Part One – I just can’t listen to Elliott Smith the way I used to.
It was spring break last week [EDIT: last week –ish] for Adam and Chelsea and they drove all the way down from Madison, WI to Louisville to waste it with me. They arrived just after I got home from work on Wednesday and after catching up for a bit, we headed over to have dinner at Ramsi’s and explore Bardstown Road. The Highlands did not disappoint. After dinner we walked out of the restaurant right into the middle of an altercation between a panhandler and the angry crew-cut lacrosse player he had just “accostated.” His word. At one point the panhandler mentioned he’d been in the military for eleven years, so the lacrosse player yelled at him to “Sit down, sir!” The whole thing was really bizarre and I was sorely tempted to follow as they marched down the street—panhandler in front, presumably trying to flee and lacrosse player behind, on his cellphone presumably trying to contact law enforcement.

Speaking of which… later that night, after forays into Ce Fiore and ear-x-tacy (both late-night musts, imo) we ran into Drunk Crying Girl’s cousin, Sober Crying Domestic Abuse Victim. SCDAV was walking away from the fire station with her cell phone in hand and walked up to us hysterical and in tears. She handed me her phone and asked me to dial a number, her hands shaking too hard to push the tiny buttons on her Blackberry. As I was trying to find the numbers on that ridiculous keyboard, she explained that her boyfriend had just shoved her into the street and took off. She had just explained this to the fire fighters, and they’d laughed in her face. That’s Southern hospitality for ya. I got the number ringing and handed her back the phone. She nodded when I asked if she was alright and went along her way. Stuff like that always throws me and I still wonder if she’s going to be okay. On our drive home, Adam saw her sitting on the sidewalk with some people with her, so hopefully she found her friends or at least another group of strangers willing to help.

I had work the next morning, so we went back to the apartment and called it a night. After a half-day of work on Thursday, we got brunch and cocktails at Wild Eggs. Mimosas for Chelsea and me (hers with Grand Marnier, mine with Pama) and a manly Bellini for Adam. Revived with coffee and soothed with alcohol, we headed for the Slugger Museum. In the twenty-plus years that I’ve lived in Louisville, I’d never once set foot in the Slugger Museum. I’d never even touched the giant bat that sits out front. We watched a movie narrated by James Earl Jones, saw some historical artifacts (mostly bats and balls used by famous players) and got to tour the factory where they were in the process of making pro bats for Spring Training. We got to fondle a fair number of bats, each made to player specifications down to weight, balance, and finish. We got our souvenir mini-bats and poked around the gift shop a bit before heading out and down the street a block to 21c. Adam and Chelsea were duly amused by the dropping letters projection screen and the creepy voyeurism of the bathrooms.

After a driving tour of downtown and Old Louisville, we had dinner at North End Cafe and dessert at Sweet Surrender. Instead of a diabetic coma, the sugar and coffee combination lulled me into a state of vulnerable disclosure and I poured my heart out to Counsel. Adam and Chelsea are both great listeners and they stayed with me as I navigated us through the series of complicated loops and twists of female logic that occasionally take over my brain space. Sated and spent, we went back to the apartment to watch some basketball and make futile preparations for our trip down the Bourbon Trail we’d planned for the next day.

Part Two – Retribution
There were all kinds of warnings online about how crucial it is to get up early to have the slightest chance at hitting all seven distilleries on the Bourbon Trail. You want to have plenty of time to wander and sample, most tours end around 4pm, and each distillery is placed out in the far reaches of the Kentucky boonies with a winding, two-lane road connecting them. Having started the day promptly at 11, we re-prioritized and decided to try for at least the three in Bardstown—Jim Beam, Heaven Hill, and Maker’s Mark. If we had time, we’d head back up north towards Frankfort and try to see Buffalo Trace.

We headed out of town and arrived at Jim Beam in a little over half an hour. We wandered around the gift shop for a bit, checking out the bourbon merch before watching an extremely patriotic video about the familial origins of Jim Beam bourbon and then touring the grounds a bit. There was some neat stuff to see—an old moonshine still, old-timey tools, old-timey firetruck, and a giant warehouse with stacks of bourbon barrels at least 100 feet high. Afterwards, we went back up to the farmhouse where the samplin‘ took place. The tours and samples at most of these places are all free, and Jim Beam was no exception. Adam and I are both whiskey drinkers, but Chelsea is decidedly not. Just seeing the expression on her face as she “enjoyed” a sip of bourbon and water was worth the trip. =)

After Jim Beam, we were already running short on time, so we decided to skip Heaven Hill and head straight for Maker’s Mark. We made it just in time for the last tour and thank God we did. Maker’s Mark was super awesome, and I might take the trip by myself just for shits and giggles because it’s that much fun. We got to see the quaint, charming little factor workers hand-dip each bottle in red wax, including a “slam dunk.” Apparently, they’re rare. We also got to hand-dip our own bottles and I’m a pro. If I can keep my hatred of repetitive, menial tasks in check, I might have found my calling. Currently, my sexy little red-wax covered bottle is sitting on my bookshelf, taunting me with its contents.

Later that evening we ended up at Joe’s to watch some basketball and shoot some pool. I’d like to describe the evening in eloquent detail, but it’s been almost a month since the visit as I’m writing this now (I’ll get to that later) and I just don’t have it in me. Suffice it to say, I threw a pool cue across a table at some asshole who completely deserved it. I tried, unsuccessfully, to get him thrown out of the bar, but I’ve got only my own cowardice to blame for my failure. The bouncers were totally on board, but because I didn’t follow them in and accostate the guy in person, the asshole convinced them that everything was fine. As much as I’d like to exact my revenge, I’d be perfectly content never to see that dickface again.

Part Three – Jesus and the Baby Swing
At some point during the weekend, I took Adam and Chelsea to Cave Hill and we wandered around snickering blasphemously at the bizarre monuments. Including one particular gem that had a Jesus torso leaning over a gravestone, holding the ropes of a baby swing. It was weird and funny and disturbing and upsetting all at the same time. A lot of other stuff happened, but as I hinted earlier, it’s been awhile since I took up this post (heh) and the effort required to dredge up the details would be massive. In all, I had an amazing, fantastic vacation and Chelsea & Adam claimed to have enjoyed themselves as well. =) It was a lot more fun than I expected to be a tourist in my own hometown.