The Classic Wisconsin Spring Break

Spring break in Wisconsin starts with a spirited round of "When you wanna leave?" Departure times and travel arrangements create anxiety for all vacationers, but up north it's worse, because there's always some sort of weather coming. In late March, the forecast probably contains snow, which makes for an extra-exciting "When you wanna leave?" match. Will we be driving into the storm? When's it supposed to start? Is it all snow? Sleet? Where's the rain/snow line? Is there anything for us to do if we show up six hours early?

"When you wanna leave?" is so much fun, relatives may call to participate.

"Hey," they'll say, "when you thinking about leaving?"

"If we get out of here by noon, we should be fine."

"I don't know," they'll say. "I just saw an updated forecast. I'd shoot for ten or eleven, if I were you."

"You think?"

"Better safe than sorry."

A good number of people lose their games of "When you wanna leave?" and stay home. They shovel, and maybe take their kids to a movie. Which is fine. The important part is having the time off. They don't have to go somewhere to have a nice time. Those who win get on the highway, enter the snowstorm, and wish they had left earlier.

Spring break in Wisconsin would lead most to assume that the "break" takes place during "spring," which would allow Wisconsin spring breakers to get outside and enjoy the fresh sun. Curiously, "spring break" occurs while it is still "winter," so instead of spending time outside and finding some sort of kinship with all of our beach-going vacationing brethren to the south, we all pack into giant hotels and waterparks and arcades and movie theaters.

But don't worry, it's not sad and pathetic at all, because many of these places have fake palm trees and tropical themes that are nearly identical to relaxing somewhere close to the equator. Ancient Mayan culture or an African safari as interpreted by a Wisconsin Dells hotel feels pretty darn authentic, especially if we pound enough beers from the swim-up bar. Ten or twelve Miller Lites and that jungle panther might as well be hunting us for real. Back to the lazy river; he can't get us there.

Spring break in Wisconsin may seem like some sort of cultural joke, like the Griswolds meet Fargo, but we genuinely enjoy it. Even though we don't get to sample the fresh fish and fresh fruit they have down in the tropics, we go out to eat a lot and order fancier versions of the heavy meats and fried foods we order when we go out to eat back home. And every decent Wisconsin waterpark hotel has a place that sells fudge. Hotel cable TV is hundreds of times more fascinating than home cable TV. If Wisconsin has an obesity problem, on full display in countless dad-guts and two-pieces that fit way better last August, we can't imagine why.

But we do take the opportunity to cut loose, let it all hang out, have a wild time. Kids love hotels no matter what the weather's doing outside. Parents try the water slides, too. And if the family ventures out of the hotel to an indoor go-kart track or a trampoline park, there's no limit to how crazy things can get.

Spring break in Wisconsin ends the same as all spring breaks do. The kids are overtired, mom and dad are crabby, everyone smells bad, but at least Wisconsin spring breakers only face a couple hours on I-90/94, instead of airports and extended layovers.

No matter how the stay went, no matter if we opted for Tuesday through Thursday instead of Friday through Sunday, no matter if we spent way more money than we wanted to, or way less, no matter how sore the adults are from overdoing it in the wave pool, no matter how scraped up the kids are from falling because they wouldn't stop running, no matter what we forgot in the hotel room, no matter if we liked this year's hotel better than the one last year, no matter how many valuable family memories we created, we always talk about the same thing on the ride home. Next year, we should go to Florida. We could get a group of friends together, rent a place on the beach. That would be amazing. The Dells was fun. But Florida...

We'll see.

What I Would Have Lost If My Computer Had Actually Died Last Week

My wife handed me my laptop. I opened the screen, and the backlight came on, but nothing else. I restarted the device, then again, then again. I held all the combinations of buttons the internet recommended, and held my breath, and repeated the mantra of all those desperate for their electronics to spring back to life, as if the little bastards were playing some awful cruel, joke.

"Please work this time, please work this time, please work this time..."

It didn't work. 

I took the computer to the technicians on Monday morning, and the guy there assured me everything would be fine. My data was safe, he was pretty sure he knew what the problem was. There was a chance it would be expensive, but it would probably be cheap and fast. Just be patient. He'd call by the end of the day, or maybe Tuesday. Wednesday at the latest.

It sounds terrible, I know it does, but it was almost like waiting for a loved one in surgery. I'm not good at backing up, and I've given that machine management responsibilities for my memories, and my creativity, and my entertainment. That's not nothing. That's not meaningless. It's certainly not life-or-death lung surgery, but I definitely felt more anxiety than my wife's wisdom tooth extraction. And what worried me most was what I would lose that couldn't be re-found, or re-constructed. What worried me most were the items sitting deep in those file folders that I had forgotten, documents and photos and files that I would remember years from now, when it would be far too late to recover.

For that reason, I am documenting the five things that I would have missed the most, had they been lost forever.

1.

This is a picture of my two-year-old daughter waking up from a nap. I snuck into her room to take pictures of her with my new old timey photo app on my phone. I wasn't quiet enough, and I woke her up. This is nostalgia, a lump-in-the-throat memory. It would have been gone.

2.

This is my favorite song ever, or at least a crappy version of it. This band (Here, Here) doesn't exist anymore. The song (Poor Sailor) is no longer available on iTunes, or anywhere else that I can find. I feel bad for these people, that they didn't find the lasting musical success I assume they wanted. But every time I listen to it, maybe that counts as a musical legacy. That would have ended.

3. 

In college, I picked a creative writing minor because it seemed like the path of least resistance. It sounded easy. Pursuing writing in any formal, professional capacity never crossed my mind. But now that I'm writing manuscripts and trying to sell short stories and taking a whole-hearted crack at it, those early writings now mean something. This is a poem I wrote in an intro to creative writing class. It's bad, but I would have missed it.

4.

The routines of my life have almost always contained a computer, and I am perhaps the first generation for whom this is true. I've lost much already, to obsolete floppy disks and upgraded machines. But a few months ago I found a way to play beloved game from my childhood, Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis. All that game progress, for the second time in my life, would have evaporated.




5.

My wife, with laptop. You'll see this a lot at our house.

A computer is a thing, a tool, but that does not excuse it from human affection. For some reason, though, we are not ready to accept our fondness for our devices. When a beloved grandparent passes away, we cherish the items she left behind. Many of us have boxes in storage of the important stuff from our childhoods, and we can hold those pinewood derby cars and dolls and experience real emotion. But electronics do not receive such deference. They are dangerous things that threaten to tear families apart and ruin our children's intelligence. A life lived through any sort of electronic filter is woeful and inauthentic.

When the technician handed me my computer, with a fresh new screen (the expensive potential, after all), data intact and ready to be booted and immediately backed up (I've learned my lesson this time, I promise), the relief felt significant, and it's something I choose not to regret. This thing, this stupid, mass-produced, shiny, amazing thing has allowed me to do and see so much. It deserves a little recognition. It deserves some angst when its LED board fails.

I hate to say it, computer, but it's good to have you back.