Michigan At Night (tee)

Introducing the Michigan (at night) tee from Superieur Brand Clothing. This was inspired by another t-shirt that had kind of a 70s, Mork & Mindy sort of vibe to it. I'd like to apologize for any sort of U of M connotation in the color scheme. Much of the handywork seen here was done by doghouse slapper, Seth Sutton. And can be purchased on the east side at Caruso Caruso in Birmingham, Incognito in Royal Oak, The Roadshow in Roseville and Rock On Main in Northville. On the west coast, look for it at Landsharks in Saugatuck.

Kitten With A Whip

I know I've been slacking on my posts, and I do  really miss writing on regular basis but, there is a good reason.
 I've always had a fascination with t-shirts. Whether it's buying one I thought was the coolest or trying my hand at design (and I use that term loosely). 
I ain't reinventing the wheel by no means but I sure get a kick out of seeing someone wear one that I put out there. I've come close to starting a company a few times but something always got in the way.

The company is called Superieur Brand. After Lake Superior. And why do I spell it this way? Well, as you may know, in the 1700s, the French were everywhere around here and Canada obviously, fighting the Brits, setting up missions or trading pelts to save their scalps.

The truth is, when it came time for me to register a name with the state, I knew I'd have a tough time securing the name and setting myself apart from Superior Landscaping, Superior Septic Service and this, that and the other thing. And there's a little history in there which I like.

They are kind of Michigan-centric to start with. But in case that gets old or it becomes a challenge to sell to Joe-Blow in Anchorage because whats he gonna do with a Michigan t-shirt with a pine tree on it (unless of course he's from these parts), then I may veer off towards something completely different.

There you have it. I'll be creating an e-commerce site in the coming months as well as placing them in stores. Look for a facebook page and such and thanks for your time.

Dig That Crazy Grill Cloth

Eagles in '74 during their On The Border tour. Introducing, Don Felder, making it the Lynyrd Skynyrd of "country rock." Which was cool at first because Glenn Frey added the Chuck Berry licks and Felder the Rock God riffing. But alas, Bernie soon jettisoned himself, taking with him the country from the country rock.

The Talented Mr. Miller

Tim Fuller wanted out. Not like out of the room out, but I don't want to do this anymore out. He had done his stint. I don't think he wanted to play as much as we were hoping we could.
And Traverse City at the time, seemed to be a burgeoning town of hotel bars, ski lodges and bowling alleys wanting bands.
Because we had dates coming up on a regular basis, Tim was nice enough to give us a decent amount of time to fill his spot.

Some might argue that the Rathskeller in Fremont wouldn't be the first place one might scout for talent. But this basement hole, which held maybe 60 illegally on a good night, was shakin pretty good with Mert Tinkham's band of Hesperados. Not, I don't think, for their brand of Seeger tunes as much as for the shy, uber white kid flailing away in the corner.

I knew of Greg long before I saw him play. Mert Tinkham's wife at the time was Greg's sister, Brenda. Brenda and Greg have an older sister, Lynn, who happened to be good friends with my wife at the time. And Lynn, would bend my ear clean off on a regular basis about her skillful kid brother. And rightly so it appears.

That summer we were asked to play at a party in a field at Brad and Stacy Church's place. A pretty cool, natural amphitheater like dip in a hayfield, where somebody tractored in a flatbed haywagon for a stage and generator for power, I think. I'm pretty sure we didn't run a shitload of extension cords back to the house.

I had alerted the fellas, along with Tim, that we would be sharing the afternoon's hoot-n-hollar with Mert's band. And that we should keep an eagle eye out for the young buck on guitar.
I think we may have played first because Tim had to hi-tail it back to Traverse that night to play again. When we finished, we gathered on the hillside, zeroing in on Greg the whole time. You really couldn't help it. After a few songs in, the first thing Tim said was, "You gotta get this guy."

Photo of the '62 Polaris Sno-Traveler from collectorsweekly.com

Long Ride Home (continued)

Viral or bacterial? Nobody knows yet but he is getting a spinal tap. Jesus! Don walks out to the van and I explain. I figure it's almost 9am, our appointment is at 10, and I still have a 7 hour drive. Let's just get the appointment over with because we're here and I'll worry about Don later.

At the appointment, Don does the lion's share of the work while I stand off to the side, consumed. I thank him, we finish, pack up and hit the road. Not much to say for 3 hours while Don's reading off the differences between viral and bacterial meningitis from some website. I have a hard time uttering anything. But I mutter something and point toward one of the freakin huge, monolithic wind generators that have dropped to the earth and plopped down in these fields in middle Illinois. I say this because I can't say I've ever seen one being constructed. They just seem to show up. I can't imagine being a kid and standing at the base of one of these and looking up.

An exit away from O'hare and I pull into an oasis off 294. Don wants to show me some product he brought along before I drop him off. For shit's sake, yes, it looks fantastic. Now do you mind if I boot your ass out of my van so I can get home?
I hadn't checked my phone because I haven't done much of anything but drive. I call and call and no signal. Nothing until I cross the Indiana line into Michigan. Fucking T-Mobile is gonna hear about this.

I get to the children's hospital, park in the garage, and get lost in a medical building across the street. I can see the skywalk from the windows but damned if I can figure out how to get to it.
I get to Henry's room but not before I stop at the info/security desk downstairs. "The patient's name please?" Shit, I just call him Henry. His real name is some greek, dutch hodge-podge that I refused to call him by and so I just went with Henry. Didn't everybody?

The Horse is Coming!

Long Ride Home

(This is where I pretend I haven't been absent from writing for 2 months)

January 4th
I pick up Don, my boss, at about 1pm from O'Hare. We drive back into Chicago to see a store or two before making the 3 hour trek to Davenport.
Don has a certain adaptability and affable-ness about him. But then he should. He's the VP of Sales for a company I rep for. You usually don't get a position like that otherwise. Although I believe I've witnessed the contrary.
From time to time he has to hop on a plane and insert himself into someone's business. For the next couple of days it's my business he has inserted himself into.

I'm not notorious for small talk but I manage to dredge up some mundane snippets. Enough to fill in some of the holes of quiet while we toss around the agenda ahead. At the same time, Don has found the cigarette lighter/adapter to power his laptop so he can remain plugged in to the rest of the world throughout the long, dark, early evening stretch of the plaintive westbound I-80 we will soon be riding.

But first we stop at Akira and talk to Jon, one of the principals there, about the winter that wasn't as we can't help but stare at the rack of duffle coats in front of us that have not been selling. But being the wary, jaded label representative that I am, I gleen for other possibilities before I am to ever willfully accept responsibility. Is a mild temperature really the culprit here? I mean it's January in Chicago for cryin out loud. It's not exactly balmy. Is there at least a remote chance his customer just doesn't...alright, best to stop right here before I let loose with the full-on snobbery.
Next, we pop in on Tony from Belmont who almost seems a bit put off by our surprise arrival. Don is good with the chatter. Keeps a smooth flow going and we abreviate our visit.
On our way out of the Big Shoulders, on 55 toward Joliet, we beat the late afternoon slog of traffic as we high-tale it west for the Quad Cities.

Somewhere along the way and amid a lapse in witty banter, I stop for gas and we each down a truck-stop hoagie, washed down with a diet pop while sitting in my van in the parking lot. It's obvious Don has been in this seat before. Not mine but many like mine. It's that "Road Trip" adaptability thing I brought up earlier. Any tension or bordom that might ordinarily come with spending hours with your boss in close proximity is somewhat quelled by each of our salesperson's natural, or in my case, unatural ability to bullshit with a vengeance. Hey, fake it till you make it I always say.

It's after 7 pm in Davenport, Iowa. I want to throw my crap into my hotel room and kick my feet up but Don wants to grab dinner. I thought the hoagie was dinner. BUT the boss is buyin.
We walk over to an Irish American pub that's light on the Irish except for the Guinness on tap. Throughout dinner, I'm on my phone and Don is on his. I find out Henry, my grandson, is pretty sick and my daughter, Alex, is taking him to the hospital. Not at all something I want to hear when I'm 7 hours from home. But the attending physician sends Henry home with flu symptoms. Don and I walk back to the hotel and I hit the hay.

January 5th
It's an early breakfast and then on to our10am appointment with Von Maur. A very nice, Nordstrom-esque 25 door, midwestern department store chain.
I throw my bag into the van and wait for Don to check out when my wife calls and says Alex has taken Henry back to the hospital. This time his temp is up there and he is complaining of a bad headache and the doctor's are going to check for Meningitis. FUCK, fuck fuck fuck. I can't stop asking my wife questions. I don't even know what questions to ask I just want to know all there is to know right now. But she says I better come home.