I suspect that Michigan’s state motto is “the Big Hair state.” The second I deplaned, I felt my hair beginning to rise and puff into billowing humps of fuzzy curlage, and by the time I went to my book event, my hair was of a size to respectably make a showing in ANY suburban mega-mall, Circa 1984.
2) At the Pellston Market, on Highway 31 about 20 miles north of Petosky, you can get a Salmon Sandwich so VERY tasty, what with the fresh asiago ciabatta bread and fancy lettuces and heirloom tomatoes and herb sauce and rich, oily salmon, that you may pull over to eat it undistracted by little things like staying on the road and not ramming into a truck. HUGE thumbs SO up. As a concession to my WW points, I pulled off the thick, cheesy top breads (THOUGH IT KILLED ME) and I only ate the thin, bottom pieces of the bread, and it was STILL a sandwich worth pulling over so as to fully experience it’s myriad mouthly wonders.
3) It’s gorgeous. IT IS GORGEOUS. The chunk of Michigan I was in is GREEN and BEAUTIFUL and it smells like flowers. The incredibly groovy peeps at McClean and Eakin (an A+ Indy, btw, and if you live or vacation in Petoskey —and here I interrupt my own interruption to do my impression of Napoleon Dynomite saying LUCKY!— you should totally go there and buy stuff) took me to dinner at White Caps, where I Weight Watchersly goodishly did NOT eat the Five Cheese Lobster Mac (THOUGH IT KILLED ME) and I almost didn’t mind because the company was so good, and the view was astonishing enough to touch even the ossified raisin that thumps feebly in my chest cavity. They had this panoramic window facing the shore, and the lake decided to show off by throwing me a lightning storm. (I can highly recommend the Shrimp and Scallops with lemon couscous and spinach, sauce on the side, by the way. Just not as highly as I would recommend the Lobster Mac. Because, did I mention five cheeses? FIVE. )4) They have an LSD tube in the Detroit airport. If you are NOT on LSD when you descend, you will feel like you are by the time you get out. I think it is supposed to DE-stress you? But it just distressed me. I had several flashbacks from all that acid I did back at Woodstock. Oh. Wait. I was in diapers when Woodstock happened. I TOLD YOU THAT HALLWAY WAS DISORIENTING!
5) Okay Detroit, with your fancy dope-fiend attracting attractions, I give you props for trying. But no. The airport in Pellston, Michigan hands you your own butt. Pellston wins airports. They win airports FOREVER. Their airport is greater than all the LSD tubes in the world, greater than the African Art tunnel in Hartsfield Atlanta’s A terminal. Greater than the Tube of Lights hall in O’Hare, greater even than the CONSTANT CONSTRUCTION FEST and accompanying eu de Yankee-man armpit that is Laguardia.
< —That is the luggage carousel. With its attendant fleet of puzzled black bears. And its some-flavor-of-wildcat. There are also two ENORMOUS full antlered bucks, standing taxidermied and tall in the front entrance and MULTIPLE fish trophies.
I SUSPECT (though I cannot in good conscience state it as one of my true things) that IF you purposefully try to take the wrong luggages, those bears come to life and eat you. I also suspect the Pellston Regional Bear-port has a remarkably low crime rate.
Or perhaps the crime rate is low because, in case the bears weren’t WIN enough alone, there is a Sheriff’s office in the Bear-port. I did not realize it was an actual Sheriff’s office at first. In my defense, I’d spent the whole day tearing down moving sidewalks, shoving aside old ladies and cussing like a rabies infested sailor, almost missing connections. I was TIRED. And there was this VIBE going, with the plethora of Taxidermy-friends and the hand-burned wooden signage and the exposed beam
work. You know how, in the kind restaurants that feature taxidermy and fish trophies and beam work, the restrooms will often be called thinks like COWPOKES and SALOON WENCHES? Or MUSTANGS and FILLIES? When I saw the door with the sign on it that said SHERIFF, I subconsciously registered it as a euphemism for the little boy’s room.
I am not sure what the female room would have been called…Sheriffettes? Depu-tants? Depu-teetees? Did not matter. What mattered was, I assumed SHERIFF was for the boys. I further assumed that the VERY next door I came to would be the ladies room. Which means I can tell you a final and definitely true thing that I would not otherwise have been able to confirm:
6) Men in Michigan pee standing up.
You are welcome.