Dear Friends,
Speaking of things that are not relatable, our home in Ann Arbor is now child-free. The chicks have flown. The joeys have left the pouch. The baby barnacles have latched on to a new hull. The tapeworms have moved on to that part of their life cycle that depends on people eating raw meat or feces or both.
Friends keep asking if we’re ready to be empty nesters. Frankly, I resent that label. A person with diabetes can be so much more than a diabetic, and a person who languishes in a domestic carapace whose deserted halls echo with the phantom peels of childhood laughter is not merely an empty nester.
The transition from parent to barren husk is marked with nostalgia, but also opportunity. Lauren and I have been scheming about ways to avail ourselves of our newfound freedoms. First, with no kids around, we can take advantage of wholly new experiences like calling our kids on Sundays! Or showing up at their apartments/dorms unannounced!
But this also gives us a chance to get back to the activities we used to love before life got in the way, like travel. And that means I’ll finally finish my travel guide, “Disappointing American Streets.” Here is all I have written so far.
Woodward Avenue, Detroit. The so-called Dream Cruise is neither. None of the cars are even close to new and they travel at the speed of a riding lawn mower. Don’t bother. If I wanted to see plodding obsolesce, I’d ask my great-grandfather to pull a string of wooden ducks on wheels when he was a toddler. 2 stars.
Broadway, New York City. I saw dozens of brochures for “Off-Broadway” productions. The fact that being on any other street in the world is considered advertisement-worthy tells you everything you need to know about this cesspit. 2 stars. Would not recommend.
Bourbon Street, New Orleans. I’m an early riser, so I’m used to some Me Time during my morning stroll. But take a walk on Bourbon Street at 6 am and… Who Dat? Just some municipal sanitation workers opening all the manhole covers so they can hose sidewalk vomit into the sewers. Dat’s who dat is. If that’s your idea of bon temps, count me out. 2 stars.
Beale Street, MEH-mphis. That’s the only spelling that properly conveys how utterly untroubled by anything interesting this city is. Beale Street is plain rice cakes served in a manilla folder. Even their barbeque sauce has no sauce. It takes commitment to achieve this degree of “nothing to write home about.” All the postcards in Beale Street souvenir shops are blank on both sides. 2 stars.
Michigan Avenue, Chicago. Nothing so magnificent about this mile. There were no pasties. No Petoskey stones. No Superman ice cream. But sure, go ahead and call the street whatever you want. 2 stars.
Beacon Street, Boston. Picture the most boring adjective in the world. Now follow it up with the most mundane noun in the universe. With their powers combined, you’re left with… Brownstone. It’s the mineral equivalent of ennui, and it’s the only thing you will see for countless blocks in either direction. Say it with me… 2 stahs. Not wicked at all.
That’s all I’ve got so far, but I have firm plans to be disappointed in Haight Street, Rodeo Drive, Market Street, Madison Avenue, and the Los Vegas Strip in the next four years before the kids move back in!
With warmest regards,
Zach
Zach
