Chapter 15: Grilling in the name of

For today's (sorta) late entry I hand the reigns over to ex-Freudian Slip, ex-Acrobat drummer RJ Mey for his (unintentionally) 666-word strong contribution to this epic of Mini-Burgers proportions. RJ has plenty more Denny's experiences than I do and thus is arguably more qualified to do this than I.

***

Denny's was a smoke filled caffeinated womb to my creative spirit. It was my spiritual home for most of the duration of my time in Port Huron. I had spent a great deal of time at the Raven, but ultimately my true home was Denny's.

The Raven had a lot of things that the Denny's didn't; it was clean, with nice food, a smoke free atmosphere with a good staff of friendly, attractive people. Denny's was dirty, it was hard to see across the room, and the wait staff probably hated your guts.

None of these horrible things deterred us; we still had to go. We were drawn to bottomless coffee and greasy food like zombies to a summer camp. We just had to keep ourselves up all night while clogging our arteries.

The relationship with the wait staff was always tenuous; things had been getting especially bad recently. One of the regulars and a member of my crew had been spotted taking waiter's tips when they weren't looking in order to pay for his food. The service got only worse from there, we would have to wait over an hour to get a refill on our coffee.

I tried to improve conditions by ordering more food, tipping better and just being a little nicer. Nothing helped, I was a part of "that" crowd and I felt marked for life. My embarrassment turned into anger; I was tired of spending money there and feeling ripped off. A storm was a brewing.

I remember that night well. I remember stepping out of my shiny black sports car dressed like James Bond. I sauntered into the diner and requested a table for 4. A few of my friends quickly joined me, I ordered my usual coffee (martinis were clearly not on the menu), and waited patiently.

The coffee took about 6 years to arrive and the waiter threw it at me from across the room. I kept my composure and sipped it carefully, my cool exterior unfazed. I felt a small pang of hunger and decided it was time for some food.

There was no waitstaff in sight, they had clearly gone out back to shoot some heroin and water board babies. My frustration matched only my hunger as I waited there in that plastic booth, hoping to the opportunity to fill my empty stomach.

A waiter walked by, he clearly avoided eye contact and I think he might have made an obscene gesture. I felt that spirit of Che Guevera rise up within me, it was time for revolution! I knew tonight was a night to be remembered.

Rage Against the Machine began to play in the background. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone and began to dial. I ordered a few short commands and waited silently trying to conceal my bemused smirk. (Rage Against the Machine kept playing their live set behind me).

The pompous ass of a waiter walked by once more and made no effort to bring me another coffee. I could see the contempt in his eye and I knew the Thoreau would be proud of my upcoming civil disobedience. I waited until I saw a white plastic bag being filled on the counter next to the cash register.

I made my move.

I walked up to the counter and said "I'm here to pick up a to go order". The cashier stared at me blankly. "It's for Sir Robert Mey the 2nd, esquire". The cashier looked at the bag and read it's tag. She then read me my total and I paid for it with my American Express Black Card.

I took the bag of grease and sodium back to my table and proceeded to eat it there. Just at that moment Zack De La Rocha began to chant "fuck you I won't do what you tell me!" repeatedly. The crowed cheered and I munched on some seasoned fries. Victor was mine and evil had been smote.

***

For more RJ goodness, visit http://pulsarfire.livejournal.com/.

Chapter 12: B.R. and A.R.

To focus a series of entries on Denny’s it is important to first define a timeline of sorts. Most commonly used is A.D. and B.C. in the Gregorian Calendar. Even Star Wars fanatics use Episode IV as a sort of “Year Zero,” defining which is before and after the events of the seminal film.

Here for the Fort Gratiot Denny’s I put forth a similar timeline based on the July 2003 renovation. Events pertaining to Denny’s will adhere to the B.R. ("Before Renovation") and A.R. ("After Renovation") timeline (sort of).

My first trips to Denny’s were in summer 2002. The last time I was at a Denny’s previous to that was probably elementary school. The first few times there I noticed there was an interesting crowd. But as Fall 2002 progressed the group was coming apart. I do not believe it was out of animosity but rather just people doing their own thing. By the time I became a regular in early 2003 this group had more or less vanished.

I wanted to become a regular. That group was pretty interesting when I first met them. But I didn’t like staying in Port Huron as late as them. I really had no reason yet other than the Rerun Film Series at Birchwood. But with the Winter 2003 semester going as late as it did (9:15 pm from Monday through Wednesdays) going to Denny’s seemed like the natural thing to do. At the time I was working in Utica on Fridays and would still make a trip up to Denny’s after work. Oh sure it was 50 miles away but I did the trip anyway.

I started going once in a while at first. My newly-acquired taste for coffee was fulfilled there.

I knew I would become a regular in early January. It was a Friday night and I had a date that didn’t go great. It wasn’t disastrous or anything; rather, it was just that nothing happened. I felt the night wasn’t over with so I decided to call RJ and see if he was at Denny’s. I was correct and I went there. I ordered a cup of coffee and an Oreo pie. I realized I had no more chances with the girl I went out with. But that was okay. I wasn’t that emotionally invested in her so moving on was easy.

After this, I became a pretty noticeable fixture in the smoking section despite the fact I’ve probably smoked 30 cigarettes in the past 6 years. When the 2002-2003 school year ended my attendance only increased.

Part of the reason I loved Denny’s was the ambience. The lights were just right. It was a soft, golden type of light. Going from school or work during the day to the night of Denny’s was comforting to the eyes. The color from those lights had the same type of character as the red light in the bar in Mean Streets. It was relaxing and easy on the eyes. I don’t like restaurants at night when they have especially bright or harsh lighting. There is a Chinese restaurant in Lapeer that would get my business more often if they turned down their lights once in a while. It is so bright in there it seems like they are using a fully functional Batsignal to light the space of a college conference room.

The lights made the difference at this Denny’s though. At other Denny’s the lights were a harsh florescent. The Denny’s by Lakeside Mall in Sterling Heights has this kind of lighting. If the coffee didn’t keep me up already the lights would.

The lights at Denny’s Fort Gratiot though were great. I went there once with someone late after a movie at Birchwood Mall. Granted, Denny’s isn’t the first choice for trying to become the significant other in one’s life but it was her choice to go. The surroundings that night though could have rivaled any other romantic place that would have probably been more preferable. The atmosphere was great that night.

July rolls around and it is announced that Denny’s would be undergoing a renovation for a week. Rumors were abound that the place was going to close down but I thought that was ridiculous. If they were going to close they would close. Denny’s isn’t known for being coy. Denny’s is a place that’s going to tell you the truth but will be chain smoking hand-rolled smokes into your face as it does so.

As the renovation happens it is decided that we go to the Big Boy’s that is slightly across the street. At the time they were closing down at midnight and that was a problem. It wasn’t conducive for binges of creativity or complaining about the lack of feminine commitment.

Finally, the day came when Denny’s reopened. RJ and I returned that night. I saw that the walls and tables now matched in a sort of marble grey kind of design. But that wasn’t the first thing I noticed.

The first thing I noticed were the lights.

The lights now were those harsh florescent lights that I hated. The place had a whole different feel to it. The lights were as sterile as the emergency rooms that they were probably intended for.

There was also something rotten in Fort Gratiot with the coffee. To my knowledge it was not the same kind of coffee anymore but more than that was the service for the coffee. The refills, at one time quite plentiful, decreased considerably.

Part of the reason I dug Denny’s was the way it fed my growing addiction to coffee. I wasn’t expecting a refill within two minutes of me finishing a mug but I did expect a refill to come within a few minutes. Those first few months of being a regular I had that wish. But now the coffee refills were coming once an hour, if that. It has hardly changed in the nearly 5 years since then.

I’m pretty sure that part of the reason for this new policy was the amount of coffee being consumed was eliminating any sort of profit obtained by the sale of one cup. I know there were times I was there so late that I lost count of how many cups I’d had. I tried to offset the amount I drank by getting a meal or tipping well. I did both often but I still missed those refills.

Another problem was the placemats. Before the renovation the placemats were blank on one side. The people I sat with or would chat with could be pretty interesting. People would be working on some pretty elaborate drawings. I took to making funny lists or raps. I challenged myself once to rhyme the whole dessert menu. I did it too. I still have it.

Many of these examples of “Denny’s Art” I kept. I have most all the raps, lists, and doodles I did along with other works done by the late night demons of Denny’s.

But now the placemats are double-sided. Granted, if I want to write I have my notebook with me usually or I type on my laptop. Yet there was a certain aesthetic quality to creating something on a placemat.

It has been over 4 years since the renovation. At this point I know the place better with the harsh lighting than without. But like David Lee Roth with Van Halen, I still feel compelled to go back where I came from. Sometimes the best way to grease the engines of creativity and life is vegetable oil.

***

I will try to post uncensored Denny’s art here soon. For now, here is my comrade Mark’s page of his Denny’s art. This is the kind of good stuff one could see walking into Denny’s.

http://www.mdsc.info/art-dennys.htm

Chapter 11: Denny's Prologue

Starting Monday will be the first in a week-long series of posts about the late-night Mecca of the polis. That being the one and only Denny’s. There will be other week-long series for other locations but Denny’s will be the first to get epic-blog treatment.

Denny’s has an undeniable pop culture aura about it. One of the best moments in the first Santa Clause is the Christmas Eve dinner at Denny’s after the failure of cooking the turkey at home. At a Cinematic Titanic party recently Joel Hodgson revealed that he wrote the MST3k opening theme at a Denny’s. One of the finer moments of Family Guy (slim as they come now) is when Chris describes something along the lines that in his new town there should be two Denny’s. With that being the case you can say you don’t want to go to a certain one but go to “the good one” on the other side of town.

But Denny’s has a bad rap. Rightfully so. Some of the waiters aren’t exactly that great. The turnover rate is pretty great. In the process they don’t learn how to operate in such a place. Sometimes the Oreo shakes come with HUGE chunks of cookie, a coffee refill may take a lifetime, or even something like a water may not arrive until the meal has been over for some time. That’s the bad rap that comes with the territory.

Yet Denny’s has another bad rap that is largely undeserved I think. There will always be the pervading sentiment that “Nobody’s at Denny’s” or “There’s nothing to do there.” But at this point in history it is as cliché to say that about Denny’s as it is to say MTV doesn’t play music videos. Both things have been argued about enough times and it doesn’t do a bit of good.

Do I agree with said sentiments? Yes. But I try to do something about it. With the right people and absurd amounts of coffee that place will be hoppin’ like Judy Garland after a trip to Walgreen’s.

For me though, Denny’s became a haven. Need to unwind after a newspaper production? Denny’s. Raven is closed? Denny’s. Significant other break up with you? Denny’s. Want to hang out with a hopeful significant other after a late movie? Denny’s.

Sure, it really began to go downhill over time. I’ll cover those reasons in the next week. But no matter what I find myself drawn to the place. Like a famous band returning for a hometown show I have to go to Denny’s whenever I return to my polis.

Denny’s was and still is my place. Being up that late at night I’m usually drunk, creative, or a combination of both. As such, I’m not into Maine lobster or Korean Barbeque. No, I want a Moons Over My Hammy, an Oreo Blender Blaster, coffee, and water. That’s late night fuel that creates sketches, scripts, stories, and integral events. That place makes for great jokes and at least one of the best theme songs ever.

With such an spiritual and physical attachment to the place I think it is best to go into the DeLorean and look back on what made Denny’s my polis’ version of the Double R Diner, The Max, The Satellite of Love, and From Dusk ‘til Dawn all rolled into one deep-fried, greasy, burgers-as-appetizers getaway.

Chapter 10: Thursdays, before a meeting

No matter what, Thursday afternoons at the Erie Square Gazette offices before a meeting was usually alive with activity with liberal amounts of inactivity (aka “rest”).

Except for one semester, I usually didn’t have a class in the Thursday afternoon period. I usually had classes in the morning or later on toward night. This worked out great because chances were that we had put our very souls on the line in order to create an issue of the newspaper. This is really no exaggeration. I seriously sliced a piece of skin off one of my fingers creating an issue once back in 2002.

If one were to walk in to the office of the Erie Square Gazette on a Thursday afternoon before a meeting one could see any number of things happening. Sometimes we anxiously awaited the printer to call and tell us the issues were ready because we only handed it at 10 am that morning instead of 5 pm the night before. Sometimes we’d get lackeys to distribute these papers. One such lackey was Trey, a man who could generate a solid week worth of material. He was ubiquitous around the office despite being completely oblivious to the fact that nobody really wanted him there. We usually would try to send him to the far away spots to distribute papers just to get him out of the office for a little while. It only worked a couple times but he caught on.

The office was, for the most part, open to guests at all times. The only time the masses may not have been allowed in was during the final hours of producing an issue. Even then though there may still be a few select people around to keep us sane.

Thursday afternoons though saw everyone free from classes for a little while. We all converged into what we essentially turned into our dorm. We could call it that considering how much we ate and slept there. If we could have stayed overnight we would have.

The College Center itself could be busy during the afternoons Thursdays. But if you were really cool you were at the ESG offices. With 3 rooms all to ourselves and enough chairs and couches to go around (along with the occasional pillow) it was easy to have a little get together of friends to cut loose and relax from the week. We certainly had all the resources for such massive weekly gatherings.

There was always something playing those afternoons. Back in the day we put our high-speed modems to work.

Many times I would have a marathon of whatever videos RJ or I would download. Many classic MST3k shorts were played, including classics such as “A Date with Your Family,” “Mr. B Natural,” and my all-time favorite, “What to Do on a Date.”



Music videos also got play. The uncensored version of Prodigy’s “Smack My Bitch Up” proved to be quite popular. Other classics included New Order’s “Blue Monday,” Marilyn Manson’s “The Beautiful People,” and a personal favorite being Genesis’ “Land of Confusion”. Hate the band all you want; that video is genius.

TV shows did get their fair share as well. Easily the most popular series we watched was Clone High. But there was more than just Clone High, sir. We had an episode of ALF on the computer as well.

But the reigning kings of programming at the ESG were easily Bill Cosby, Himself, Robin Williams: Live on Broadway, and GoodFellas. It was hard to not walk into the office and miss how chocolate cake can be served for breakfast, the origin of golf, or how Joe Pesci needed his mom’s butcher knife. I might have also obtained a copy of Bowling for Columbine 6 months before the official DVD release, but I cannot confirm that nor can I confirm the relatively huge screening we may or may not have not unlikely had.

Anyways, I don’t believe I’m exaggerating when I say any one of those could be played 3 times in a given day and then have more time on a Thursday afternoon. We may not have watched them all the time but it was like putting on a good album. The sound of it was great. I could fall asleep to the peaceful sounds of Bill Cosby talking about how he thought his name as a child was “Jesus Christ” and his brother “Damn it.” If I was feeling bad and it was too early to go to Denny’s it would be okay to hear Robin Williams talk about Olestra and anal leakage.

Once during a play of GoodFellas Trey sat and watched it. A couple minutes in as Ray Liotta is giving narration Trey asks “Is that Liev Schreiber?” That being a remark met with what can only be described as a resounding chorus of sighs from all in the room. Minutes later, as Robert De Niro makes his bombastic entrance onscreen Trey asks “Is that Robert De Niro?” and was met with a more exasperated, yet still resounding chorus of sighs.

The second movement of sighs had hardly ended when he finally asked “Is this a mob movie or something?”

Chapter 9: Tim Horton's

Tim Horton was a damn fine Toronto Maple Leaf. He also started one of the greatest things ever, that being his eponymous chains of donut and coffee shops. As I understand it, the original Port Huron location was/is the busiest American location. I believe it. I’ve been to many a Tim Horton’s and never encountered the kind of morning traffic they had anywhere. Not even a Metro Detroit location can have the build-up of angry office workers that the Port Huron location has in the morning. Despite the illogical uproar about it I supported the opening of the second location near Fort Gratiot. Seriously, how many Burger Kings and McDonald's are in those two cities alone? Or the polis?

For a long time when I was going to school in Port Huron their coffee was my nuclear core. I usually bought a large coffee (black as midnight on a moonless night) for Sketch and Playwriting. Hey, I loved the class but the coffee was the necessary nuclear reaction I needed to get the 1.21 gigawatts of electricity that early in the morning.

There was always this one girl I saw working there. She always looked so rushed and stressed. She was always toward the back, working the drive-thru window. She was skinny and wore a uniform that was easily two sizes too big. I thought she was kind of cute. Not that I ever tried or wanted to make a move on her but I was willing to acknowledge it.

Going into the Tim Horton’s at 7:30 in the morning to get my plutonium for sketch writing it always looked like she had the ability to rip someone’s abdomen in half despite her slight stature. I would never recognize the people at the register taking my order. They always seemed to change. But the girl in back was always there. I never saw her stop moving for a second. Putting a donut in a bag, pouring and mixing coffees, taking orders, she was the physical embodiment of the L-Train Gene Hackman was chasing in The French Connection.

I always wanted to tell her to slow down and relax for a second. But I doubt it would have mattered.

When I went in for my first day as the newly-crowned Editor-in-Chief of the ESG I went into Tim Horton’s to get a large coffee and a dozen donuts. I figured it would be nice to have donuts at the office the first day. Even though there was no work I thought I would spring for a “welcome back” sort of thing.

I didn’t recognize a soul at the store. Except the girl in the back, still speeding, still a dervish of a worker. The look on her face always seemed in conflict. She was pretty but always looked like the Tim Horton’s would collapse if she stopped for a second to sigh.

As the year progressed I never had to go back there much very early in the morning. One time I did though but I don’t recall why.

I looked in the back and she was gone. My hopes are that she moved on to something better. If she got fired though that would just mean that they got rid of someone who looked like their spirit was intrinsically tied to that place.

I never met her but I hope she is well.

Chapter 7: The Fine Arts Building

The Fine Arts Building at SC4 was built in 19XX. Shockingly, it houses a number of art classes. My tenure at the Fine Arts Building though from 2002-2003 was solely focused on acting and stagecraft.

It was here that I met a number of people who, positively or negatively, would influence me in the years to come.

Arguably the best class I took in the building was the Sketch and Playwriting class in Winter 2003 with Richard Goteri. The class was once a week on Thursdays from 8:30-10:20. While it was a great class in general some of the students weren’t exactly the sharpest. Some of the really great sketches that I had written would be butchered by people trying to read them. Sure it was 8:30 in the morning when class started but the sketches I wrote would end up in the wrong hands. Very eloquent parts I would write ended up becoming butchered because of poor delivery.

During this time I was working under the idea that I would become an actor. Nowadays, I’m casually flirting with the idea of acting again but it is more something to try again and have fun with. But 5 years ago it was an all-consuming idea. I spent a lot of my money on playbooks from David Mamet and was taking Rich’s acting class in Warren.

With the stress of the car accident, the increasing stress of managing the ESG, and a chemistry class I didn’t care for building up like a coral reef I needed something to look forward to. Sketch and Playwriting was one of the two classes on Thursdays in Winter 2003 that always made the long week worth it.

Many great things came from the class. It was a lot of fun. But a miracle came along just when I needed it the most.

SC4 was going to have a production of Moliere’s play Tartuffe. You may recall Moliere as the writer John Bender proclaims in The Breakfast Club that “really pumps my nads.” I decided to try out for it. Personally, I thought my series of auditions went well. I wasn’t excited about the play but I figured I should try my hand at something. At this point I had taken a couple months of lessons with Rich.

The cast list was put up the Thursday after auditions on Monday and Tuesday. My part was going to be that of a policeman that comes in at the end to deliver a monologue. To accept the part I had to sign the cast list.

I didn’t sign it.

Rich came up to me after the cast list was posted. He was excited that I was going to have a part. But when I told him I didn’t want to do it he was more shocked than mad. I told him that I really didn’t have the time for it and I thought it ultimately was a waste of my growing talent. That might sound pretentious but it is worth pointing out that someone who had no acting experience at all whose voice constantly cracked throughout the auditions got a major part in the play. I felt slighted because of that.

Ultimately Rich respected my decision. Really, I wanted something to dive into at that point. I wanted to really have a part that I could own. It would have been worth the sacrifice in work. But I moved on.

A week later I go into Rich’s class. The first words to me that morning weren’t “How are you doing?” or “Good morning.” It was so much better.

“You want to be in a David Mamet play?”

I said yes within nanoseconds. Looking back, I’m not even sure he finished the sentence before I accepted. I didn’t care what character I would play. I didn’t even know what play it was. The fact that I was going to do a play from him was about the equivalent of Indiana Jones finding the location of the Ark.

“Which play?” I asked, secretly hoping he would say “Glengarry Glen Ross, and you’re going to be Richard Roma.”

“Its Edmond. You’re going to be a cardsharp and a guard.”

So not only was I going to be in a Mamet play I was going to have two parts! Forget Glengarry, this was too cool. I had a hard time keeping cool. I had something to work for now. They sound like small parts and they are. But the whole play is made up of small parts and only one character in all the scenes.

Eventually, my participation in the play would involve taking on a third part, creating a soundtrack, printing up tickets, and moving the set pieces around between scenes. But that’s for another chapter someday.

I could wrap this up now with a pithy “there’s light at the end of the tunnel” kind of deal but I can’t since that isn’t even close to the point.

I (sorta) remember in Mamet’s book True and False: Heresay and Common Sense for the Actor he said something like how an actor needs to be picky with the roles that they choose or they invite problems on themselves. By doing just anything an actor will be unable to pursue the really great roles that are out there. This will also make the actor more passive about what they are doing instead of being determined to create the best body of work possible.

I could be making that last bit up. It has been about 5 years since I read it. But he has a point.

Chapter 6: Fireworks by the river

It was early July, 2003. I was with James and Mark (known as Scott to many, but I call him Mark) and we were all bumming around Port Huron and Sarnia. We went across the border because I knew they had the Woodstock DVD at Lambton Mall. But unbeknownst to me no place was open, so we went back to the States.

While over there James did have one of his most infamous moments. It was a beautiful day and I had all the windows of my Escort (in all blogs henceforth referred to as “The Satellite of Love”) down, including my the sunroof. As we were driving to the mall we were behind a red truck with an Ontario licence plate and a Confederate Flag sticker on the rear window. We all laughed heartily. Something about that combination seemed as ridiculous as a wannabe thug from Almont.

Seconds after this discovery the truck took a right as we were taking a left at an intersection. James, sitting shotgun, actually pulls himself out of his seat as fast as he can to go through the sunroof as high as possible in order to raise his fist and yell out to the driver “SASKATCHEWAN WILL RISE AGAIN!”

I was laughing so hard at this point I probably should have pulled over. I guess that may have been a “you had to be there” moment; yet, it is so ingrained into my memory I cannot help but get red in the face with how great the delivery of the line was.

We came back to the States and went to Best Buy so I could pick up the newly released Gangs of New York DVD. With not a lot to do, we went downtown. Sarnia was going to have a fireworks display by the water, so naturally Port Huron folk could come and witness it.

I cannot remember which building we were by for the fireworks, but it was in that stretch by the library and all that government jazz. The buildings in the stretch are so similar as to become anonymous.

The people were taking their sweet time getting the fireworks going. Knowing also that this fireworks display would not even be close to matching the near phallic power of the Detroit fireworks, the Mystery Science Theater 3000 parts of my brain were starting to fire up. The anticipation in the crowd was becoming palpable and this only worsened my condition.

Jason Watson was there with his family and I’m sure he was there with his girlfriend. Even though I wasn’t officially Editor-in-Chief of the ESG it was already well known I would be. I decided Jason would be the Business/Ad Manager. At the time I was afraid of the kid because he seemed too cool for his own good. But that would mean he’d be a great manager.

He came over and said hello. I told him about his new position at the ESG and he was happy. He went back to his family only feet away.

Storm, Allison (aka Katrina) came by us to visit. Storm was the Photo Editor the previous semester and would be for the rest of my time at the ESG and beyond. That’s just because she’s the best. Allison I met through RJ. She came to the office often and became a staff writer for the Winter 2003 semester. We got along well. Both of them stayed along with the others they were with.

Finally, one firework went off. It was a pretty weak one at that. My MST3k instinct kicked in with excessive effect.

“That’s the show everyone! Thanks for coming!”

Mark and James began to laugh. My Tom Servo and Crow T. Robot had joined in.

The assault on the fireworks continued. We were hurling jokes and jabs left and right to the fireworks. A number of my jokes were directly taken from episodes of the show and a few were originals. Some that I recall:

“These fireworks have a refreshing mint flavor!” (an MST3k chestnut from the film and episode 1001- Soultaker)
“These isn’t even a fireworks show, someone’s SUV just flipped over.”
“Every time a firework explodes, a Canadian cop gets his badge.”
“Psst…we’re out of fireworks…someone run to the drug store and get some more!”

A good James joke I recall was during the finale when a bunch of them went off at once and he “struggled” to say “I…SHOULDN’T…HAVE…TAKEN…ALL…THAT…ACID!!! AHH!!!”

A rousing time was had by all. We heard some laughs from folks nearby.

Sadly, I haven’t seen Allison since then. She was a good lass. But something good that did come from this was something Jason told me a few months later. Apparently Mark, James, and I made enough of an impression on Jason’s family to elicit a response from his mom along the lines of “Your friends are kinda weird.”

To this day I find that endlessly flattering.

***

Thanks for a fine opening week. See you Monday.

Chapter 5: The Brass Rail

The Brass Rail is a quaint little bar in the downtown section of Port Huron. Nearby Taurus Comics and one of the town’s many Coney Islands it is a bit of a historical landmark. As I recall from reading in an article that’s on the wall of it, the Rail holds (or at least held) the record for having a single owner of a downtown Port Huron business for the longest time. At least it went something like that.

Aside from being the only truly fervent hockey spot in Port Huron, The Brass Rail is home to a concoction known as a “Tom and Jerry.” I don’t know what is in it, but they only serve it for a limited time each year. When I went there over the recent winter break there were three or four machines mixing these things up at once. Since there wasn’t a single seat or table available I was unable to get one this past year.

I don’t know what is in a Tom and Jerry. Honestly, I’d like to keep it a sort of mystery. Kind of nice that way.

The year I did have one though certainly had an interesting course to me actually having it.

I was with RJ, his girlfriend Ellen, our friend Galen, and his DD. RJ, Galen, and I needed to get some cash out of an ATM. The nearest one is about two doors down from the Brass Rail. It is a sort of alcove that houses only an ATM. It is always open. So we knew we could go to it and get back quick enough.

We get there and there is a homeless man was sleeping inside the ATM alcove. If my niece tried to sleep in there she would find it constrictive. And here is a fully grown man sound asleep. The ensuing conversation went like this:

“So, who should wake him up?”
“Um, you do it.”
“No, let him sleep.”
“How about we just do it over him?”
“But what if he wakes up?”
“What would he do if he did?”
“But it is so cold…”
“Let’s just go down the street to the other machine.”

It was a real-life version of “Questions Only.”

I’ve seen some sights here in Detroit. I’ve seen the homeless guy at the corner of 8 and Woodward since I moved here. I’m sure he has been there longer than that. He got his scraggly beard trimmed recently, so that is a plus. I have no idea where he sleeps. But I have to say I have never in my time coming to school here or living here that I have seen someone sleep next to the ATM.

Chapter 4: An (sorta) hockey town

When I started school in Port Huron the Port Huron Bordercats were in what was to be their final season. Originally the Detroit Falcons, they moved to Port Huron in 1996. In 1994 I had the pleasure of having dinner with a couple of the players. Both players were Canadian. I learned more about Quebec that night than I had before or since then. One of them even played the Ren and Stimpy game I had for Game Gear. How many of you out there can say that you’ve had a professional hockey player play your Game Gear? Yeah, I know most of you probably don’t even have Game Gears, so take that.

But I digress.

There is some entity, or Nixon may put it as “Beast,” that seems to think that hockey is a viable industry in Port Huron. For the life of me I cannot understand how this is the case. In all the years I’ve visited Port Huron I haven’t attended a single game from any of the teams. Its not that I haven’t wanted to go but I’ve never really felt the urge to go.

By the beginning of my second year of school there the Bordercats were gone and the Beacons came in. They lasted until 2005 when the Flags made their return. They ended last year and now the Icehawks are in for their requisite few years on the ice of McMorran.

In the span of a couple years the amount of teams to come through the McMorran arena is so baffling to me I cannot come up with a great simile for it as I type. The ghosts of these teams still haunt the downtown area. There at least was an engraved stone outside of McMorran featuring the Bordercats logo that might still be there. Up the street is the building that the Beacons occupied. It is still for sale and has been for sale since the Beacons called it quits nearly 3 years ago.

Economic factors always seem to be the trouble. From what I recall the Beacons wanted a cut of the concession sales; something that was totally unheard of. Not surprising that they left. And I guess it isn’t too surprising that the arena by the Horizon Outlet Mall still isn’t finished to this day. That thing was partially done when I started school and I think the most work done on it since then has been the addition of a couple nails.

You can’t force a past time on a populace. Detroit didn’t start becoming Hockeytown until some time after the 1996 season when the Wings broke the record for the most wins in a season. Even though we didn’t get the Stanley Cup that year the fever started and has hardly slowed down since then.

Port Huron hockey on the other hand is something that is trying to force a fever instead of letting the heat develop on its own. A name change doesn’t bring people to the seats. Success does.

This is not to decry the talents of those that are playing. They are good at what they do. But the arena they play in is much too large for the crowds they pull in. No amount of promotional material is going to help out.

After a few years though somebody has to take the hint. Teams come and go and the attendance doesn’t increase. If people aren’t coming to games then it is time to realize that hockey just isn’t meant for Port Huron. But the McMorran arena has to have an attraction there in order to bring in some money. The days of major bands playing there have been long gone. I remember looking through the archives of the Erie Square Gazette and seeing a front page article about KISS playing there just as their massively popular album Alive! came out. I’ve also heard tales of Rush and Aerosmith playing there in the same time period. But the arena is too small to attract big names like that anymore.

If Port Huron really, really wants to be a hockey town, I suggest the following. Neither of these ideas are easy but it may be the only hope. One is a move to a smaller arena. It will be much more economically viable. Plus, the Icehawks are going to have to win a championship.

Again, these are not easy tasks. Then again, maybe the only reason hockey is at McMorran is for revenue.

But maybe another way for McMorran to increase business is to actively pursue musical acts. I don’t think artists that have the ability to sell out the Palace of Auburn Hills in ten minutes will play McMorran; not unless such a band was on a tour specifically visiting small venues. Artists playing the Fillmore in Detroit or other such medium-sized venues would have people coming around. Even hosting major Canadian rock acts would probably work. With stations like 106.3 around playing a mix of American and Canadian acts some promotion could be done I’m sure. I know Larry the Cable Guy played there a few years ago and that did some good business. McMorran should continue to try and pull acts of that popularity in.

Larry the Cable Guy can’t perform there all the time. But musical acts of considerable popularity are touring venues the size of McMorran all the time. Over time McMorran could have the ability to become a top notch concert venue that could easily compete with similar Metro Detroit venues. This way McMorran won’t just be gaining revenue but a reputation as well.

If anything, Port Huron is more of a musical town anyway. There is always some band playing somewhere in town on any given night. They might not be able to fill McMorran up but the presence of music in Port Huron is much more palpable than hockey is. You can’t point to an ant and say that it is a rhinoceros. Likewise, those in charge cannot call Port Huron a hockey town when it clearly isn’t.

The options are on the table, folks.

Chapter 3: The Thomas Edison Inn

Sorry for the late post. Lots of work today. Anyways, onto the exposition.

***

Located right next to Lake Huron, the Thomas Edison Inn is a fine establishment. I’ve never stayed there, but I’ve seen it many times from the boardwalk.

The only time I was ever there was for my shitty, shitty prom.

I didn’t really want to go to prom. By the midway point of my senior year of high school I had more or less unconsciously given up the pursuit of women. It really didn’t seem necessary to go. I got seriously tired of hearing people say it is going to be the greatest night of their lives. If that was the case, there should have been a few suicides after the prom. I have a feeling that “marriage” or “having kids” or “getting a career” are way more important.

But I had to go. My dad wanted me to go. Mike said he’d go to a concert that summer with me if I went (a promise that was never kept, but that’s no big deal, really). I rented a suit but went really on the condition that my sister would put my short hair into the ton of braids she did. It was awesome.

I really didn’t like the idea of paying $40 for a dance. But I found out that couples could go for $60. I found out that “couple” had a loose definition like marriage couples in this country should. Two guys could go as a couple I found out. My friend Joe did it. Kyle and I then decided to go as a “couple” in name only. We just didn’t feel like paying that extra $10 each for tickets.

So I’m all dressed up and ready to go. Kyle was going to drive the aptly named “Danger Ranger” (a Ford Ranger truck for those uninitiated chaps) to Port Huron and we were going to sit and mope at prom. But the Danger Ranger lived up to its name and wouldn’t start. We had to hitch a ride from our friend Kenny and his date. I’m sure he wasn’t really pleased to have to do this, but whatever.

Most of the prom I sat around at my table with my video camera. I really didn’t think it was very interesting. I’d have to say about 70-80 people were crammed into a room meant for about 40 tops. The food was crap, but I cannot blame the kitchen staff. They had to serve a lot of people and probably didn’t have a lot of time to cook everything.

I spent a lot of time filming people’s eyes. I found extreme close-ups to be funny and still do to this day. Eyes are the most interesting feature on anyone. Hard to describe in a blog now, but maybe another time.

Really, its not like this was any different than the dances I had attended since 7th grade. The only discernable difference being that the venue was different. The attire worn wasn’t much different since the only high school dances since 9th grade were Home- and Snow- comings. The music never really improved in this time either.

I didn’t dance with anyone in my grade. The last time I had that pleasure was my homecoming dance, I think. The two dances I did have were with girls in 10th grade and one I would later find out to be in 9th grade. They could be there because they were invited by others from 11th or 12th grade. My friend Sarah asked me to dance with her and I did. I asked the other one to dance with me and I did.

Probably the most interesting moment of the prom was when it was all over with and I was hanging out with Kyle while others were figuring out what else to do afterwards. Without any request, I started giving him a lecture on the history of rock and roll. Someone took a picture of me doing this, crazy braids and hand gestures and all, and it ended up being the only noticeable picture of me in the yearbook.

I do remember going outside a couple times to look at Lake Huron though. Some of the more popular kids were teasing a little kid playing mini golf outside and I found it stupid. But Lake Huron, that’s a sight to behold. I was also able to see the Blue Water Bridge. With the sun going down and the light hitting the water it was as beautiful a sight as I had seen.

I knew that I was going to start at SC4 a couple months later. I didn’t know what my future was at that point. I wasn’t interested in college but was ready to go anyway. I didn’t know who from high school I would still be friends with in a year or even in the coming months as we all spread out to pursue our futures. But looking out at the lake from the Inn was transcendent.

I still have the video of the prom. I can look at that view of the lake and still lose myself. I can still go to the lake and relax for hours.

Some of my friends were out there also, including my friend who moved to Almont from Canada. Looking out on the lake a large ship was coming by. Someone asked my friend “Is that how you came over here?”

“No, we swam.”