Back in New York, a friend of my brother once asked me what we do for fun out in Madison.
And I had absolutely no idea how to answer her.
But last weekend, brother Adam embarked on a trip out here, to hang out with me and to find out about my college life. His trip not only allowed me to get some quality family time, but also to vicariously see Madison through a visitor's eyes and maybe get a better handle on the town we live in.
The difference of perspective was apparent from the moment we greeted each other. I wore flip-flops, while he wore a sweater and coat. And as we walked through Madison together, there were some superficial things that took getting used to for him: that kids here wear shorts in 55-degree weather, that a double-scoop of ice cream at the Union is about 12 scoops, and that our student body is passionate about Frisbee and mopeds-which, incidentally, Adam suggested we synergize into one extremely dangerous sport called \Mo-Fris.""
But the real emphasis of the trip was not appreciating the beauty of the capitol building or marveling at the sheer number of stores on State Street aimed solely at selling shiny trinkets to stoners. It was in meeting the circles I run in, and being able to place sights and faces to the names that litter the hung-over stories I always tell Adam about Madison.
This aspect of the trip would not be easy, since Adam is not often a fan of, well... people. So I introduced him to my roommate, a hard-drinking, bearded math major-turned rock critic with the uncanny ability to imitate the ogre from ""Fraggle Rock."" Just the way orientation is usually more daunting than school, roommate Joe is a bit more challenging than most of the people Adam would have to meet in Madison.
By the time Joe flew home to see his sister return from Brazil and watch her boyfriend's acrobat brother get married by two clowns (seriously), Adam was ready to meet the others.
So for three nights, Adam and I hit the town and greeted people, many of whom thought they were drunk and seeing double, several others who were actually drunk and thought they were seeing quadruple. We ate at Qdoba, drank beer at the Plaza, watched two arrests and two fights break out in three days, and went to an after-bar where a very drunk Republican from Illinois fed us Pabst and threw blocks of frozen venison at us, assuring us that he had killed it himself. The weekend was finally capped with an afternoon at the Union Terrace, where the smartest poli sci major I know drank beer and expounded on the beauty of wiener dogs.
As we finally left to get Adam to his flight, Adam said to me, ""You just have to really like people to like this town, don't you?""
I looked up at him and nodded. After only four days in Madison, he had figured out the answer to his friend's question when I couldn't. For all that people emphasize the lakes or the capitol or State Street, that's not really where Madison's currency lies. Like a Steinbeck novel, Madison isn't about things to see or things to do nearly as much as it's about taking a good hard look at the drunks and drifters around you, and realizing what nobility, kindness, or at least entertainment there is to be found in them.
Not to mention our shiny trinkets and venison.
Amos can be reached at AmosAP@gmail.com.
