could ever get our Flickr to work, we'd share them with you! Links to come, trust.

And now, I must saunter off to bed, for I must work my low-paying job early tomorrow. Until next time, if you can't beat 'em, scare the piss out of 'em.