On the road again…. (Part 4)

Scope, Wednesday, and I took a big family vacation with my in-laws to Ohio a few weeks ago, which I have been sloooowwwwwwwly telling you all about. (For part 1 of this story click HERE, for part 2 click HERE, and for part 3 click HERE. *whew!*) Here’s what happened next….



DAY 5:


Our 5th day in Ohio, we spent our time in Cleveland. We hopped in our cars bright and early and started our day at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It was about a 1 1/2 hour drive from our rental home, but it was definitely worth it.




Keeping guard around the outside of the RNR Hall of Fame pyramid was an army of giant guitars, all gussied up and looking simultaneously artsy fartsy and rock and roll-y.










We saw Johnny Cash’s tour bus lurking outside too.




Now, if you know Wednesday at all, then you know what an intense country music loather she is. Hate doesn’t even begin to cover it, people. That girl is just flat out murderously disgusted by country music. Thus, upon seeing the Johnny Cash bus parked outside, saying “nanny nanny boo boo” at her, Wednesday started to feel queasy and fretful that the RNR Hall of Fame would be nothing but a six hour tour of suckage and would house nothing in it which would interest her whatsoever.


That’s right. Nothin.’


Ohhhhhhhhh, how mistaken she was! As soon as we set foot inside the building, she let out a big ol’ squeal because she saw her “other name” in lights. :-)




And then she let out a second squeal when she saw a giant Alice Cooper guitar.




AND then there was a third squeal over this bunch of funky U2 Zoo Tour cars that were hanging from the ceiling.




That makes three. Three squeals and we hadn’t even left the lobby yet. (So, kiss it, Johnny Cash!) We bought our tickets and they took a green screen picture of us to, inexplicably, make us appear all pale and shifty-looking before letting us loose inside the exhibits.




And they also accessorized us with their nifty plastic bracelets.




Just outside the exhibit doors, we saw a slew of guitars in shiny glass cylinder cases, including Sting’s bass guitar from the Synchronicity Tour in ‘84.




Yeah. It says “badass” on it. Duh.




But wait!—It gets WAY better! We also saw Alex Van Halen’s drum kit from 1980….




….Joan Jett’s Jaguar….




….ZZ Top’s Eliminator Coupe….




….and the massive moving “teacher” puppet from Pink Floyd's "Another Brick In The Wall" music video, which was looking down on us from the ceiling.




I mean, really. How cool is THAT?! And we weren’t even inside the exhibits yet! Of course, once we did set foot inside the exhibits, we weren’t allowed to take any more pictures.


*sniffle*


But what we saw was an amazing collection! We saw things belonging to pretty much every person you can imagine in the world of music. Some things were just kind of fun to be in the same room with, like Michael Jackson’s zombie and werewolf costumes from the Thriller music video and Elvis’s over-the-top cheesy bedazzled jumpsuits. However, other things were just more quirkily informative than anything else.


For example….


Until I saw his clothes on display, I had no idea Mick Jagger was that runty. I mean, really. The dude is no bigger than a toothpick. Both in width and in height! How did I not know that all these years?!


Likewise, until I saw his clothes on display, I had no idea Jimi Hendrix was that robust and tall. You could have fit five Mick Jaggers inside Jimi’s shirt! (I didn’t know that? Did you?!) The man was practically a giant! Criminy, I think I have a crush on Jimi Hendrix now….


But anyway….


I think the most important and valuable thing I learned inside the RNR Hall of Fame is that I wish I were Stevie Nicks. There, I said it.


This was a little unexpected, admittedly, because I have never once wished I were Stevie Nicks before. But I just couldn’t help myself. The chick had a whole vast array of the most gorgeous outfits I have ever seen. I just stood there drooling, I won’t lie. I couldn’t help thinking that I would soooooooooo rock those flowy fairy dresses and knee-high boots, c’mon! In fact, I suddenly felt like such a total bum, loitering there in my scuzzy slip-on sneakers, tank top, and capri jeans. What the hell is the matter with me?! I’ve been wasting my damn life away in stupid sensible clothing from effing Target, when I could be strutting through the world looking fabulous in fluttering dresses and kickass boots!!!!


How sad.


I need to do something about that.


Soon.


But anyhow….


Have I ever told you that Wednesday is a big Food Network fan? One of her favorite Food Network chefs is Michael Symon, who has a restaurant named Lola in Cleveland. We had planned on stopping into Lola after we were done with the RNR Hall of Fame, however, time sorta slipped away from us while I was wandering dreamily through Stevie Nicks’ wardrobe inside that glass pyramid, and by the time we wandered back out into the daylight, it was too late. We had tickets for the Indians game that was about to start and we had to get our butts over to Progressive Field—like NOW!


(Sorry, Michael Symon. We’ll ooh and ahh in your bistro next time. Pinky swear!)


So, we all scrambled back into our cars and bolted for Progressive Field. We rushed through the gate, grabbed out free Indians t-shirts, plunked down a perverse amount of money on stadium hotdogs for dinner ($35 for just the three of us!) (Seriously?!) and then made a mad dash for our seats…. only to realize that our seats FACED DIRECTLY INTO THE BLINDING, SCALDING, MOTHEREFFING SUN.


I couldn’t see a thing. Nothing but a blaring, hellish, fiery, larger-than-life orb of annoyance. And, worse, my sunburnt hands had had it with me and all my recent sunny vacation-y crap and had decided to get their revenge by, painfully, swelling up, just like at the end of our Seattle to Chicago road trip last summer.


(Yes, yes. I’m a freak. Just roll with it.)


With my eyes watering, my skin on fire, my hands ballooning up, and my head spinning around like Linda Blair, I turned to Scope, hurriedly excused myself, and left him there to ponder all the many, many joys of being married to a redhead, while I went running like Edward Cullen for the shade with Wednesday hot on my heels.


Once I was in the shade I was fine. Wednesday and I plopped ourselves down on the floor inside the stadium and had a little powwow….




….and a lot of M&M’s.


About an hour into the game, while Wednesday and I were still sprawled on the floor in the shadows, deep in conversation about the sheer awesomeness of Twinkies, the evil flaming orb in the sky chose to dip below the buildings just enough for people to actually see the Cincinnati Reds getting their butts kicked on the grass in front of them. Cool. So, Scope went searching and found Wednesday and me hiding under our rock and lured us back out into public with his all his yay-we-are-at-a-baseball-game cuteness.


Now, I should probably point out that I don’t give a flying fart about baseball. Wipe that shock off your face. But I do LOVE taking pictures and watching people, and Progressive Field turned out to be a fantastic place to do both. Admittedly, I was far more entertained by the people in the seats around me than by anything going on out there on the field, but so what? I still had a genuinely great time at the game. And why wouldn’t I when I had this flirty little cutie sitting right in front of me?!




Likewise, Wednesday couldn’t care less about baseball either, but she is quite the fan of candy, and—whaddayaknow?—Progressive Field ended up delivering big on that joy as well.




So, everyone was happy. :-)


As the game neared its end, the people in the crowd got really hyper and scream-y and started spelling out Ohio with their hands.




It basically looked like this. But with more beer.




Well, anyway, the Indians won and the crowd went crazy, singing Cleveland Rocks. And, y’know what? It kinda did!


[….to be continued….]





© Coracabana