May 16, 2005


I spun off 90 thinking I needed coffee, maybe more just something coffee-like, but instead I wound up two miles from Wisconsin Dells - "home to more waterparks than anywhere in the world." I wound up at a Dairy Queen with an adjacent parking lot to an animal kingdom themed adventure park, which is entered via a boat shaped restaurant. I, at that moment, decided that my plan of retiring to the south somewhere, to write, in some decrepidated village, hunched over my manual typewriter should be spiked in favor of finding some modest benefactor to put me up at a room at the Seaside Inn for a summer. The Seaside is not near the sea at all, it is landlocked in Wisconsin on a major thoroughfare that leads to the Dells, and is perfectly situated between Tommy Bartlett's Sky & Ski show and Mr. Pancake. Mr. Pancake is a resturant modeled like a big white steam ship. It has portholes and an upper deck, and was at the height of convention circa 1966. It has Vegasy lights and I hope, hope, hope that they only serve pancakes. Mister Pancakes. I will live off a diet of chilled butter pats, traditional maple-flavored syrup and Mister Pancakes during my sabbatical at the Dells. I will spend my days by the big fiberglass whale shaped kiddie slide by the outfoor pool at The Seaside, watching loose skinned white Norweigen regionals turn day glo pink, and spend night typing away, or stalking the town by foot, or talking shit in the DQ parking lot with "Oana Of Romania" ( she is the lady that made my Blizzard™, and that is what her name tag said") while she waits for her boyfriend, the bottom-tier anchor skier from the ski-show to get off work.

The south can wait. The antebellums and red dust can wait for me. The Dells, though... the Dells are calling.

Posted by Jessica at May 16, 2005 09:34 PM | TrackBack