Dear Elite,
Now that the languid summer season is upon us here in the lowcountry, with heat indexes approaching 110 and swim team’s season officially in the books, springtime’s urgent pomp and circumstance seem a distant memory. Back then we were schlepping the kids to and from school daily; contractors were all over the house; swim team and coach pitch were cranking up; kids were out in the street playing; people were eager to mingle; Jesus was up and at ’em, wounds and all. In short, times were busy. Now, people are over it, and the world is hiding in air conditioned rooms. Even though the two seasons tend to blur into one another, the experience of each has little in common, which can be jarring for subs. They see short sleeves and baseball on TV, equivocate the two distinct times of year, and become frustrated when they find themselves melting in the extended daylight and extreme heat, bored with the pool, and driven to their wits’ end by their children’s need for entertainment. Not elites, though. We’ve learned from years gone by, and we have foresight. That’s why in the long ago time of this past spring, Danyelle and I planned a 6-day “vacation” for our family in the middle of July. We anticipated the kids’ complaints of “We’re bored,” and the refrain of “What can we do?” and we prepared a response; not a trip to Disney World, no that’s for the subelite masses; and no, not a resort with a pool by the beach. We’re not that lazy or braindead. We wanted to show our kids something real, something with culture, and we wanted to get the fuck away from the heat, so we decided on a self-curated sightseeing tour of Chicago and East Grand Rapids, Michigan. Besides being several hundred miles north and promising relief from the sure-to-be-oppressive lowcountry summer heat, Chicago also happens to be where my friend Matt Gruca makes his home, and EGR is where Danyelle lived until she was 12. I know what you’re thinking – we’re geniuses. Six whole days of having an answer to the question “What can we do?” that wasn’t “go to the pool.” Six days packed full of handpicked activities, dragging the kids all over the city and then driving across two state lines to a second destination. Brilliant! Even better, now that this fantastic plan has been carried out, you get to read all about it in this, our first ever Raging Elitist travel blog edition. For a full recap, see the timeline below. For the highlights, just scroll past the timeline to the “Best of the Midwest” section. If you want to go straight to the sentimental takeaways about the kids, that’s at the bottom. Enjoy living vicariously through my elite family and planning your next vacation around this fabulous itinerary and accompanying insights. You’re welcome.
Wednesday – Kids’ First Flight
9:30 p.m. – Depart from Elite HQ, Granny driving the clan in the Odyssey. Crazy driving recalls her T-boning some old people at an intersection in Columbia during a swim meet weekend there.
10:45 a.m. – Through security with only minor hiccup (I forgot to take out the liquids from my backpack, much to TSA’s disgust – thanks for not caring about the cannabis gummies, guys), kids house Dunkin bacon, egg and cheese bagels, and Danyelle gets us two gross sandwiches from the “Caviar and Bananas” sandwich stand in the airport.
12:00 p.m. – After an hour delay, we board our flight and take our seats. The copilot enters behind us and informs a nervous Chicagoan in the seat in front of me that we’re about to get delayed another three hours. Despite my disbelief, it’s not a joke, and we deplane.
3:15 p.m. – After the kids watch “The Good Dinosaur” on the iPad and are taken on a bunch of walks to nowhere in the airport, we board for the second time. This time we actually take off. Lots of turbulence along the way. Danyelle and the nervous Chicagoan share a lot of looks, adding to Danyelle’s terror. At one point about 20 minutes before landing, a white-knuckling Danyelle is asking me to dig through our luggage so that she can eat a second lorazepam. Cartter catches my eye during one turbulent stretch, a shred of doubt on his face, but I manage to shoot him a loving smile, indicating my enjoyment of the rollercoaster-style flight, and he happily returns his gaze to whatever cartoon movie he and Scotty are watching on the iPad. Lifetime of air travel phobia averted. Dad of the Century Award to me. As I stand up to get my bag from the overhead, an old lady with her husband and a tiny dog in the row in front of me stops me to let me know that the kids are “just precious,” and that the way I handle them is “just precious.” Apparently, she was entertained by the Q&A she overheard behind her throughout the flight. I feign modesty at my notable gifts as a father.
5:00 p.m. (Central Time now) – We land in Chicago and navigate our way to the A1 Limo driver Konstantin’s Yukon. Much honking by angry cab drivers in line gives us a start. Scotty naps as Konstantin apologizes in thick Russian accent for the road construction.
6:30 p.m. – We check in to the downtown Omni and head to the fourth floor restaurant for dinner. Had to cancel our reservations at The Dearborn because of flight delay. Staff at hotel is exclusively foreign and nobody seems to be from the same place. It’s a huge relief that whiny kids eat what’s presented. Scotty proclaims that his cheeseburger is even better than Wendy’s. Tornado sirens are wailing outside.
8 p.m. – After returning to room and nearly bailing on evening plans, it stops raining and we end up running through the street to make it to the John Hancock Tower before the entry window on our tickets expires. Weather seemingly kept the crowd away. Cartter denies that the massive body of water visible from the top is a lake. The kids cry and skip the Tilt ride. Danyelle and I both agree that it is dumb. Employees are notably stoned.
9:15 p.m. – We deposit the kids in their queen pullout in the living area of the hotel room and crack the door to our separate bedroom. Chances of kids sleeping are very low.
Thursday – Lincoln Park Zoo, Art Institute, Crappy Pizza
7:00 a.m. – Danyelle takes the kids to a donut shop near the hotel and brings back oatmeal for me.
9:15 a.m. – We Uber to the Lincoln Park Zoo.
9:40 a.m. – After about ten minutes in the zoo, we realize that a lot of the exhibits don’t really get going until 10. An older female attendant calls me a kidder when I express my befuddlement that the lions don’t seem to want the lion food we brought. Cartter objects to being called lion food. Danyelle buys the kids stuffed animals against my will.
10:50 a.m. – After an hour of wandering in the zoo, we exit and walk South in Lincoln Park. Scotty gets a homeless man’s shower when the soap dispenser in the facilities jets soap onto his head, and I rinse it in the sink.
11:45 a.m. – We exit the park and run into a Potash Market on the street. Collect subs and some fruit for hotel room.
12:30 p.m. – Back in hotel to consume lunch after an Uber with an African driver who explains that the ritzy neighborhood we pass between Lincoln Park and downtown is “the Gold Coast.” He does a good job of acting amused when I ask him which house is his.
2:30 p.m. – After a rest in the hotel, we walk south towards Millennium Park and the Art Institute. Standing on the bridge between the two, Matt texts us pictures from his office of us waving in the wrong direction. Danyelle takes the kids away after about two minutes in the special “Van Gogh and the Avant-Garde” exhibit. Self medication aids my ability to ignore sore ankles and knees, fellow patrons, guilt of sticking Danyelle with kids, and I enjoy a couple hours of staring at paintings. Works by Van Gogh, Monet, Angrand, and Picasso grab my attention. I’d want to go back the rest of the time we were in Chicago. Was sad not to but did enjoy teasing the kids about the idea.
5:15 p.m. – By now the kids are approaching delirium, and Danyelle and I frantically scrap plans to walk to a Matt-approved pizza place. Instead we go in the opposite direction to one that is slightly closer. Turns out Ex Chequer is not really a pizza place but a bar with shitty pizza. Scotty complains that his pizza is too hot but he doesn’t want it cut up. Matt would later scoff at this poor decision.
8:00 p.m. – Back in the hotel, the kids are surprisingly captivated by Mrs. Doubtfire on TV. We need to watch this with them. Bedtime is some time after 9.
Friday – River Cruise, Wicker Park
7:30 a.m. – Room service for breakfast. Kids cereal, adults oatmeal.
9:00 a.m. – Walk south to DuSable Bridge to get on architecture river cruise, which is as you would expect – tour guide, people taking photos, and the like. Learn about catalog industry, buildings swaying in the wind, and some kind of nasty liquor called malort. Rains just enough for the rainjacket to come out. Glad to have replaced my lost one. Then the sun comes out. Kids whine that they’re hungry and hot. Danyelle amazingly gets sea sick when she takes them down to the first level.
11 a.m. – We walk over the bridge and have a very difficult time locating the “just salad” place we’d ID’ed for a healthy lunch. It turns out to be on the bottom floor of an office building along with a bunch of other chain restaurants. We picnic on a pavilion up above and the kids take turns going back below to take dumps. Scotty tells me he wants me to “get out of his face” as I attempt to put him at ease in the McDonald’s stall. When I explain how he hurt my feelings, he protests, saying softly that he “just wants me to get out of his face.” Thanks, son.
1:00 p.m. – After walking back to the hotel, we spend some time reading and coloring, and then the unthinkable happens – Danyelle and I catch a nap that lasts over an hour.
4:30 p.m. – A Prius Uber takes us to Matt’s place in Wicker Park. I’m too embarrassed to ask if I can move the seat back and end up riding the thirty minutes with my knees up against the dash.
5:00 p.m. – Matt yells my name from his little hiding spot in the garden in front of his building, as always self-indulgent in his perception of his own cuteness. Once we figure out where the noise came from, he and Sabrina welcome us in, and I enjoy two Labatt’s while touring Gruca Properties’ latest acquisition. The kids play some kind of space robot game that came with Matt’s playstation. Scotty periodically yells for him to come and advance them to the next level. From there we walk a few blocks to dinner
6:30 p.m. – “The Stopalong” is a bustling street corner pizza/burger concept. The hostess initially tries to send us away, claiming that weather is 20 minutes away so we wouldn’t want to sit outside, and inside is really full. When I suggest that we’ll just order beers and hang out until space comes available, she agrees to let us share a large table with another party that’s already seated. The thought of the kids running around may have flustered her. Stuff on the walls, pizza that looks much better than Ex Chequer, smash burgers, Matt picked the right place to take us with the kids. Scotty says the burger is “probably the best thing he’s ever eaten.”
7:45 p.m. – Sabrina chooses Jenny’s ice cream shop nearby to the Stopalong for dessert. There’s a long line, and I’m worried about the kids getting to bed at a decent hour, but we forge ahead. They serve scoops in waffle bowls and call it a “standard.” Kids get some kind of double chocolate.
8:30 – We run across the street to get into an Uber with “Eli,” who has the front windows in his Chrysler Town and Country rolled down and no AC going. The back windows don’t roll down, and it’s an ordeal to get the AC working in the back.
9:30 – Bedtime.
10:15 – Kids come into our room amid a thunderstorm. Cartter says “we’re scared.” Scotty says “I’m not scared. Cartter’s scared and won’t let me go to sleep.”
Saturday – Wrigley Field
7:30 a.m. – Room service oatmeal and leftover cereal and fruit. Debate how to kill time before our noon meeting with Matt and Sabrina outside lobby.
10:00 a.m. – I go for a walk solo towards the bridge. Danyelle texts me that she is taking kids to the slime museum. I think this is an aggressive move, but it is a hit with the boys. They bring back little containers of goo, which turns up in our things throughout the rest of the trip. I hit the Walgreens in the Wrigley building for kids’ toothpaste. Scotty has been yelling and crying every night about the “mint spicy” toothpaste he’s been forced to use up to this point. To my surprise, I miss the kids on my lonely walk.
12:00 p.m. – Matt and Sabrina appear walking towards us on the corner of E. Huron Street. Sabrina is sweating profusely. Marc the Nigerian bellhop whose voice is the same as Sam Obisanya’s from Ted Lasso shoves water in our hands on the way out. Matt pays for our train rides from the Chicago Station on the Red Line, and the body armored train cop watches and smiles as we smuggle the kids through the turnstile. Bodies crammed against each other, cubs gear, a strange man staring at me like he wants me to drop the soap in the prison shower (fuck you, buddy) – everything you would expect on a train ride into the game.
1:00 p.m. – Walking to the stadium, I struggle with the two different apps our tickets are on. Matt leans over my shoulder and starts touching my phone as I attempt to pull them all up for the ticket taker. Once through the gate, we squeeze through the throng and go up several ramps to reach our seats in the third level. Matt handles the beer runs, and I get hot dogs for the kids. To my relief, when I go to the bathroom before the game starts, there are three vacant urinal stations on the back wall opposite the trough. By the third inning, the kids let it be known that they are hot and want to leave. Danyelle responds by buying them some more stuffed animals. Cubs hit a couple dingers, including a grand slam by Cody Bellinger (right on cue after I disparage him for his decline following his MVP year). Matt compliments my plan to leave after the stretch, citing his dad’s insistence on forcing him and his sisters to endure the entirety of ticketed events. I explain that Scotty is still close to a baby, and Matt says that “they’re both basically babies.” After singing, when Danyelle tries to iterate some plan to take the kids back to the “wind tunnel” that she’s discovered to cool off, Matt helps me overcome a passing desire to abandon my commitment to leave: “You should go.” We drag the kids to the train stop, I avoid getting robbed by the automated kiosk, and we wearily return on another crowded train. The kids get seats this time, though, and there are no homoerotic power struggles.
4:30 p.m. – Too innocent to realize how tired they are, the kids are tickled by their practice of making pitiful little jumps in an attempt to defy gravity as the elevator reaches our destination on the 22nd floor of the Omni Hotel. Back in the room, their zoo stuffies are tucked safely in bed. After an hour of rest and an extended back and forth between Danyelle and me about how to handle dinner, we order Nando’s chicken on Uber Eats. To my dismay I realize too late that there is another Nando’s right around the corner that we could have easily walked to. Chicken and rice, spicy sauce. They didn’t put the fries in the bag, and the kids don’t eat much.
7:50 p.m. – We walk into a pretentious market called Eataly that has cured meats and Gelato and pastries. There’s a long line to get dessert. I’m frustrated that the kids haven’t eaten much and that we’re going to basically feed them ice cream for dinner past their bedtime. We abort mission and hit Trader Joe’s for cereal and fruit.
9:15 p.m. – Kids are in their queen pullout, not sleeping for the last time in Chicago.
Sunday – Rental Car to EGR
7:00 a.m. – Danyelle and the kids hit the donut shop one last time and bring me back an oatmeal. We prepare for our departure.
9:15 a.m. – We get in an Uber headed for Midway to pick up our rental car.
10:00 a.m. – Upon arrival, an attendant in a booth tells us to pull around the side of the facility, get out of the car, and enter through a little gate. Very strange. The Avis lady upsells us on insurance and on an easy pass for the tolls that doesn’t actually work.
10:15 a.m. – We get in our Nissan Rogue and head out. Apple Maps takes us on a detour around a wreck on the interstate. Lots of lanes, rusty industrial complexes outside the city, lots of Mexican shops dotting the street on the detour.
12:00 p.m. – We’ve made it through the Chicago metro traffic, and the rust is starting to give way to forest and farm land. We pull over at a McDonald’s. My first Big Mac in many many years is not very satisfying. Cartter pees on my pants leg in the bathroom after he scoots around the side of the toilet in an attempt to position himself to constitute the third link of a triple urine stream with Scotty and me. Back on the road, the smoky haze from the Canadian wildfires yields to blue skies as we head north into Michigan. Cartter comments that cheetahs can run 70 mph. When I say that hawks can go 200 mph, both kids immediately contradict me and inform me that they can only go 140. Scotty lets me know that falcons can go 200 mph. I laugh and comment on their “knowledge” under my breath. Danyelle vouches for them, quietly reminding me that “They’re proud.”
3:00 p.m. – Back on Eastern time now, we pull into the neighborhood where the Airbnb is. It’s adjacent to the neighborhood Danyelle lived in as a small child with her 5 siblings and her parents. I’m surprised by the small houses with cheap siding. Her dad was a doctor. There were 6 of them. The appearance of this neighborhood does not match what I’ve heard about the house Danyelle grew up in, the one with a swimming pool and a trampoline in back. Pulling into the driveway of the Airbnb, reality sets in: That’s a window unit. That’s a beer pong table in the neighbor’s yard. The house across the street has a shitty wheelchair ramp leading up to the front door. This place is ghetto. The kids are delighted at living in another new place, calling it “our house,” but they are disturbed when they learn that they’ll be in separate bedrooms. Cartter manages to get Spongebob on TV. Danyelle starts some laundry in the unfinished basement replete with random carpet thrown on the floor.
3:30 p.m. – We walk to a little cut through that leads to the much nicer neighborhood where Danyelle lived. She declines to knock on the door of her old house. I snap a pic of her and the kids on the sidewalk in front. She musters the courage to knock on the door where her friends lived. Bruce Hakim answers the door and has no idea who she is despite Danyelle’s cry “Surprise!” He retrieves his wife Mary from the basement. The 60-something couple is very friendly and very happy to walk down memory lane with Danyelle. They seem glad to have two little boys around. I try to excuse us for about an hour and a half before we finally leave. We spend the last hour in the driveway, the boys flying toy planes that Mary brought out. Scotty’s is far superior, and Cartter spends a lot of time quietly pouting. I manage to avoid getting too far into the weeds with Bruce about “work” and “what I do.” Turns out he was a swimmer. Finally, he tells his wife that if they don’t go inside, we’re never going to leave and we surely need to go feed the kids.
6:30 p.m. – After walking back to the house, we hop in the Rogue and make the 7 minute drive to Reed’s Lake where we dine at Rose’s. Apparently, this 1 square mile lake is quite the attraction. Street parking is sparse, and the restaurant is packed. Unsurprisingly, staff in EGR is friendlier than in Chicago. We’re quickly seated and served. Pizza is odd size. Too much for one, but not enough for two. Why do places do that? There is a small marina with power boats outside, people are crowded on the deck to eat and take in the view, and there are sailboats out on the water. Again, this lake is one square mile. I eat too much, we’re given free caramel corn in little dixie cups, and we walk outside to take in the lake. People everywhere, sitting and talking, as if they were waiting for fireworks on the 4th of July. There is a boat ramp right off of the main road. These people would put their powerboats in Colonial Lake if they could. The high school football stadium is right in the middle of downtown, and there is a bronze statue of a mentally retarded guy who was a super fan before his death. My concerns about where my wife comes from are mounting. I feel like Reese Witherspoon in Pleasantville.
7:30 p.m. – We walk from the football stadium down Main Street to the ice cream shop Jersey Junction. There is a line wrapped around the block. I think everyone in this town has nothing better to do than hang around Reed’s Lake, obsess over high school football, and go for ice cream. Inside, much stuff adorns the walls. I visit the bathroom, which features articles about the illustrious history of Reed’s Lake, and Danyelle chokes when it’s her turn to order, letting Cartter get bubblegum ice cream, and only ordering one other cup, Deer Tracks, which Scotty is reluctant to share with her. Cartter spits little gum chunks onto his napkin and ends up throwing away a cup full of bright pink nightmare after he says he’s full. Walking away, I’m very disturbed that Danyelle might not have gotten what she wanted, offering to get back in line for her. She declines. Cartter says that Scotty is the “dumbest person in the whole world,” and I say “he’s not the one who ordered bubblegum ice cream.” Cartter says that he thinks bubblegum ice cream is magnificent, and when I ask why he threw it away, he says it’s because I made him. Bubblegum ice cream would be a theme for the rest of the trip.
8:00 p.m. – On the way to the Rogue, we stop in the D&W for supplies. The kids’ inability to contain themselves fully gets on my nerves. Just stop touching each other!
9:30 p.m. – Mint spicy toothpaste no longer an issue, Scotty is asleep. It’s still light out. Cartter is rolling around bed talking to himself. Danyelle and I take 10 minutes on the little ghetto back deck to admire the fireflies.
Monday – Rogue Around Eastern Michigan
8:00 a.m. – Kids are up. Cereal. Instant oatmeal loaded with sugar. Danyelle is trying to push for a trip to the beach without pushing for a trip to the beach. I’m trying to read the signs and put aside my natural born elite instinct to lead.
9:00 a.m. – Into the Rogue for the 45 minute drive to Grand Haven where a state park on Lake Michigan awaits. My fatigue wanes as we drive through the little vacation town, and an impromptu song about the places we pass leads Cartter to join in and announce that he pooped the statue of liberty out of his butt.
9:45 a.m. – I can’t believe that we considered skipping this place. We drive past the RV lot full of vacationing Michiganders and park down by the facilities on the beach, the vast expanse of great lake before us. Walking out onto a pier, the lack of salt in the air finally convinces Cartter that it is, in fact, a lake. Danyelle tells the story of her sister daring her to jump in, how she drowned, saved by a male passerby, who pulled her and her friend from the water as Nicole and the friend’s older sister stood by and snickered and Trudy screamed for help. I’ve heard it before. Now it makes sense. The pier stretches a quarter mile out into the lake. Big swells that threaten to capsize large boats passing through a cut that leads to a marina crash against the sides of the concrete walkway, flooding the final stretch where there is a random, red wooden building up a little flight of stairs. A modest, easily ignored stone at the foot of the pier has the words “In memory of those who died here and those who tried to save them” engraved on it. Holy shit, I thought these Michigan people were just a bunch of softies hanging out at Reed’s Lake licking ice cream cones and building statues glorifying retardation. They don’t give a fuck, though! They won’t even put up rails alongside this pier where people apparently keep dying! I can’t blame the Michiganders for disregarding safety, though. The pier is fucking awesome. A few people are fishing off it, and one guy descends a ladder into the water, presumably to free his line from the side. Back on the shore, we walk out on the beach and get our feet wet in the lake. Water is cold, but not freezing. Strong current and waves may be what keep anyone from swimming – Nobody is swimming despite a growing number of people on the beach. Signs advise against it. Lake weed rolling in with the waves. Clear water. Fresh air blowing in off the lake. Temps in the high 60’s. Clear blue skies stretching as far as the eye can see. I do not want to leave, but Danyelle says we still have a lot to see.
11:00 a.m. – Back into the Rogue for a 40 minute drive into Grand Rapids for hot dogs.
11:40 a.m. – I wonder if the sign hanging behind the counter at “Yesterdogs” indicating that “there’s no such thing as a plain dog” means that ordering a plain dog with ketchup for the kids will be a problem. When the guy taking my order relays the request for “two ketchup dogs,” I’m relieved. The place is massive. People duck in and out of the front door taking to go orders that are filled within a minute. We take our tray of dogs served on little square plastic napkins to a booth in the dining area. Walls adorned with lots of junk, pictures of past employees, patrons’ names scrawled all over the building. I try the chili cheese dog or “cheddar dog” first. It’s a puddle of warm chili sauce and cheese in a bun with a little weenie hiding inside. Next up the “Yesterdog,” which is basically a cheddar dog with ketchup and mustard, and chopped onion and pickles. After about ten minutes of pondering, I finally relent to my urge to get another one, going for the Yesterdog after Danyelle agrees to eat half of it. I give her a third. Scotty says his ketchup dog is “probably the best hot dog he’s ever eaten. It’s better than the hot dog at the Cubs game.”
12:30 p.m. – Back into the Rogue for a 20 minute drive to Frederik Meijer Gardens and Sculpture Park.
1:00 p.m. – Once again the Michiganders surprise the hell out of me. What is this place? I thought we were going to a garden. No, this place has a massive parking lot that is full of cars, and it costs us $60 to gain admission. We enter through a huge building with the Devos name plastered all over the place. We stupidly leave our waters in the car. It is probably 80 degrees in the sun, and once we leave the shade of the kiddie tree house (a solid hit), we have a problem. The kids are hot. They’re thirsty. They want to go home. I can’t say I blame them, but after we start running into these modern sculptures situated among the rolling hills of wildflowers in full bloom, I do not want to leave. We locate a water fountain and fill our bellies, and I slow our walk around the sculpture loop as much as I possibly can. Trippy shit everywhere. I wish I had all day. Later, I wish I took more pictures. Who knew these Michiganders appreciated art and culture? To be fair there was a paved path throughout the sprawling property so that a tram could haul all the fat and elderly people around. Michigan – a land of paradox.
2:40 p.m. – Back into the Rogue for another 20 minute drive, this one to Craig’s Cruisers family fun park.
3:00 p.m. – Of course, the arcade is enormous, and the kids are pleasantly surprised that this is our next activity for the day. The four of us have the laser tag arena to ourselves. Danyelle hides and shoots the points box the whole time, leaving Cartter to fend for himself against Scotty and me. The kids enjoy playing at war. Cartter is, of course, terrified by the go carts, slowing down once he starts getting bumped, and crying when he gets off. Scotty rides in the tandem cart with his mom. We burn through the $60 on the arcade card as quick as we can, get the smallest items possible with our winnings (some gummy hamburgers that I would later discreetly throw away), and pile back into the Rogue for the drive back to the ghetto Airbnb.
5:45 p.m. – We’re back on the main drag of EGR alongside Reed’s Lake for a meal at Bowdie’s Chophouse, pronounced like Patrick Swayze’s character in Point Break. The hostess laughs at us when we come in and is very friendly about not being able to find our reservation and getting us seated immediately. The server is also very friendly. Caesar salad is served on a huge piece of Romaine and covered in legit dressing and parm flakes. Kids don’t approve. Adults do. It takes a long time for our steak and potatoes au gratin to come out, and keeping the kids in check is a challenge. Ultimately, a conversation about a transformer robot the kids saw advertised on TV gets us through. Apparently, it scans you and transforms into whatever you want. The kids struggle with the idea that my pacifist duck robot would be indestructible against their weaponized bots. According to them the powers of flight, swimming, and camouflage are no match for brute strength. Scotty: “Who do you think is going to win? A duck that does nothing? Or a gorilla with a giant gun?” My chicken is served on some kind of hushpuppy pancake. It was fine. Ended up spending nearly $300 just because we figured the kids would eat steak, and we’d be able to get some veggies.
7:30 p.m. – After we finally eat and pay the tab at the overpriced steak house, a brief journey in the Rogue brings us to the Village Cone Shop. No Reed’s Lake history lessons here, just a window adjacent to a gas station, where we fill up the Rogue and get candy to mix our dispensary goodies with for the flight home. Here I learn that McDonald’s “mcflurries” are just their version of something called a flurry. Who knew? Danyelle walks away from the window with a giant cup of soft serve mixed up with peanut butter cups. Long plastic spoons allow you to dig into whatever region of the mixture you prefer, all the way to the bottom, scooping the perfect amount of meltiness. I am fucking amazed.
9:00 p.m. – Kids in bed, Danyelle and I start packing up. Scotty goes right out, but I make several trips into Cartter’s room to comfort him as he wrestles with his nervous excitement and inability to sleep.
Tuesday – The Journey Back to Elite HQ, CLT Sucks
7:00 a.m. – Breakfast in the ghetto and last minute packing.
9:00 a.m. – Into the Rogue for 20 minute drive to Grand Rapids’ Gerald R. Ford International Airport.
10:30 a.m. – Having passed through security in no time, the kids and I walk from our gate to the B concourse where Danyelle identified a bagel shop on a recon mission. The kids say the bacon, egg and cheese sandwich is better than Dunkin. I’m not so sure.
11:45 a.m. – A very rushed boarding process has everyone on the plane just a few minutes late. We’re on a smaller bird to CLT, two seats on either side of the aisle. I have Cartter, and Danyelle has Scotty. Believe it or not, each of us has a baby sitting in front of and behind us. The four of them and the hispanic mom behind me make a lot of noise while we wait to take off, and Danyelle and I both fear that the little one being passed around in front of us is going to vomit his bottle onto us. Flight is relatively smooth.
2:00 p.m. – Waiting to deplane at CLT, a woman behind us is noisily thanking a man for letting her go ahead of him, because she has a connecting flight to make. So do we. Scotty ends up in front of everyone, and when he stands in the aisle and refuses to proceed, Danyelle basically throws him, much to his offense. Rushing from concourse E to concourse B amid the bustling airport, I tell the kids that they need to keep up so we don’t miss our flight home. That is sufficient inspiration for them to pick up the pace. Scotty wipes out at one point. A guy angrily runs my foot over with a wheelchair. Scotty wipes out again in the crowded bathroom. No seats at the gate, we use the ten minutes before boarding to snack up.
3:00 p.m. – I sit in between the boys when fighting threatens to erupt. Cartter has some questions for me about engine failure and planes falling out of the sky; still, he remains calm and happy for the duration of our bumpy 40 minute flight. Across the aisle, alone, Danyelle is white knuckling again.
4:00 p.m. – Blue Jay meets us outside and we’re back in the Odyssey.
4:38 p.m. – Back at Elite HQ.
Best of the Midwest – Attractions
Best Chicago Attraction – Art Institute: There’s a reason this place owns a huge chunk of the most expensive real estate in the city. It’s fucking awesome. If you’re in town for a short stay and have to choose one of the city’s many museums, enjoy some of Chicago’s legal weed and take a stroll through part of this behemoth on the north side of Millennium Park. As Matt told me ahead of time when I was planning out our trip, “it’s the one.” Glad to have skipped the Museum of Science and Industry, the Field Museum, and the Aquarium in favor of this temple of art. I wanted to go back every day we were in Chicago. Some of my viewing was determined by avoiding the larger crowds in the sadly temporary Van Gogh and the Avant-Garde exhibit and in the Monet room, but there were plenty of masterpieces hanging alone, begging to be stared at. A question for all the sober people looking briefly, particularly the ones moving with the crowd and the ones all too willing to sidle up next to you: what are you doing? Personal favorites among the temporary exhibit were Van Gogh’s Woman in a Garden and Angrand’s The Seine at Courbevoie, La Grand Jatte. I knew nothing of Angrand, Seurat, or Signat, all displayed alongside Van Gogh, all fantastic. Among the permanent exhibits, favorites were a particularly dark version of The Water Lily Pond by Monet and Picasso’s Woman in a Red Armchair and Nude Under a Pine in the new third floor modern section. Eternal thanks to Danyelle for taking the kids away and entertaining them in the armor section.
Surprise Runner Up – John Hancock Tower: Maybe it’s because it was a Wednesday and tornado sirens had been sounding an hour before we went, but the line to go to the observation deck on the 94th floor was negligible, as was the crowd at the top. The tilt ride is a silly gimmick, but the views of the lake and the skyline at sunset are undeniable. It was the perfect way to begin our stay in the city. I particularly enjoyed Cartter’s disbelief regarding the lake: “How is that a lake?” he said. “That’s the ocean,” he said. Thirty minutes later, after walking all the way around the top floor, I told him again that it was indeed a lake. He cocked his head to the side and pointed his index finger towards the ceiling, a miniature professor enjoying another chance to refute my ignorance, almost singing his rebuttal, “No, it isn’t!”
Most Missable – River Cruise: We already saw everything from the top of the tower, the tour guide’s schtick was predictable, I learned very little, the kids didn’t like being confined and Danyelle got nauseous. If you’re an aspiring architecture buff, maybe it’s worth it, but on the other hand, you might not glean much you didn’t already know.
Best Ballpark – Fenway: The Cubs downed the Red Sox during our visit, but it’s becoming clearer to me why Matt hates Boston and their fanbase so much. Wrigley just can’t touch the greatest ballpark in all the land.
Best Michigan Attraction – Grand Haven State Park: Who knew that the best thing about Michigan, where we went to get away from the beach, would be the beach? The Great Lakes are one of the world’s astounding wonders, and this is a fantastic spot to get a sense of that undeniable fact. This was one place the kids were content to just be. I could’ve spent at least half the day.
Surprise Runner Up – Frederik Meijer Garden and Sculpture Park: The kids were far less amused than I at the array of modern sculpture set in these idyllic gardens. Maybe if we had gone in the morning instead of after a long drive to and from the beach and lunch in Grand Rapids, we would have had more staying power.
Best of the Midwest Continued – Food
Best Meal – The Stopalong: We at caesar wraps and smoothies for lunch in anticipation of dining at this burger joint in Wicker Park with Matt and Sabrina. Scotty said his burger was probably the best thing he’s ever eaten, and it was the most satisfying meal I had during our trip. Thanks, Matt.
Best Hot Dog – Yesterdogs: Scotty and I were in agreement again here. He said it was the best hot dog he’s ever eaten. Try to eat just two. It can’t be done. Wrigley loses again. A Grand Rapids institution indeed. Wish we hadn’t forgotten to get t-shirts.
Best Ice Cream – Village Cone Shop – Thanks to this little place adjoining an EGR gas station, I now know what a flurry is. Whoever came up with those long flexy spoons for scooping the melty frozen concoction is a fucking genius. The more popular Jersey Junction has nothing on this place’s dessert; however, if I had it to do over again, I’d eat way less of that just ok Rose’s pizza and order a malt at JJ. Maybe that would have tipped the scales a little more in their favor.
Most Self-Important – Wicker Park Jenny’s Ice Cream: When we walked into this place and saw them cranking out waffle bowls, it seemed like an easy decision. Danyelle told me to get one for us to share with the kids, so when I got to the front of the line, I asked the girl taking orders for a waffle bowl with two scoops of chocolate in it. “You want a standard?” she answered. Apparently, I hadn’t been clear enough, so I repeated my order, to which she replied, “Yeah, that’s a standard.” Thanks so much for the schooling. Now I know that a standard at Jenny’s is two golf ball sized ice cream scoops sitting in the bottom of a waffle bowl. Fucking idiot.
Best of the Midwest Continued – Transportation
Best Flight – United CHS to ORD: A four-hour delay with an aborted initial boarding and some serious turbulence that had Danyelle near fully panicked, this was absolutely the perfect introduction to air travel for the kids. What’s more, the seats were actually considerably more comfortable than those in the AA flights that we had on the way home. Maybe it was because we spent a few bucks to upgrade to “economy plus?” Not sure, but United was definitely better, even with the inconveniences noted above. Finally, this was the kids’ first flight ever, they handled it beautifully, I got to smother the flicker of nervousness that threatened to overtake Cartter before it ever had a chance, and an old lady in front of us rightly noted what a wonderful father I am. Go me.
Best Ride in Chicago – The L: Rubbing up against strangers trying not to fall? A guy staring at me like he wants to rape me in the ass? Scared kids? Why take an Uber (which we did a lot) when you can take the L? You haven’t earned your trip to Wrigley unless you ride the train in.
Best Walk – tie between Lincoln Park and Wicker Park: Maybe it’s because it was our first day, and we weren’t tired yet, but once we left the zoo and started walking South in Lincoln Park, everything was right with the world. It’s just a couple miles to Michigan Ave. It might as well be a couple hundred. Then there was the walk through Matt’s neighborhood on our way to dinner at the Stopalong. Wicker Park is a gem, and I can see why he lives there. Everyone felt at home on our little stroll. Scotty even reached up and took Matt’s hand unprompted while crossing the street, commenting on Science knows what as the video game master led him up over the curb and onto the sidewalk again. If Danyelle and I go back without the kids, that’s where we’ll stay.
Most Efficient – the Rogue: The Rogue got us from Chicago to EGR, Grand Haven, Yesterdogs, Frederik Meijer Gardens, Craig’s Cruisers, and the Grand Rapids Airport in less than 48 hours. It was also the site of conversations about animal speeds, the advantages of violent vs. pacifist robots, and varying opinions of bubblegum ice cream among other things. The rental car carried us hundreds of miles and brought us closer together.
Sentimental Wrap
I suppose since nobody died and we had lots of fun, that our elite midwest swing was a success, but that success wasn’t without cost, and I’m not talking about the money. We designed the trip as an answer to the kids’ question “What can we do?” and we ended it with a question of our own: “Are we doing the right thing?” We shunned the likes of Disney World and a more relaxing vacation by the pool and hauled the kids on a trip that was more about what the two of us wanted to do. Is that how family building works? Kind of like when Caesar Milan instructs an incompetent dog owner on how to handle their canine on the leash – to paraphrase, “The walk is about you. He (the dog) is just lucky to come.” Does it work that way with kids too? Wait, the kids probably don’t want to be treated like dogs. Am I treating the kids like dogs?
Everywhere we went on this trip, people asked if the kids were twins. The way the two of them moved around together – laughing, speaking their own language, clinging to one another more every day as their weariness grew – I could see why people assumed. At the same time, the trip brought out the boys’ differences more clearly than ever, Cartter nervous and unable to sleep, Scotty at ease and napping in Ubers and on airplanes. Why don’t I see them the way they are all the time? My ability to continue to make realizations about the kids’ personalities proves to me that my elite parenting is very much like the scientific method: messy and full of mistakes. This harsh reality in mind on our last night in Michigan, I told Cartter that I wished I could be the perfect Dad for him. He was in his temporary bedroom, unable to sleep, exhausted. Still, his tired little face looked almost amused by what I’d said, turning away from the pillow to look in my eyes and tell me frankly that “nobody can be perfect.” He thinks I’m silly. Forgiveness is sweet. Maybe that’s why religious people tell you to ask for it so much. It’s definitely one of the reasons people have dogs. Maybe kids are like dogs a little. Maybe if I just keep remembering to ask, then the kids will stay generous with their forgiveness. An elite can dream, dream to remember.
The Raging Elitist 
One response to “Elites Go Midwest”
Elite Summer reading:
I awake alone, unbothered, and well rested. It’s 8:30am and there’s an unread message on my phone from John Lupton (yes, you know who he is). As I have come to expect , it’s a link to his personal blog, the grotesque evolution of a fantasy football email chain born of ample free time and unlimited grievances. Immediately my day is ruined.
I draw a deep breath in through my nose,stare down at my phone and prepare for the task ahead. The unavoidable realization has set in. Not only do I have to read this new post since it’s at least in part about me, but I also promised John in a weak moment that I would read his last post as well. Again, my day is ruined.
I scroll back through john’s texts and open the link to “over the hill at 39” and begin reading. He starts as he always does, bitching, about his never ending ailments and fragile body. “Was he always such a bitch?” Yes, I remind myself, most swimmers are. Maybe it’s all the chlorine, or the fact that their joints have been aquatically insulated from the harsh grind and impact of the real world. Regardless I read on, eventually relieved that John was able to muster the strength to hike the mountain and also relieved that the “elite” philosophies that plagued prior posts had mostly subsided in favor endearing moments of family reflection.
The few photos he shares stir sapphire memories of my own: days spent on the water avoiding the exact same hike he now forces his own family to endure, thousands of little Cleo’s cast, the trout, the bass, the brim satisfaction, the golf carts, the ping pong, the rope swing, all of it, and I can’t help but envy the memories that lay ahead for Cartter and Scotty. As you’d assume, John is too cool or important for social medial (probably both), so these rare photos provide what feel like distant views into a Lupton world that “non elites” can only hope to read about in lengthy blog posts. A simple but necessary reminder that these online ravings are grounded in reality, and not just John’s edible induced fever dream.
I need a break. I’ve made it through the first post, but I know the second will be much more involved and far more grueling. I get out of bed, pour myself some coffee, sit in the yard and slowly sip in silence as I regroup and refocus.
With some hesitation I click the link “Elites go Midwest” and it’s even longer than I had feared. I scroll down in horror and amazement at the pages of detailed notes and observations from their trip. A full detailed recap itinerary of everything the family had done and eaten, down to the minute. “Was he taking notes the whole time? Does he make Danyelle keep a time sheet? Does anyone else read this?” I couldn’t help but wonder.
I already knew the Luptons had had a good time (Scotty told me) and I always knew they would. Chicago and the entire Midwest really are great, especially wisconsin. Why else would I chose to live here? I also already knew their detailed itinerary as John had sent it to me in advance for my local approval; and yet, likely due to my own self obsession, I read on anyway.
Most of the post was as remembered and as expected. A long profession of John’s love for the art institute, a rare admission of fault and regret over an ill advised pizza audible, the subtle but consistent horniness for the Boston redsox, and most importantly lots of love for the hotel. The mentions and assessments of myself and Sabrina were brief and fair (it’s all about John after all) but no mention of the fish tank. A major over-site in light of the boys’ proclamation that the blood worm feeding was at least at that time the highlight of their trip.
I read on through the Grand Rapids portion of their journey, amused by the apparent realization that Lake Michigan is in fact fucking awesome and reminded of my own fun afternoon at the Frederick Meijer sculpture garden. In the end I was relieved the Luptons had made it home without incident and Danyelle had avoid fainting on the trip, although it sounded like she came close on a few occasions, but mostly I was relieved I had finally finished my elite summer reading.
Day ruined or not, I was thankful for visit and look forward to the next lupton encounter even if it includes another reading assignment.
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