The Return of the Funny

Or, at least, hopefully.

I wish to apologize for the lack of the funny in yesterday's blog entry. As can probably guessed, I was very tired by the time I got around to writing the blog post.

Anyway, I have now just completed a day where we slept in until about 11AM, so while I am slightly tired, I am entirely more capable of bringing the funny. Or, at least, what passes for the funny on this blog.

The first thing we did this morning on getting up was take some photographs of the place where we are staying. As previously mentioned in this fine blog, the place we are staying at is called the Huron House. This tells us that i) it is a house and ii) it is on Lake Huron.

Witness the view from our balcony;



Walking down onto the beach, one finds oneself on the shores of Lake Huron. Lake Huron goes to the north ...



... and also to the south ...



I took off my shoes and socks and walked on the beach, and also paddled in Lake Huron. It is very cold - excessively so. I suspect that it is made of meltwater from Canadian glaciers, like Labatt's is. I think that currently the water coming out of areas north of the 49th parallel will be colder than usual, as Sarah Palin isn't there to heat things up being, as she is, debating with a man old enough to be her father but not nearly half awesome enough.

Anyway, as I had a camera and sand on my toes, I took a picture of my feet. A crazy plan started to form in my mind, which would involve Lake Huron and myself. But, as the shilling shockers say, we anticipate.



We then went in search of sustenance, and came across the Au Sable Inn in Oscoda. "Au Sable" is the name of one of the local rivers which flows into Lake Huron from the west, and is also the name of a small town here. Although all men of learning (and even the French, who actually speak this language) know that "Au Sable" means "with sand", the way to pronounce this is - apparently - Oh-sah-bo. Yeah, right. Bet the Quebecois love that stuff.

Anyway, how can we mock the French some more in this blog post? Why - by talking about the lager which I got with my lunch (which was a semi-decent fish and chips). the lager was "The Lager of the Lakes" and was rather good; it is a local brew. And on the label is a map of the Great Lakes. But not just any map - oh no. This is the worst map in the history of the world. Not since St. Jean de Brebeuf was tortured to death by the Iroquois and was forced to make a map with his own spilled entrails has there been such a bad map of the Great Lakes area. Behold the awfulness.



I mean, seriously. Come on. They say Michigan looks like a mitten or a hand. That doesn't look like a hand. It looks like some kind of carnival freak known as The Hideous Penguin Boy put his flipper into a coffee grinder and then, with the misshapen appendage left afterwards, attempted to make a crude facsimile of a human hand out of petrified chipmunk droppings. With his eyes closed. And while hanging upside down over a cauldron of boiling oil.

Bloody French and their inability to do cartography.

Still, the lager was very tasty and the food was good - although it was accompanied by little carved carrots. A lesser man would have simply assumed that these things were, you know, random shapes. I, on the other hand, know better.

Au Sable is called Oh-sah-bo because it is the Huron or Iroquois or Native American way of pronouncing the French (which simply has to be better than the French way, even if the Native American way involved simply banging the backs of your hands together and going "Blarph-blarph-blarph!") There is a huge Native American influence in the region.

Now, as everyone who has seen my awesome jacket knows, I rather like the Native American style thing going on. And this extends to all aspects of their culture and art. Including .... ancient Huron carrot-carving!

Seriously, man - who can't love these little, somewhat abstract, figures of men rendered entirely in slices of carrot?



Here we see the classic motif of Father and Son - the Father is taller and solid, reliable in the wisdom he will pass onto the younger generation. The Son reaches upwards, not yet having learned that his lot in life is to be eaten as a salad garnish.

With my fish and chips, I had ketchup. But not any old ketchup - oh no, sir! This was fancy ketchup. Check out the bottle;



Look, it is fancy. It says so right on the label! This ketchup was pooh-poohed by Liza as being "just catering ketchup, for God' sake don't take a picture of it, people are looking" but I knew better. It is produced by the Sysco Foods Corporation and is some of the finest ketchup ever. It is certainly better than Heinz, not merely in taste, but also in the fact that - to the best of my knowledge - Ms. Sysco is not married to some stupid flip-flopping Democrat waffle merchant who looks like Herman Munster.

Alas, it seems (according to Liza who, it must be said, knows little of ketchup) that this ketchup is not available in regular stores, but only in those large, catering stores and whatnot. I think this is a great shame, and strongly recommend some kind of petition to get Sysco to sell their product in regular stores - perhaps under the name "Better than Heinz - and not just because we aren't pro-gay, anti-family idiots! We're tomatoey, dammit!"

We then got on the road and went along River Road, which runs parallel to the Au Sable River. And there we stopped, and we took a look at a scenic lookout. I must admit, it was very nice.





(As an aside, I am typing this in the dark, with the lights turned off, so I can watch some fireworks someone has on the beach. But this means Shaak Ti's (my laptop) screen in the only bright thing in the room. And a small flying insect is crawling all over it. My computer has a bug. B'dum-tish!)

Anyway, this was a nice scenic lookout point, and it led down to the Au Sable River. And when I say led down I mean down.



Liza and I went down the dune - which was pretty easy, as gravity and massive amounts of shifting sand did the job for us. And then we splashed around in the river at the bottom, and then tried to climb back up.

Oh God, that was hard work. The sand kept sliding under our feet, the incline was about 60 degrees in parts, it wasn't a short distance. Here is the view back up.



At the end of it, we were pretty knackered. Some nice people took a picture of us after we got to the top (the arrived just as we were getting back to where we had started).



So, much tiredness there indeed.

After that, we went to the lumberman's monument, which is awesome. I bought a book about Paul Bunyan (whom I knew of before I came to the USA, as I am fantastically well-read and educated and that) and we took photographs. Here is a picture of Liza by the monument itself;



And here is a chipmunk! He is there, really - he blends in. Look for the black and white stripes against his little brown body.



And here is a cool shot of us on a giant set of pickup-stix! I could tell you how we did it, but then I'd have to kill you.



We then returned home, where my crazy plan involving Lake Huron and myself was put into practice. It was about 6 PM, and it is October. And it is Lake Huron.

Yes, I went swimming.



Flip me! But Lake Huron is cold this time of year! Sheesh, people! Even my chilblains had chilblains. It was very cold.

Speaking of any kind of blains - it is my believe that David "Asshat" Blaine should try sitting in the Huron for about three days. Preferably in the middle of the Huron. And then he should have to attempt to navigate back using an empty bottle of Lager of the Lakes. That should get rid of the annoying little oik that keeps littering our public spaces with his stupid stunts.

Coming this Fall! David Blaine eats his own head!

I did not stay in the water long, merely long enough to say - in some poorly-thought-out macho way - that I had done it.



Liza, as you will note, was sensible and did not go in Lake Huron. She documented the event.

We then went in the hot tub to warm up, and I am now going to bed.

'Night, John-Boy!