The Ugly Mug Cafe

This past weekend began like most of mine do, with a little bit of sleeping in and a relaxed breakfast listening to NPR. I discovered that you can make a delicious french toast by mashing a banana in with the eggs. A little before noon I drove to Ypsilanti. One of my good high school friends had invited me to stay the night at his place, and being in the area I made plans with a girl I had recently met for coffee in the afternoon. Despite having spent most of my life in the Ypsilanti area, I had never been to The Ugly Mug and was excited for an opportunity to go there. So as to not distract myself from conversation, I even arrived early so I could have a few minutes to check the place out. I remember the first time I walked into the John K. King bookstore in Detroit, I had to run to the nearest shelf to avoid sensory overload from trying to take everything in at once. After a few breaths I could stand back and see where I was.

I waited at a table inside the door as she walked over from her house a few blocks away. She grabbed a cup of coffee and we walked to the back patio. If I looked at just her and the bush our table was nestled underneath, it felt like we were sitting on the back porch of a house in the country. Somehow the whole "time flies when you're having fun" adage worked in reverse as we were both surprised at how little time we spent over a couple cups of coffee. We opted for a walk down to Riverside Park, across the three-way bridge (which she called a "tridge", an amusing term that she claimed to have read somewhere, but which I'll just attribute to her own cleverness) and over to Frog Island. I had been there several times before when I volunteered to referee at soccer tournaments back in my high school days. With a few hours of time together before she had to go to work, we drove into downtown Ann Arbor. Neither of us had been to the Art Museum on campus so we stopped in to give it a look. Out front there was what appeared to be an elaborate metal swing that was as much art as it appeared to be dangerous. That didn't stop a family of children from piling onto the suspended steel "bench" and posing for a picture. We wandered around half-aimlessly and half-confused by the multi-layered floors until she had to get ready to go to work.

After dropping her off at her house, I called my friend to see what he was up to. He and his girlfriend were going to the Olive Garden for dinner and invited me along. Our waiter was cheerfully flamboyant and obviously not looking forward to a long Saturday night. We were practically assaulted by wine offerings, though my friends informed me that we could order really cheap samples that amounted to almost half a glass. Not being a big fan of Italian and even less a fan of chain restaurants, I went with something from the special insert menu: polenta crusted chicken, one of the many fine meat, pasta and cheese combinations I could've gone with. After eating we went back to my friend's apartment and waited for my roommate who was coming out to join us.

We drove to Ann Arbor and my friend's girlfriend split off to join some of her friends. In anticipation of visiting the area for the first time since February, I had built up an urge to go to Pinball Pete's. The three of us had spent many nights playing Dance Dance Revolution and Guitar Freaks back in 2005-6. When we all lived in the same apartment community on the outskirts of town, they would often join my ex-girlfriend and me for a night of arcade games, bubble tea and dollar pizza slices. Recently I've realized how much I miss such cheap, exciting activities. While we didn't see whether the Back Room pizza place was still open, we did stop at Bubble Island, somewhere I was overdue to revisit. Memories came rushing back to me like the tiny balls of tapioca that flooded my mouth with my first refreshing sip. While I instantly thought to myself to find one near Ferndale, I don't think in my mind anything will measure up to the original bubble tea.

Drinks in hand, we took a familiar walk through the Diag to State street. We thought about going to Ashley's, a place I had heard a lot about, but my friend's girlfriend called to get us and her friends together to go to a hookah bar. Now, I'm not a smoker, and the concept has always seemed kind of funny to me. We crammed into a tight hallway filled with blaring dance music in front of a large plastic window where we were to order our hookah. There being six of us, we ordered two and went to the outside patio to wait for them to be brought out. Skeptical as I was, I found it to be a pleasant experience. I noticed how the communal activity brought a sense of relaxed companionship between us as we passed around the nozzle from which we smoked. On a related note, the smoke itself was not harsh at all, so that was a plus. I put a mental check next to the "would do again" box. From there we went down the street to The Blue Leprechaun for a couple drinks before calling it a night. Back at my friend's apartment we played Street Fighter and Soul Calibur until we fell asleep. I told my friend that I was going to my parent's in the morning and might leave before he woke up. I felt kind of bad doing that, but also knew that there was no way I could sleep half the day and didn't want to wake him up just because I was up. On his couch, I believe, was the first time I comfortably slept outside of my own bed in years.