A Smattering of Photos From Our Time in the Driftless

Sorry for the formatting. I don't know what I'm doing.


Bob and I are in Madison. It's Sunday night, 10:23 pm. Bob is watching a cable show called Ninja Warrior, which looks and feel like American Gladiators with a little Double Dare thrown into it. What's really annoying to me is that Bob would totally rag on the show if it was American, but because his girlfriend is Japanese he's all for it. Claims the show improves the moral character of the today's youth. Makes your hair grow back. He keeps trying to sell me on the virtues of a show about shirtless Japanese men running through a timed obstacle course even though I'm clearly not paying attention, typing with my back to the TV, and I have headphones on.

Since we have another day before we head down to Springfield, Illinois, I thought I'd include a smattering of photos from our Travels. So far our travels have gone nothing as originally planned which is exactly as we intended. My friend Praveen told all about this phenomenon.

The pictures are jumbled up and do not really appear in a coherent order. You see Ms. Christiane's 8th grade class from the Pleasant Ridge Waldorf School. We interviewed them. They were bright and open and generous. It really pissed me off. I felt like they had skipped a few too many levels on the human food chain. One kid, Erik Shepard, later asked me if I liked the bands Tool and Dream Theater. Tool? TOOL? At least I could make fun of the names of the kids. Summer. Evergreen. My favorite: Lichen. Lichen isn't even a thing. It's a relationship between fungus and regular plants. Ha. Lichen. Now I can feel good about myself.

There's a cluster of photos of the Dreamtime Village, where the Wild Things Are. Yeah, I know, it's a cliche: visit an Anarchist Commune and immediately pick up a copy of the Anarchist Cookbook and ask, "Hey, why can't I find that recipe for the mushroom risotto?"

There's Chris with the dreads, and another of Chris and his girlfriend Bonnie practically having intercourse in public. Who knew Anarchists were so damn frisky? I liked Chris and Bonnie. Chris works at the Heartland Cafe. If Bob and I make it to Chicago, or if I make it to Chicago without Bob, we'll eat there. Bonnie is an anarchist fashion designer who makes politically evocative haute couture from reconstituted WW II military garb, like boots and dynamite. Bonnie and Chris spent a lot of time in the garden.

and there's Micaela, the Irish lass from LA who's living in Dreamtime for the second time in 8 years, this time with her son Thurman who is funny and looks like a four foot Eric Idle. I thoroughly enjoyed stomping Thurman and Bob in a spelling contest. I found out Bob can't spell, to wit, : Ostrich, Necessary, February, and Privilege. I almost spit up my organic squash and lentil soup laughing at Bob's attempt at Ostrich: Austarach. I also beat Thurman at several games based on the Pythagorean Theorem.

There's the ornery goose, Margarita. He has his own huge pen because of his penchant for biting and hitting, especially women. A misogynistic water fowl. Forget about it.

There's the fireworks. We had what amounted to a professional fireworks show two Saturdays ago to celebrate the church consecration at St. Isaac's. Fr. Simeon used to be the fire-chief of the volunteer fire department of the small town in Oklahoma where he began his life as a monk. He volunteered the monastery for fire duty. It was on 20/20 about 20 years ago. Or maybe it was Real People. It was Real People. It's difficult to maintain total recall after dealing with all the head trauma I suffered as a child actor on the set of the Incredible Hulk. I'm kidding. My parents beat me.

So we had fireworks. It was hilarious to watch to monks in full regalia lighting Class A fireworks, meant for South Dakota-esque State Fairs, with firework names like "Warrior Master," and for the benefit of just under 20 people, mostly nuns and whatnot. Needless to say the deafening explosions brought back horrible memories of the Tet Offensive so I instinctively cut Bob's throat, and ran to the hills to escape my Charlie Company Captors and ate bugs and drank my own urine to survive.

Speaking of Fr. Simeon, there he his, whitebeard and all, with his childhood friend Stan. 60 years ago they were just two normal Jewish kids growing up in Chicago. They put their pants on one hour at time just like you and me. And now, here they are. Sharing a moment on the consecration day. Check out Sister Elizabeth. She might've been my favorite. I knew I could open up to her on a personal level after she called Mother Teresa, "overrated." This is a nun after my heart. Sister Elizabeth was actually in Mother Teresa's order, so she met the women. I always suspected Mother Teresa was largely a media creation, publicity stunt. And yeah, I know she died in a plane on the way to Diana's funeral. And yeah, I know Elton John sang Candle in the Wind at Diana's funeral. And yeah, I know Elton John is gay. Wait, Elton John is gay? Does that make all of his songs gay? Crap. Bob and I were singing a duet of Rocket Man yesterday. Bob told me he likes to sing space-themed songs from the 70s, one after another. He said it makes him woebegone to realize space travel isn't that great. So we sang Ground Control to Major Tom. And Rocket Man. Bob knew almost all the lyrics, which was helpful because I knew only the chorus.

There's Bob with his Pink Hat and backpack. That was taken the day we left Mark Shepard's permaculture farm off of highway 56. Mark is the guy with the white shirt and baseball cap. He's like a botanical Thomas Edison. He's a former Dreamtimer who worked with Miekal, the jolly, lumbering founder of the place. Miekal is like Old Major from Animal Farm. I guess that makes Mark Snowball. What trips me out, is how Lenin and Marx based all their ideas on Orwell's quaint fable. Smart dudes.

Tomorrow Bob and I head off for Springfield, Illinois, my official birthplace. We're going to profile Springfield as our model for the "Grid." Plus, I gots to see Gramma Clarke. She's 92 and raised me for basically the first two years of my life since my mom couldn't do it. Mom was busy getting herself off the junk. She grew up on the streets of Baltimore with a needle in her arm but gold in her heart. By the time she had me, Mom was nearly far gone. I knew it was either get a scholarship for basketball and move onto the NBA or we would go hungry. Or is that the plot to Hoop Dreams? Is Hoop Dreams the one with Leonardo DiCaprio as heroin addict? Be honest with me right now: we all know it was totally immoral for Leo to portray the mentally retarded kid, right? but secretly you got off on it, didn't you? Check your conscience pal.

Anyway, Bob and I getting ready to leave Tuesday. I'm a little concerned how Bob will go over with my Uncle Mike. The pink bunny hat. The glasses. The slight physical stature. The constant desire to discuss Japanese culture and robots. The indifference to football. We're going to have to answer a lot of difficult questions.

Until then.