Day 13: Cleveland Rocks. (Again.)

Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Cleveland

The main reason for our side trip to Cleveland is to see the Twins. This city is not known (by me) for its food. It is not known (by me) for its music, though it does boast the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. So, we have not done much research/planning for this leg of our trip. That’s OK. We haven’t had much down time in our travails, so this seems opportune.

After a good night’s sleep, we hit the pavement to walk to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. (Sidenote: we’ve been pleased overall with our lodging selections thus far, and including this trip. We’re staying right by the stadium, which makes sense given our plans and priorities.) The hall is just a walk up 9th street. On the way I get stopped and interviewed by OMM, an Ohio cable channel. Ohio Media something or other. Apparently the headline in the news that day is about how Cleveland had improved from the 1st poorest big city in the nation to the 4th. I offer congratulations and that, in the four blocks of the city I’ve seen, I don’t notice that it’s particularly poor. I’m sure to make the final cut. It also turns out that I’ve lied. This city does seem to have more than its share of panhandlers. I think the main measuring stick (if not the only measuring stick) for “poorest big city in the nation” is median family income, but this surely can’t be a good sign.

We make our way to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum and it’s quite a spectacle. It’s a pyramid (with appendages) right on the Ohio River. The museum itself is filled with an amazing amount of memorabilia, costumes, instruments, etc. It really is a deep pool of “stuff.” Big things like the ZZ Top eliminator car to hand-written notes by Mick Jagger on how to record a song. It’s entirely possible I’m getting a little burned out on music history by this point, but I feel like the Country Music HOF presented the information in a more cohesive manner. That experience (particularly the building itself) overall seemed more digestible. Maybe I was jaded by the $20 price tag (which, incidentally, did not include the tour of the Johnny Cash tour bus they had parked out front -- $2 extra). Like I said, by this point I’m probably jaded by m any factors.

After the Hall (don’t get me wrong, it was a very enjoyable experience), we’ve got a couple hours to kill before the Twins play. Craig and I grab our axes (guitars) and walk up the block to do some pickin’. We find a little shaded green area and set up for an hour or so. The spot we’re in is not a high-traffic spot. We’re clearly not trying to shill for gas money. We do get a few passers-by, but nothing too exciting. My personal highlight was when a woman panhandler came up and interrupted as we’re both playing (and I’m singing) and asks if we’ve got any change. We saw this woman no less than six times throughout the day/night. We were almost the rare case of street musicians losing money while performing.

After our pickin’, we’re off to the game. Santana vs. Sabathia. Both teams’ aces. It should be a fantastic game. The first inning implies otherwise. Santana gives up four runs, including two dingers (one of which I maintain was not, in fact, a home run) in the FIRST INNING, while throwing 42 pitches. Things do settle down. Johan ends up making it through the sixth inning. The Twins chip away and get to 4-3, but can’t bring in the runners when it counts. Twins lose. Get swept in the three game series. We had hoped our mojo meant well for the team for which we were rooting (during our previous games on this trip, they had all won), but it turns out our mojo was inadvertently being applied to the home team specifically. (During our previous minor league games, we had rooted for the home team.) Damn you, mojo. How you confuse me. We did chat it up with the father of Carmen Cali, a recently-called-up Twins pitcher. Nice guy.

After the game, we stopped to check out some New Orleans funk at one of the bars near the hotel/stadium. (Ivan Neville on keyboards.) The music was good, but nothing outstanding. Most of the bars around here seem to be about the same. Another short night out.

That’s when I discovered our cheese resources had been depleted back at the hotel. I didn’t actually care, but I was a little confused. When the hell is Craig eating all this cheese? It turns out that during Craig’s nightly computer maintenance rigmarole after I’ve gone to sleep, he’s been snacking. Mystery solved. That said, the large pepperoni pizza was a welcome surprise an hour and a half later. (Craig may claim I sent him out to get a snack. Really he wanted to go out for another drink.)

For a moment, this trip seemed to be about survival. Food supplies running low. Limited contact with outside world. I don’t like the way Craig is looking at me. It’s like that Seinfeld episode where Newman looks at Kramer and sees a turkey. Something in his eyes. Crazy eyes.

Thank God for pizza.