Monday, January 7, 2013

Walking in Muskegon.Walking in Muskegon. Nobody Walks in Muskegon. Yet, Wilbo does.


If you toss a pint, make sure it's toward the back of your throat.

I walked from the brightly lit Hackley Public Library to the friendly Hennessy's pub. The Hackley has two fireplaces that are rarely if lit anymore. Hennessy's has two gas fireplaces tonight filled with fire in their hearths, but no logs consuming themselves. The wee paradox here, when I walk to the pub from the library between Torrent House and the Muskegon Museum of Art, between the stone Methodist Church and the brick Catholic Church, I am walking by myself. There's not even cars passing me as I make my way. I am reminded of a song, Dancing with Myself. Like Billy Idol, I am reconciled to Dancing with Myself. However, with a perfectly good street in American, Walking by Myself doesn't please me or even make for a cool song. For now, I am happy to be soon watching Notre Dame Irish go head to head with the Rolling Tide of Alabama. I am not cheering by myself because an handful has shown up for half off appetizers and free upgrades to the twenty two ounce beer from the sixteen. One fellow is a suit, wearing a club tie, a silk tie designed by Polo. Many of the guys have proud baseball caps emblazoned with the Notre Dame letter logo, the N woven into the D. There's plenty of people in the stadium in Miami for the Taxslayer.Com Bowl, the National Championship for the big college football teams. A really great advertisement points out the appropriateness of an traditionally Irish school matching up with a classically southern school in a city that has diversity from hemispheres Northern and Southern. I have to agree with that, having lived in Miami Beach for most of a December early in the Twentieth Century. Since I am one episode of Burn Notice away from taking the next flight to Miami to live Wilbo style, if I get burned, I am making a short list of places to heal, one of them Miami Beach. And if that doesn't help, I'll go to Key West. And failing to find Nirvana there, Key West. And failing to find peace of mind there, Dry Tortugas. Of course, Cuba would be the end of the road, if Castro allows a guy who likes free market economies in the door. Amazing that I would reverse the journey of the boat people, just for a bit of peace and sunshine?

I am betting the man in the suit walked over from the Holiday Inn, where a business traveler must have faith to walk into the unknown indicated by the desk clerk, pointing northeasterly, vaugely. I have to have faith in Muskegon too, walking into 2013, along a path vaugely indicated by my writing.

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