I'm talking about places like the Ontonagon County Historical Society and the Ontonagon Theater of Performing Arts, that build the cultural fabric from the bottom up. These two institutions, one decades old, one founded a few years ago, promulgate and preserve the intellectual, imaginative life in a part of the world generally defined by physical culture: hunting, fishing, skiing, boating, snowmobiling, ATVing -- or working in the mill, the shipyard, the forests. In the past month I've been in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, I've written about Calumet and the Porkies, but I've tended to neglect the town that has always been the center of my summer sojourns, Ontonagon.

Ontonagon, aka Harbor Town, is a boom and bust town if there ever was one. Located at the egress of the Ontonagon River, it has been a portal between the county's interior and Lake Superior -- and, thereby, the world -- since the 1800s. Vast swathes of timber used to float here; at the end of the 19th century, they caught on fire and the entire town burned down, except for the brick lighthouse on the river's west side. That lighthouse is still there today; the historical society offers daily tours. Progress has been so halting in this part of the world that the past is palpably present, not just in the form of relics (a century-old windup foghorn), but in the family names: Many of the old lighthouse keepers' descendants are still Ontonagon citizens.

The historical society also runs a museum in downtown Ontonagon that is chockablock with artifacts of a frontier life that's still very much in sway. Needless to say, mostly retirees and teenagers volunteer their time to keep this effort afloat. Bruce Johanson, my husband's old music teacher, was our avuncular tour guide for the lighthouse. (Two weeks before, his daughter Linda, also a school teacher, took us horseback riding). These are the unheralded stars of small-town cultural institutions, as important in their own right as Brad and Angelina.

Yet another teacher -- god bless the educators! -- spearheaded the effort to put a theater in the town's old brick library building a decade ago. Dana Brookins and her Harbortown Players put on several plays a year; tonight, their version of Gypsy opens. I admit full nepotism here: my dog Otis's father is one of the cast members, and Dana is one of my husband's oldest friends. The Ontonagon Theater of Performing Arts also hosts visiting artists -- shining a beacon of its own.

No discussion of Ontonagon cultural institutions would be complete without a mention of Stubb's, the bar/museum that has been a repository for yellowing mining photos, taxidermied animals, beer cans, traps, liquor-advertising paraphenalia, and Packers memorabilia since the '30s. It's like a Hard Rock Cafe, with guns and bears instead of guitars and costumes. My parents took me here for afternoon Cokes when I was a wee lass. Now, every summer, we hold our annual Canada vs. U.S. foosball tournament here. Since America won again this year, the trophy now stands amid the overflow of bric-a-brac behind the bar, making my life almost complete.

Evelyn McDonnell is MOLI's editor at large. Her Populism blog runs Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Dear Gillian,

My wife and I are both 25-years-old, and her mother is 46. I love my wife and she is very beautiful, but her mom is stunning! Her mom is a bit of a flirt and we have a great rapport, but I think my wife has been getting a little jealous lately. Its obviously all in good fun and to stop goofing around with her mom would be like admitting I was doing something wrong (and Im not). How do I get my wife to not be so insecure?

Regards,
Dave in the Middle


Dear Dave in the Middle,

You doth protest too much, methinks. Who are you to say that you are not doing anything wrong? Your relationship with your mother-in-law rubs your wife the wrong way -- and from what you write, her feelings seem pretty darn valid.

You think that your mother in law is more attractive than your wife (She is very beautiful, but her mom is stunning!) and perceive a flirtatious vibe coming from her. Something is wrong with this dynamic and I see two possibilities:

1)  Your mother in law is not flirtatious with you, she is just being friendly and you are misinterpreting her behavior. You may be the one with inappropriate feelings and what you detect is really just wishful thinking. If this is the case, you must own up to your emotions and deal with them. Dont make your wife feel like shes the one with a problem (being insecure) if shes really onto something.

2)  Your mother in law is flirting with you. (Being friendly and joking around is one thing, and completely fine, but that would not be called flirting, would it?) If this is the case, Mrs. Robinson should definitely curb her improper behavior. But what we are concerned with here is your marriage; a union that only you and your wife are responsible for maintaining. One can only try to control the behavior of others, but it does take two to tango. It is your job to set up and maintain appropriate boundaries with your mother-in-law. Not only should you not be responsive to her flirting, but you must also let her and your wife know that the behavior in question has to end.

Either way, you see, your wifes feelings seem to be based in reality. So, how, you ask, do you get your wife to stop being so insecure? Stop giving her good reason!

Gillian Zoe Segal is a new advice columnist for the MOLI View.Look for her column in the Life and Love section every Thursday. Do you have a question for Gillian? E-mail her or send her a message on her personal profile page.

I'm having to tear myself away from the pre-Presidential build-up just to begin following the Olympics. I almost dont have space in my brain for The Games, what with football and baseball and the ever-shifting facts of my own insane life. Also, most of the events are mad boring, like drills. Non-integrated and specialized. Last night, my girl had on synchronized diving, and that was pretty cool. If gay. But a succession of people swimming or running back and forth? Im not so into it.

(Having said all that: It doesnt take a devotee to realize how otherworldly this Michael Phelps is. Beyond the force and form, heres what ultimately blows me away about the dude: Hes doing it naturally, apparently. With each medal-winning performance, I keep conjuring up the last human male I saw so dominate opponents. Barry Bonds. His early decade at-bats flashed in my mind. And we all know how thats worked out (so far). Its nice to give Tiger Woods company in the world of (apparently) clean athleticism. The standout performances of our time need not be limited to Lance Armstrong, Marion Jones, and Steel Curtain Pittsburgh Steelers. Its wicked awesome to get that pride in humanity back.)

Around my crib, at least, theres a burgeoning debate about what constitutes a sport? 'Cuz I aint that sure that swimmings a sport, based on contemporary definitions. Its an activity, yeah. But is it really a sport? And beach volleyball. Im totally into it, but also not really clear on why it has to exist.

The wifey-to-be cant take softball seriously because of the womens bodies. And my 12-year-old sons mouth hit the floor when he realized people actually count equestrian events as sport. Tastes and temperaments aside, what is actually sport, in the contemporary sense, can indeed be quantified. Any competitive physical exercise that has multiple dimensions more than just moving in a straight line is a sport.

So, in conclusion: Swimming? Sorry, not a sport. One hundred meter dash? Not a sport. 400 meter hurdles? Yes. Pole vaulting? Oh, fuck yeah. Ya feel me? My point is that these old school games are awesome for measuring performance. But half the stuff thats going on in Beijing simply isnt of interest. Im not some sort of freak. It would be impossible not to appreciate the stellar work that goes into the athletes' performances. But basically, if Im watching a womans event, Im checking out the fit of the uniforms.

Donnell Alexander is the MOLI View's contributing editor for Sports & Fitness. He posts Mondays and Thursdays.

"You better call to check on show times, the place is run by drunks," declared one Provincetown denizen, when I suggested I might go see dark and scathing drag sensation, Jackie Beat, at a venue called The Post Office.  The official flyer said the show was at 10:15 p.m., but the ad in Provincetown Magazine contradicted that and said starting time on Wednesday night was 8:30 p.m.

As much as the misfits of Ptown presented a united front when attacked from the outside, like many communities, on the inside, there was a fair amount of mudslinging.  The comments I heard on a daily basis ranged from downright bitter and bitchy to mildly chiding, but some of it was explained by competitiveness among Ptown performers.  Some, like headliners Jackie Beat, Jimmy James, Hedda Lettuce and Varla Jean Merman, make a killing each summer -- enough to live on year-round.  But others sort of struggle, earning just enough to subsidize being there.  And, of course, everyone is very sensitive to perceived airs, insults, or upsets to the pecking order.

I really wished I'd allotted more nights for my first visit to the crook of misfit queers (I say "crook: because Provincetown or Ptown is not an isle, rather the tippy tip of Cape Cod, a sliver of land that looks like a bent finger).  Because all cattiness aside, this is world-class drag and comedy sketches sometimes so scathing and brilliantly funny, they can singe your eyebrows off.  

I was lucky arriving on Monday night, so that I could see Ptown's unofficial drag mayor, Ryan Landry (no drag name)'s revue, Showgirls, at the well-established Crown Cabaret.  Most of the performers in town do a skit or a number here to promote their various shows and attempt to showoff and one-up each other, and it had the feeling of a real locals night.  Landry is one of those homely drag queens whose brilliance in his dark wit.  Making fun of Family Week, he opened with a number sung to the tune 'Hot Child in the City', but rewritten at 'Hot Child in a Chevy' (a cautionary tale of drunk parents leaving their kid locked in the car). Twisted, in bad taste, and hilarious.

The other drag acts were competing for the weekly $500 purse, and there were many different approaches:  two Carol Channing impersonators, a Judy Garland, a 10-year old girl gussied-up singing Judy Collins (pushed onstage by her two lesbian stage moms), and the winner, a sexy, coltish drag queen who lip-synched a song about giving blow jobs while pouring heavy cream all over herself.  Actually, the milkmaid had to split the $500 with the 10-year-old, but she got $300 and the kid, who thankfully went home and missed her competitors' performance, only got $200.  The personal highlight for me was sitting next to author Michael Cunningham during the show.

The next night, I actually was stuck at home babysitting, where I tried to get the kids to put on our own show (alas, watching Hercules won out), so I did a double-header my last night.

First, the aforementioned Jackie Beat, who I used to go see on a regular basis at Fez when she lived in NYC.  Now she's back in L.A., and Fez, a terrific basement venue where I also first saw Hedwig and The Angry Inch, closed its doors a few years back as well.  Ms. Beat is a large presence, with barely contained punk rock rage and quick comebacks that can slaughter you before you even realize it's happened. She recently toured with comedienne Roseanne Barr as the opening act and crowd warmer, so she begins her show with a video skit with Roseanne.  Hysterical.  But not as good as her YouTube music video, 'Baby Got Front' which she also showed.  Ms Beat also has a terrific set of pipes, and she belts out her rewritten pop hits with a studied precision.  Unfortunately, she was playing to a very tough crowd.  College kids, blue-collar gays and lesbians and a few bohemian straight couples, some of whom seemed like they were ill-prepared for her style of humor. Ahem.

I ran from the Post Office, a trashy venue charging $20 and a two-drink minimum, but one of the best in Ptown, to the basement of the restaurant Enzo, to see my favorite sketch comedy troupe ever, Unitard.  This trio is composed of Nora Burns (a biological female from the comedy group The Nellie Olesons), David Ilku (one-half of the legendary drag queen duo, The Dueling Bankheads), and author and columnist for the New York Times, Mike Albo.

These three skewer popular culture and politics so cleverly, so crassly, so perfectly, whenever I see them, it's like I've been to laugh therapy: I literally laugh for 90 minutes straight.  Nora plays with characters like Ann Coulter and immigrant-hating Texan housewives (who can't survive without them); David, an amazing actor, creates original characters, like Captain America (who goes on a tirade about everything he/America does wrong, ending with the statement "I am America, and I am China's bitch!"); and Mike does a character called "The Underminer" (also the title and subject of a whole book of his): the cutting "friend" whose every comment is an underhanded insult and who keeps you around just to make himself feel superior: sadly, we all know him/her).

Though there were more A-List acts in Ptown I wish I could have seen, I was satiated by what I crammed into three days.  And believe me, if another invite comes my way next summer, I'll be happy to pack up for another sojourn in this queer village of oddly content malcontents.


Cathay Che is the MOLI View's contributing editor for Travel & Leisure. She posts every Tuesday and Thursday.