Sunday, April 29, 2007
Grand Rapids, Land of a Lost Youth
Before I launch yet another brilliant post, I must propose a "Google-off" between the fair cities of Boise, Idaho and Grand Rapids, Michigan.
I went searching for a good image of Grand Rapids on Google Images. I searched and searched....and searched. They had lots of wonderful little screenshots of maps--here's East GR; here's Hudsonville, etc. They had a number of pictures depicting Mel Trotter's gravesite. They had lots of pictures of really sketchy looking people claiming GR as their motherland. I had to go all the way to page 12 (that's about 11 "o's" in the Goooooooogle) to find this lovely shot of the river and all the lights of downtown.
Hmmmph! Type in Boise, ID and you get some cool stuff right on the first page. So, anyway, give it a whirl if ye dare.
I've decided (well, strictly speaking, my lovely wife decided) that it's time for a triumphant return visit to Grand Rapids. I invite all of you to come see us. We'll be staying somewhere luxurious. Probably the Super 8 out on the outskirts of Sparta. Clear your calendars for the week surrounding July 4th.
As I contemplate a return to your country, my mind is crowded with memories. I lived through all the human emotions there--hope, enthusiasm, despair, fear, dread, love, anger, elation, and a burning desire for IHOP. I gained a few things in GR--3 lovely children, some forehead wrinkles and gray hairs. I lost my youth, and, frankly, I'm pretty peeved by that.
In an effort to restore the years that the locusts have eaten, I am proposing a bacchanal of Roman porportions. Here's how I see it:
Day One: We meet in front of the Van Andel Arena. I arrive by stretch Humvee limousine. The arrangement is that I am luxuriating on the roof of this prestigious vehicle while (shivering--or sweating depending upon the gods of weather) scantily clad swimsuit models ply me with strawberries, whipped cream and Cheez Whiz.
Upon arriving, I am lifted on to the back of a well groomed giraffe and take a couple of elegant turns around the arena grounds while a gloriously turned-out band plays a specially composed anthem (Stupit, I think you are capable of arranging this...thanks in advance) in my honor. "Jacob, He's So Great, We Can't Believe He's Back In Town"...something like that.
After you all greet me with respect and adoration, we jump into the limo and, without regard to potholes, speed down to Charley's Crab for a lovely champagne brunch. After this feast, I flamboyantly produce an obscenely large wad of $100's from my ostrich skin money belt and scatter them with disdain over the wreckage of our tables. The gorgeous waitresses fight madly over the loot and all somehow end up naked and covered with whipped cream and rose petals.
We are then picked up in the parking lot by a gleaming helicopter and lift off majestically through the funky odors of downtown GR. We spend most of the morning taking spins over the city and picking out the homes or offices of those who have wronged us. When we discover one, we hover low and take turns dropping bags of dog poop strategically so they'll step in them.
In the early afternoon, we land on the lacrosse field of East Grand Rapids. Several brawny special security types use laser welding torches to cut down sections of the fence so we can pass unimpeded. We stroll across to Rose's Restaurant and demand to take over the whole deck by the edge of Reed Lake. Several patrons demure and our security types throw them and their lunches into the lake.
We all laugh and, as they mill about soggily, try to hit them with balled-up dollar bills wrapped around empty escargot shells.
We gorge ourselves and shoot highly illegal fireworks out over the lake. Several sail boats are hit and burn elegantly while their owners swim back to shore.
We helicopter back to the Amway Grand Plaza and clean up with a skinny dip in their rooftop pool. After a long nap, we awaken at about 6:30 pm and don our most sartorially splendid party duds for a night on the town.
Our progress through the town that night is chronicled by members of the press and television media. I wish I had more space and time to describe it, but the scenes are so vivid, so effervescently hedonistic, and so irresponsibly evil that this blog would be forced by the FCC to shut down were I to fully tell the story.
Day Two: Jail
Day Three: Jail
Posted by Jacob Nordby at 10:44 AM