Five friends, a record player, and a lake.

Every year my family spends at least two weeks at my Nana’s hundred year old lakeside cottage in Detroit Lakes, MN. It’s usually a place to relax and hang out with my extended family. However, this week at the cottage it was just me, Brenda, Sharon, Mareyuna, and Ally. It was actually my first experience living “on my own” and the lakeside is very different without adults around. 

Here’s some highlights:

1. Getting lost. I’ve been to Detroit Lakes every summer for my entire life and yet somehow I don’t know how to get there at all. With road construction, we ended up taking a half-hour detour and completely missing two important exits. It’s all good though. Brenda kept the music going. Sharon navigated from the backseat brilliantly. Mareyuna and Ally slept and offered telepathic moral support. And we got there eventually (and found a really delicious sandwich shop, the Muddy Mouse in Pelican Rapids, along the way.)

2. Grocery shopping. After taking an inventory of our food supplies and making a list of items we’d need for the week (ramen noodles, s’more fixings, pizza rolls, etc.), we headed to Central Market. Everyday we cooked in the kitchen with Brenda’s portable record player playing in the background. 

3. Round table. Usually at the lake, my Nana has my sisters and I clear dished as soon as we’re done eating. But this week, we sat around talking after every meal. Sometimes for hours. And the dirty dishes sat on the table. They got washed eventually.

4. Optional rules. We took out the kayaks and paddle boards almost everyday. It honestly never occurred to me to get the life jackets out of the closet. Tipping a paddle board isn’t as much fun if you’re wearing a life jacket. 

5. Late nights. Every night I was up until almost three. Sometimes we watched movies (White Chicks, She’s the Man, The Sound of Music). Sometimes we danced. Sometimes we just hung out. 

The King Kong. On our last night, we went to the Lakeside Tavern for dinner. We almost got kicked out for being underage, but they let us order food before the kitchen closed. Mareyuna ordered a burger call the The King Kong (also know as The Heart Stopper—no kidding). Cheese, onions, mushrooms, and 1.5 lbs of meat. I still can’t believe she finished it. 

Our week was lazy and fun and full of weird little responsibilities (like deciding what to make for dinner and remembering to wear sunscreen). It was pretty perfect.

Maddy and Brenda Rock the Garden (and the rest of Minneapolis. And St. Paul).

Our trip to Rock the Garden began with a misadventure. All was going smoothly--we found my Nana’s house, parked at the Mall of America, and caught our first bus--but then came the intersection of 77th and Lyndale. 

Upon our arrival we sat waiting for the 1:18 bus, but never saw it. At 1:25, we discovered that the next bus would come at 1:47, so we decided to forget our misfortune at Chipotle. The circumstances were immediately improved by the sight of cilantro rice and green pepper fajita vegetables. Sitting on the blazing black bench, I coached Brenda on the art of burrito consumption  and we waited. And waited. We began to notice other people gathering to wait across the street. 

Then we saw our bus. Stopped on the opposite corner. Heroically, we ran through traffic, but it was too late.  I made eye contact with the driver and he waved apathetically as he drove away along with all hope of an afternoon of frolicking around downtown Minneapolis. Defeated, we found a shady spot on the boulevard to wait for a third bus. 

Our spirits bounced back fast upon the bus’ arrival and my excitement built as fellow Rock the Garden attendees piled on. Outside of the Walker Art Center, hundreds of hipsters, bearded men (nearly every male within a two mile radius was sporting facial hair and/or wearing skinny jorts), and other excited people waited for the gates to open. We were right on time. As we stood in line, we followed the lead of a bro-like college student behind us and high-fived some strangers. Conveniently, we also registered to vote.

Once we made it through the line, we explored the area in which we would spend the afternoon. The stage was set up at the bottom of a hill, the megascreens flipping through beautiful graphics. To the left, a pool party was underway on the roof of an apartment building and to the right, a crowd was forming on the top of the Walker. There was an abundance of food venders both at the top and bottom of the hill, as well as stations to refill water bottles (we were ready to go with water bottles purchased that morning at MOA). 

We found a nice spot to sit, close to the stage. As soon as the first performer, Lizzo, strutted onstage though, we were on our feet. In all honesty, I hardly knew any of the artists playing at Rock the Garden, I was mostly there for the experience. Having zero expectations meant that my mind was blown more than once. 

Lizzo had crazy energy. The majority of the crowd was sunbathing on the blanket littered hill, but onstage, she was having a one woman party. I found myself unable to stop smiling. It’s hard not to smile when someone raps about batches and cookies. 

After Lizzo, we made our way through an obstacle course of people to reach the top of the hill. We pursued the Rock the Garden merchandise and vowed to return for one of the beautifully designed t-shirts (every promotion item was beautiful). Then we made room for ourselves on the hill to watch Jeremy Messersmith. 

Jeremy was rocking an adorable button down t-shirt. He’s not the type of artist that gets the crowd turnt (that would come later), but he made me wish I knew the songs well enough to sing along. He played a gorgeous cover of “Wrecking Ball” that I would never have imagined possible. Lazing in the sun, listening to Jeremy Messersmith is not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

Next up was Best Coast. From our new location, as close to the stage as possible, we could see Bethany Cosentino’s arm roasting in the sun. She rocked her sea-foamy blue guitar though. Brenda had “Boyfriend” stuck in her head for the rest of night.

For Matt & Kim, Brenda had low expectations and I, as usual, had none, so we made the hike back up the hill to find something to eat. Fries and footlong hotdogs in hand, we squeezed ourselves into an open patch of grass. 

When Matt & Kim stormed on stage, we immediately realized sitting was not an option. They were possibly the two most turnt people I have ever seen in real life. We strategically pushed our way into the crowd, avoiding secondhand weed smoke and rogue crowd surfers. For five horrifying minutes I lost Brenda who apparently made it almost all the way to the stage (crowds part for Brenda like the Red Sea parts for Moses). 

Reunited, we danced in the middle of the crowd. Matt referred to R. Kelly as a great American poet and launched into a cover of “Ignition.” Kim twerked on the crowd. Literally stood on the hands of the crowd and twerked. It was awesome.

After Matt & Kim’s exit, we pushed our way to the stage. We ended up with an overly turnt thirty-something-year-old couple in front of us and a group of whiny fifteen-year-olds behind us. But it was all worth it for De La Soul. The incredibly chill group joked with the crowd, celebrated their favorite day of the week (Tuesday— obviously), and had everyone bouncing their hands. 

We lingered, hoping for an encore, but when it didn’t come, we rushed to our bus stop. The trip home was nearly as rocky as the trip there. We dodged a drunken man who offered us $7 to “rock and roll” with him at the light rail station and somehow took a wrong turn down a pitch-black dead end street. Finally back at my Nana’s house, we ate extreme amounts of crackers, swiss cheese, and peanut brittle ice cream and shrieked Adele songs until 3:30am. Then, exhausted, we fell asleep.

MOVIE REVIEW: The Fault in Our Stars

I’m not a huge cryer at movies (I think I’ve only cried during Titanic and, oddly enough, Planet of the Apes), but it seems that every review I’ve read suggested bringing a box of tissues. Is it weird that  I didn’t cry? Or that I felt like crying because I felt terrible for not crying? I cried when I read the book, but the movies didn’t quite have the same effect. I didn’t get caught up in it; I was all too aware of the frigid theater air and noisy popcorn munching. However, it was a very well done rendition of the book. The casting was great (well except for Hazel’s mother, but that can be overlooked because Shailene Woodley and Ansel Elgort were fabulous together). And, like the book, it made me laugh and (nearly) cry simultaneously.

Late night escapes are fun until a zombie shows up.

Kyra and I didn’t feel like going home.

“Press?” I suggested, “I brought my laptop. Did you bring a book or something?”

“Yeah…” she exhaled.

After a pause she added, “But Press might have live music, it won’t be quiet.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you really want to go downtown?”

“No I guess not….Are you hungry?”

Her head popped up. “YAAAS!”

Inspiration struck. “Let’s go to Olive Garden.”

“YAAAS! Let’s go!”

With Beyonce belting “Drunk in Love” we headed to our favorite Americanized Italian chain restaurant.

The waitress offered us a wine sample. Kyra glanced at me, smirking. I politely declined (wouldn't want Olive Garden to get their liquor license revoked) and we ordered a Build-Your-Own Pasta to share.

Enveloped in a delicious food haze of cold salad and warm breadsticks, Kyra and I talked about nothing important, but at the time the conversation was so funny my stomach ached with laughter. At one point water I laughed so hard I choked and water burbled into my lap. Trying to milk as much time as possible, we ordered Zeppoli for dessert and made it last until closing.

When we finally made our exit, a zombie stopped us dead in our tracks. In the space between the inner and outer door, the hostess peering wide-eyed behind us, we watched a woman pull listlessly at the outer door in the dark. Her eyes seemed unseeing as she stared at an arbitrary spot on the pavement. She looked like a robot that had run into a wall and didn't know how to turn around.

Kyra backed away. I thought about looking for another exit. Instead, I opened the door from the inside and stepped back as she shuffled in, still not making eye contact. She mumbled something about her family being inside. Kyra grabbed my arm and we fled.

After recovering from our encounter with the walking dead, we realized going home would mean only being able to listen to one more song. Instead, we just drove. Kyra picked a direction at each intersection.

At one point, we found ourselves near a movie theater and decided to go see The Fault in Our Stars. Googling showtimes, we realized we had just missed the last showing, but it was playing in ten minutes in a theater across town. We drove with new found purpose.