Posted by admin on Aug 30, 2011 in Muskegon Comical |
Michigan’s Adventure
By Tracy K. Lorenz
I went to Michigan’s best amusement park “Michigan’s Adventure” on Sunday to ride the rides and see the sights. Plus I had free tickets. I don’t know what it is about Michigan’s Adventure but I don’t think I’ve ever had to pay to get in. It’s not that someone doesn’t pay, it’s just never me. The same holds true for bar cover charges, certain golf courses, and pretty much every concert I’ve attended in the last twenty years. I guess it’s good to have friends and/or a job where you can cheese your way in.
I’ve seen some amazing things at amusement parks, I once saw a kid so nervous before getting on the Magnum Roller Coaster at Cedar Point he threw up while waiting in line. I saw two gigantic African American women get stuck on the “Himalaya,” a ride that goes in circles while also going up and down. The ride stopped when the women were on the “up” and they couldn’t budge, gravity and compression held them in their seats like they were wearing giant magnet pants. The harder they struggled to get out the harder they were laughing and the more futile the effort became. Finally some of the Cedar Point workers headed over and tried to pull them out but it was like trying to pull a rhinoceros out of a jelly jar. They finally had to start the ride back up and inch it forward until the women were going downhill and could be extracted. Hundreds cheered.
On a sadder note an equally large woman made it all the way to her seat on the Shivering Timbers roller coaster and they made her get off because she was so large they couldn’t get the bar down to hold her in her seat. I felt really bad for her because she had to do the amusement park version of the walk of shame. They have the little yardsticks to make sure you’re tall enough, why not get, like, a hula hoop out there to check width?
Speaking of which, I saw a number of larger women walking around with their hair tied up on top of their head. I realize this helps keep your hair out of your eyes when you’re on a ride but it kind of looks like water coming out of a blow hole.
I’m just sayin’.
Another thing I noticed were the really bad choices in footwear. If you know you’re going to be walking for miles on concrete why would you wear heels (unless you’re too short to get on the good rides?) On the other end of the spectrum were the people wearing flip-flops. It’s the end of the season and most of the flip-flops I saw had all the foamy support smashed out of them, they looked like a piece of Butternut bread that got run over by a car. I can’t imagine they were comfortable. Oh, and you might want to try a little aloe on those ashy heel cracks.
For some reason there was a very large percentage of minorities in the park (is that an oxymoron?) on Sunday and a large percentage of that percentage were sporting tattoos. Here’s my question, if you’re going to pay a bunch of money to have someone tattoo a word across your body why do it in old English letters that no one can read? That’s how I spent my time waiting in line, trying to decipher tattoos. If I put a bumper sticker on my car I wouldn’t put one written in, say, Russian. What’s the point? And how did Old English become the body font of choice? Were there a lot of British Nobility walking around in old time Mexico?
Oh, and here’s another tip! The park has a game called “Three Point Shootout.” It’s not a rigged game like in traveling carnivals (although the basketballs did appear slightly over inflated), the game has a regulation basket and a regulation three point line and you get, I believe, thirty seconds to make as many three pointers as you can. If you decide to pay the money to play the game you should at least have attempted a three pointer at some point in your life. I saw guys heaving basketballs like they were loading a really tall brick truck. I haven’t seem so many airballs since last years bubble blowers convention. The nice part is the game is right next to the waiting line for the very popular “Mad Mouse” ride so while you’re heaving cinder blocks hundreds of people are brain-mocking you. They have some nice kids out there running the game and one of them does a running commentary, how he resorts from saying “Dude, seriously, have you ever even seen a basketball before?” is beyond me. It was sad.
BTW, if you make, like, four baskets you win a Cleveland Cavelier’s #23 jersey. That would be Labron James jersey. Labron James hasn’t played for Cleveland since 2010.
But all in all you just can’t beat Michigan’s Adventure. The place is huge, it’s immaculately clean, the workers are extremely polite, and the fact you have to pay to get in seems to keep the normal carnival crowd at bay. I can also say without hesitation that the rides are very safe, I not only worked for a company that built many of the rides, I used to own a company that built a couple so I know the meticulous standards the park holds.
Now that I’ve given that glowing recommendation you’ll have to wait until next year to go, Sunday was their last day of operation this year. So start saving your pop cans or throw a little cash in your change jar every night and take your family there next year because it‘s worth it. No matter how old you are or how much it costs there’s just something about riding a roller coaster that sets your soul…free.
Flares
By Tracy K. Lorenz
Ah yes, school is back in session. So many hopes and dreams of NASCAR-like changes in social standing, the thrill of seeing your friends after a summer off, and ten minutes of barely suppressible glee before you hear the words “Open your books to page one…”
I used to love the start of school, or at least the week leading up to the start of school, what I didn’t like was the shopping. It wasn’t like now where there’s a mall full of clothing, my options were pretty limited because I went to a private school. There were no blue jeans in my future, no T-shirts with pithy sayings or iron-on monsters. We had to wear dark pants, light button-down shirts, and “hard shoes.” That meant Robert Hall.
Robert Hall was a clothing store (now a Bingo Parlor) on Old Grand Haven Road. All their clothes were on racks below eye level and style was at a minimum. There was nothing flashy at The Hall. My brothers and I would march in behind my Mom and Dad and no input was given or asked for because, well, there just weren’t that many options. I do remember the conversations in the station wagon on the way over, they usually involved the purchase of suits. My Mom would suggest that I needed a suit and then she’d start listing off scenarios; there were upcoming weddings to attend, maybe a baptism, but invariably a potential funeral would come flying out. “Great Grandma will be dying soon, he’ll need a suit for her funeral…’ and I’d be in back all panicked thinking “Great Grandma! I just saw her last week, she looked fine!” But I never said anything I just worried a lot. She did eventually die about fifteen years later, by that time my suit was both snug and horribly out of style.
Hyde
By High School things got a little easier as shopping options opened up. There was a store named Ar-Jers over in the old K-Mart Plaza. Ar-Jers not only had every color of Levi’s cords available, they also had a healthy selection of disco shirts. The big decision was choosing between regular bell bottoms, “flares”, and “elephant bells.” I was mostly a flare guy, when I put on my baby blue corduroy flares, penny loafers, and puffy shirt I don’t know how the women didn’t faint. But they didn’t.
I did harbor some jealousy towards the public school kids for a couple reasons. First, a week before school started they’d hang up a list on the door at Lincoln Park Elementary. The list contained a teacher’s name and all the students in his/her class. Word would spread through the neighborhood that the list was out and all the kids would fly over to the school to get a glimpse of what teacher they were getting and who was going to be in their class. The kids would pack up against the door like a “Who” concert, climbing over each other like pet-store hamsters then they’d all complain like they were expecting Peter Frampton to be teaching sixth grade. We had no such event at St. Francis, I not only knew who my teacher and fellow students were going to be years ahead of time, I could have told you the seating order. I spent nearly a decade sitting between Dean Lombardi and Tim McCabe.
The public school kids also got to wear ripped pants, well, not exactly “ripped” like nowadays, but eventually the hem at the bottom of their pants would wear through from being walked on with gigantic platform shoes, every kid in Norton Shores looked like “Hyde” on “That 70’s Show.” I had to dress like Greg Brady.
We Catholic’s did have one huge advantage over our public school brothers: uniforms. Our girls wore uniforms. Plaid skirts, white blouses, knee socks, and black shoes. You need look no further than the USC Cheerleader uniform and the Catholic schoolgirl outfit for proof that God exists. The public schools may have had their hippie chicks but they couldn’t hang with the Grabinski Twins in plaid.
We Catholic’s did have one huge advantage over our public school brothers: uniforms. Our girls wore uniforms. Plaid skirts, white blouses, knee socks, and black shoes. You need look no further than the USC Cheerleader uniform and the Catholic schoolgirl outfit for proof that God exists. The public schools may have had their hippie chicks but they couldn’t hang with the Grabinski Twins in plaid.
But what I probably miss most about those first days of school was the renewal, the progress. There was a definite start and a definite finish. When you get older all the days sort of blend, unless you’re a teacher, Senator, or The President you just don’t have that fresh start, that cleansing of the soul that is summer vacation. You also don’t have the finish line of June. I think people need borders, they need some sort of non-tangible containment to rattle around in with a light at the end. Without that we’re all just in it for the long…haul.
