iowa shmiowa

Iowa is a state I have been unable to attach purpose to, but I will wager a guess and say this past weekend there has been more interesting than most I’ve spent anywhere else. I’ll start at the beginning. This may take a while, but stick with it, it’s worth it.

I left town on Friday with a band called Clemency with the intention of playing at a benefit for St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital at Coe College in downtown Cedar Rapids, Iowa. We have all the time in the world considering we aren’t scheduled to play until 1 AM on Sunday morning. We head north into Illinois and the completely asinine interstate system that runs through-out the state. Despite the fact that there are thirteen, yes thirteen, different varicose arteries of the Eisenhower interstate system on this slice of middle America, one must drive four hours northeast to the east edge of the state in order to then cross west to Iowa. Foolishness, I say.

Regardless, we get about 40 miles from the Iowa border before we stop to spend a night enjoying the marvelous shower heads at the Holiday Inn Express. We sleep late, eat breakfast, cross over the mighty Missisip into Iowa and Iowa City where we squander our afternoon at the local Barnes and Nobles before going on to Cedar Rapids, which is only about 20 minutes away.

Cedar Rapids is the “city of five seasons,” a bit of trivia that no one in the city could actually explain to us. It is also the home of Quaker Oats and the entire town smells like oatmeal, depending on what day of the week it is. It is also darn near impossible to get a hotel room there as we got the last, and I mean last, room in the city at the Economy Inn and Suites, which was neither economical or anything slightly resembling a suite unless you count the miniature coffee pot in the bathroom. Or maybe the kitchenette in the lobby.

Our contact for the event calls us to fill us in on the details as we are lounging in the room watching NCAA basketball, an activity I did with my back to the TV. She tells us that she’s a bit disorganized because she caught her boyfriend in bed with another girl this morning. She had ignored our earlier calls because she had driven half-way to Milwaukee in an act of self-preservation before deciding to return. We’re told to go to the school’s gymnasium and when we arrive, they ask us if we have our own PA. This is never a good sign. The girl has obviously been crying, but is very sweet and gracious. In fact, the fractal sampling of the student body we encountered was just like this as Coe College proved a friendly place.

The short of the next six or so hours is that the school is hosting a fund-raising lock-in for St. Jude’s, an activity that only drew 20 or so people, including the girl who slept with our contact’s boyfriend. We played Jenga, I learned how to swing dance with a girl who bore a shocking resemblance to my friend Emily DeLoach (I have pictures), and we even shared the stage with a band called, “Oh Sh** and the Ruptured Rubbers.” After the show, they announced their name had changed to the Trojan Whores. Seriously, you can’t make this stuff up.

After we all feasted on their home-made stew of jam-based rock and blues, we took the stage with our own brew of pop rock, no doubt shocking the small yet eager crowd with the fact that we were a Christian band. This was no matter, and in fact wound up being a great tie-in to the whole St. Jude’s thing. Jude was the patron saint of lost causes, and Christ made me aware of His own capability in such things long ago. We played, we made some friends, and a good time was had by all.
OK, now for the fun stuff. It was about 2:30 in the morning and we were all hungary so we made our way to the Perkin’s Restaurant next to our hotel. In the parking lot, a man who was obviously drunk did not hesitate to inform me of how he could have easily gone to bed with a woman who had just left the lot. As I was at a loss for words, I kept walking and he followed. He then offered us $20 to steal a police car next to the building so that he wouldn’t be caught drunk in public. I said I’d do it for $21 but then kindly declined. The lobby was bustling with a bizarre mix of white trash and homosexuals, all of whom were openly talking about sex. If that wasn’t weird enough, a six-and-a-half foot tall black woman walks into the lobby, sporting an Adam’s apple. Now, I might be wrong, but these two things don’t really go well together. In other words, “she” was an obvious Ru Paul admirer. A patron turns to us and says, “I’m too drunk for this stuff,” and from the looks of it, he was far from the only one.

We get to our table and quickly make friends with the people at the booth next to us. One of them is from Clarksville, TN, and asks us who we are, etc. They ask for a CD so Paul, the bass player, goes to the car and comes back with a CD for everyone on our side of the restaurant. This apparently made the waitress’s night, who kept saying, “Wow, this is so great. I just can’t believe it. You guys are great. I just can’t believe it. Wow, this is so great.” And so on...every time she came to the table. She was a little spacey but sweet never the less.

As the aforementioned table next to us left, a guy who was obviously drunk and a bit autistic came to the table with his CD. He asked if we had a permanent marker, presumably for an autograph. We said no, but the server gave him a pen. He then proceeds to autograph Paul’s jacket with the words, “Beef Cake.” He says it’s his nickname. We ask why and he says, “Because my friend won $100.” Right. He then moves on to Justin, the drummer, and signs his jacket. He then sits down at the booth behind me and realizes my jacket is too dark to write on so he leans over and writes “Beef Cake” on my THIGH!!! He proceeds to do the same to Jason, who poses the same dilemma, and then walks off yelling, “My friend won $100!”

Then, as we are leaving, the manager of the restaurant asks us for a CD to give to a server who is off-duty. “He’s all in to that Christian stuff,” she says, “He’s 19 and he’s still a virgin.” Paul then replies, “You don’t say,” to which she says, “Yeah, he’s 19 and he’s never even had sex!” Thanks for the clarification.

That’s about I really feel like sharing about the weekend. I will say, it’s funny how people who aren’t Christians react to those who are. Take the 19-year-old virgin, for instance. It was sort of like we were from a different country. I find it humbling to see how God uses us in any situation, providing us the opportunity to minister to not only the 20 or so people at the school but also to the people in the restaurant. Who knows when they’ll listen to the CD and what they’ll get from it. And in spite of that, our natural reaction is to be discouraged at a small turnout.

I’ve said too much so I best be moving on. Cheers!