Summer Vacation in Cincinnati
I’m sure there’s a more intellectual way to reflect on the notion of concealing a beer within an Amazon delivery bag, but “Inane Apocalypse” is the term I’ve settled on. We weren’t up to anything nefarious, just cheap. Two budget-conscious friends trying to catch up over a cold one along the Ohio River.
I never understood the etymology surrounding “dog days of summer” until looking it up just now, but it’s good to know I’ve been using it correctly this whole time — because this particular afternoon was most definitely one of them. The kind of bright, blue sky day that makes you appreciate the season even if you’re sweating.
And while heading home from such a picturesque afternoon, my ears caught the siren’s song of a cross-river festival being carried upon the waves:
I just wanna use your love toniiiiiiiiiiiiiight…
Oh, I don't wanna lose your love toniiiiiiiiiiiiiight!
The last time I’d heard “Your Love” by The Outfield was a few weeks ago while driving away from a friend’s memorial. I’d intentionally played it, because although I missed Kelli, we’d always bonded over hearing it on the Waffle House jukebox — and I’d decided from that moment on the song would always have a positive connotation.
The first “vacation” feelings came as the music faded out and I waltzed through the brutalist maze of a high-rise. I’d been wanting to do a story on this area for a while (and will hopefully get to that soon), but the sun-soaked, concrete surroundings called to mind scenes of Hilton Head, Myrtle Beach, Orlando, and other other nostalgic, midwestern millennial leisure destinations.
Sawyer Point adjacent.
One Lytle Place.
Fourth St.
Sixth St.
Said sentiments lasted well into the next day as I walked my dog through the humid streets and lounged at the local pool with my girlfriend.
Metrobot payphone.
Determined to lean into this unrelenting notion of a summer sabbatical, I made a decision: I had to go to the Great Inland Seafood Festival.
Lammi and I met up on “the train” at the Backstage District station before catching the bus over the river to “The Levee.”
Thompson House, Newport, KY.
Brio Tuscan Grille, Newport on the Levee.
There, we linked up with “Less Than Jonathan” at an outdoor bar adorned with imitation neon proclaiming hokey, Hallmark-ian platitudes (photographed in the appropriate manner).
Encouraged to move along by the dulcet tones of Kid Rock playing over the “container park” speakers, we found refuge at the Five Guys patio in front of the abandoned IMAX theatre.
IMAX label scar.
I brought my friends up to speed on the whole IMAX thing, but that’s a story I’ll spare you for now. It, like the entire retail and entertainment complex we were at, is another subject that’s on the list of “stuff to get to soon.”
Newport on the Levee.
Newport on the Levee.
With the nearby festival, a ball game across the bridge, and the general aura of a summer’s Saturday night all colliding at this tourist hotspot — the area was considered to be “hopping” (as dads have been known to say during extended waits for tables at Salty Dog-style cafes). Such crowds brought both spectacle and stress, concepts demonstrated by the extended wait to use a child’s-height urinal covered in discarded ZYN pouches. The area’s infrastructure will have to be upgraded should the Margartiville Resort ever get built.
Newport on the Levee.
Nothing could bring us (or at least me) down on this night, though, and I was fully committed to my “vacation” delusions; Inane Apocalypse be damned. So, we made our way to the shore through the scent of overflowing trash cans and fried fish — all of it set to the soundtrack of a Blues Traveler tribute.
Less than Jake and/or Jonathan.
I’ve tried a fair amount of seafood over the years — from Long John Silvers to fine dining — but it’s just not my thing. Crab Rangoon is great, but as I’ve been reminded every time I’ve made that joke: that dish doesn’t typically feature real crab.
I do like parking lot carnivals, though. Especially when you can sit and watch boats go by, surrounded by (mostly) easygoing people who are just out enjoying a halfway decent night. I’ve even gotten better at appreciating cover bands — at least those that can pull off a damn fine rendition of The Temptations’ “Shakey Ground.” Perhaps no song relieves the mind of existential dread quicker.
And since I was on “vacation” at the Great Inland Seafood Festival, I figured I should be adventurous. The priority had been hush puppies, but those — as well as the $11.95 lobsters and raw bar selections — were long sold out. So, we settled for “Gator On a Stick.”
You could’ve told me it was popcorn chicken fried alongside a slice of potato and I would’ve believed you. Honestly, that may have been what it actually was. I don’t want to admit what it cost, but such culinary adventure had been worth it (kind of).
Less Than Jake And/Or Jonathan + Lammi.
Seeking a change of pace, we intended to visit a bar within The Levee’s liminal void, but found only locked doors.
Newport on the Levee interior.
It ended up working out in our favor, however, as the proprietors’ primary operation was located nearby. So, after absconding into the Northern Kentucky night, we found ourselves on a covered patio beneath the encroaching rain. All before engaging in a local, late-night tradition.
When in “Rome.”
Dixie Chili.
My self-prescribed vacation’s final day would be spent with synchronized swimming and a pool party:
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