Sunday, October 28, 2012

The Chosen Land

A month ago, we took Matthew to a place where the grass is green, the girls are pretty and the representative men's basketball team is ranked #1 in both the AP and Coaches' polls.  Per usual, Bloomington failed to disappoint, in spite of a number of failures we were forced to deal with.  As you would expect from a place that I am pretty sure is mentioned in the Bible--I think it is in the Book of Billy or something--even when things aren't perfect, they're still perfect.
 
After arriving on Friday and enjoying an evening meal at Scotty's, we went back to our Super 8 suite and were thrilled to wake up to a car that hadn't been broken into the next morning.  We have never had anything stolen from us in Btown before, but we were at the Super 8, so, well, yeah.
 
Side note: for those not fully acquainted with the world's greatest college town, Scotty's is across the street from a number of the bars that we frequented while in college.  There is something acutely weird about being on 7th Street with your college girlfriend and your son.  Of course, it is probably less weird and even less upsetting to be in that situation now than it would have been when we were, say, unwed 20 year olds.  Anyway, whenever we are in Bloomington, it always feels like we were just there attending school and we are still basically college kids.  You then look at your now wife and son and all the students at the restaurant who look only slightly older than Matthew and are staring at us like we are a Planned Parenthood PSA and you realize that 2004 was a very, very long time ago.
 
Back to Saturday morning.  Our first stop was to Assembly Hall and Cook Hall.  We figured they would probably be locked since it was not a football weekend but we thought we may get lucky and Matthew could see the basketball court.  We did not get lucky.  The doors were locked.  And we were sad.  But not sad enough to not put on a strong face for E to take a picture from 440 feet away.
 
 
 
Later, we went to the Delta Gamma house to visit Mom Kyle and introduce her to Matthew while showing Matthew where Mommy lived and where Daddy showed up for an endless bounty of basically free grilled cheese sandwiches.  This plan went down in flames when we learned that Mom Kyle was out of town.  Fortunately, a current DG resident let the two complete strangers and their child walk into the house without so much as thinking, let alone asking, why we were there or who we were.  Her blatant disregard for the basic safety of her fellow residents allowed for some terrific pictures of the future husband of a future (or, if the cougar's bank account is satisfactory, current) DG.



Not all was lost, however.  We had three major goals while at IU: walk the gorgeous campus, buy large quanities of IU clothing for the entire family to obnoxiously flaunt during games at Northwestern, and eat all of our favorite Bloomington fare.  At these tasks we were most successful.  Here, I am seen walking Matthew in his stroller through the woods near the Bursar's office.  I am wearing my new IU hat and jacket.  Not seen: the new shirt I am wearing underneath the jacket, or the new shirt and fleece E is wearing, or the new onesie Matthew is wearing.  Your welcome, IU Varsity Shop on Kirkwood.
 

 
 
We also hit a cornucopia of local restaurants whose lack of prescence in Chicago makes me sad: the aforementioned Scotty's; Mancino's; Scholar's Inn Bakehouse; Dagwood's; and Mad Mushroom.  We apologize to Kilroy's and Nick's.  There just wasn't enough time.  Nor was there enough alcoholic in either of us to bring Matthew into those places.
 
Speaking of Mad Mushroom, we ordered it at 9:00 Saturday night after Matthew went to sleep.  Upon its arrival, Matthew woke up crying, probably due to a nightmare that the only hotel his parents could afford in the middle of nowhere Southern Indiana was a Super 8.  The crying turned into all-out terror screams when he realized that the only hotel his parents could afford in the middle of nowhere Southern Indiana actually was, in fact, a Super 8.  Fortunately, we had freshly made cheese sticks.  Diseaster averted.
 

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