That's What I Call A Vacation

This morning, we had a great breakfast with a side order of conversation courtesy of the inn's owner, Gary. We chilled in the room until midmorning, then headed to the Museum of Natural History. Covering the usual arc of "you are here, the dinosaurs were here before you," the facility was full of wonders: gems, artifacts, this and that. Early high points were pieces of equipment built as backups to the Mars landrover unit; a good sized moon rock; lots of fossils and dinosaur skeleton reconstructions. The soundtrack for the morning was full of youngsters squealing with delight at the dinosaurs.

We headed next to the Botanical Gardens. Anyone who has ever tried to grow anything in dirt owes it to themselves to make the trip out here. There are controlled environments with flora and fauna in them, like the one that really got to me, the Costa Rican environment. Imagine opening an airlock-type door and being greeted by about a dozen different species of butterflies. It was amazing. Later, we found our way to a Japanese garden where it was so quiet and peaceful you could ignore the construction and the chitchat of the other tourists and just zen out for a while.

Lunch, we finished off the sandwiches and potato salad we brought with us. This evening, we headed out to a suburb called Rocky River where the real fun started. Joreen indulged herself in a pedicure, coming out with a sparkly color red usually only found on Italian imported guitars. Next, we went up the street to a Pub where the men wear kilts (because if you call them skirts, ye'll get kilt) and the waitresses where what look like Catholic school uniforms except they're so short that Sr. Mary Oblongata would have called your Mom if you showed up wearing one. They had Koenig Ludwig on tap, a Hefeweizen near and dear to Joreen's heart. The fish and chips were spot-on, and it was cheap beer Tuesdays or something like that. Bonus!

And then, the payoff. We went up the road to a club called Savannah's. Located in a strip mall, if you looked at it you would have no idea how cool it was inside. There was a four piece band called the Geezecats. When I called to ask what they did, the guy said, "Oldies." He wasn't kidding. The set list:

At The Hop, Return to Sender, Oh Donna, Pretty Little Angel Eyes, Twistin the Night Away, All in the Game, Splish Splash, Chain Gang, Walk Don't Run, Rhythm of the Falling Rain, Save the Last Dance For Me, Since I Fell For You -- then they all put on Mickey Mouse ears and sang the closing theme to the Mickey Mouse Club, and then Goodnight, Sweetheart.

My musician friends and I have played these songs, but not nearly with the finesse and grace and sincerity of these guys. The tone was perfect, the crowd was absolutely into it, the walls were filled with glossy photos of bands that have played at Savannah's since God made reverb tanks, and we had a high, holy, serious good time. We also danced to the above-mentioned slow tunes. At the end of the night, the drummer, who was apparently the leader, said this: "We're gonna be here next Tuesday. We plan on doing the same thing." That gives me hope. Some good things are still around. The guitar player was playing something called a Duesenberg. All four guys look like they've been doing this a long time, and they're doing it just exactly perfectly. Live music is the best.

There are photos, but they're in the camera which I left in the car. I'm pretty bushed, because on top of all of this I managed to find a Planet Fitness and got a workout in while Joreen was getting her tootsies done. Tomorrow: the Zoo, and the pizzeria in Little Italy that is supposedly the best around.