It all began in line at the coffee shop. One barista short and up to their necks in double mocha frappachino lattes, the two young ladies were falling hopelessly behind and the line was stretching back toward the front door.

The author, with chicken wings and margarita, in his summer sartorial splendor at Roote Five. (photo by Rose Mattrey)

Realizing I was going to be there a while and faced with the possibility of engaging in an unwanted conversation with the gentleman in front of me (who closely resembled Jame Gumb in Silence of the Lambs), I reached out and snatched the latest copy of Artvoice from the counter. It was then that I found the “100 Things You Must Do This Summer” cover story. As I flipped through the pages, what began as an effort to stave off small talk quickly evolved into a fascination with what around my house would become known simply as “the list.”

A transplant to Buffalo (I moved here five years ago from New Hampshire), I soon realized that despite my initial excitement in relocating to Buffalo, in my time here I had done virtually nothing on this list of must-do items.

I scanned page after page of the article, desperate to find something, anything I had done other than spend too much time at the casino and make excessive visits to the Super Flea in Cheektowaga. Alas, I came up empty. Was I really nothing more than an uncultured, boring old fool, as my first wife and therapist had suggested on more than one occasion? Could it be that after living here for 1,846 days (yes, I counted), I was no more evolved than the hayseed who had arrived here full of hopes, dreams, and visions of a grand life in the Queen City?

Just as I was about to give up, seal the windows, turn on the gas, and blow out the pilots, I found it. Number 96 on the list of 100 things I had to do in a summer leapt off the page at me—pick berries!

There, I thought to myself triumphantly, I’ve done that! With unwarranted snugness I thought back to a beautiful Sunday afternoon spent with my wife and daughter as we strolled through the fields at Awald Farms in Eden and collected a basketful of delicious berries. As I stood in line and watched the frazzled baristas hurriedly sprinkle nutmeg across a line of lattes, I clung to the memory that I had at least accomplished one thing on this must-do list. One down, I thought to myself, and 99 to go.

It wasn’t until I was showering the next morning that I knew what had to be done. I was going to singlehandedly conquer the list. The way I saw it, it would be like cramming for finals in college. Since I had spent five years experiencing next to nothing Buffalo has to offer, I would now cram the entire Artvoice 100 into a single summer. As the plan came together in my mind I was so excited I jumped out of the shower and grabbed my coffee-stained copy of Artvoice. I roughly divided the list into three groups: things I would be excited to do; things I wouldn’t mind doing; and things that frightened me so much I’d rather go hunting with Dick Cheney wearing an Obama 2008 shirt.

The final breakdown looked like this: 41 things I was excited to do; 35 things that I’d be okay with; and 23 things that left me looking for Sure Shot Dick’s phone number.

I realized there were three things to be gained from the adventure I was about to embark upon: 1) a number of new experiences; 2) plenty of excuses to eat great food; and 3) I would certainly gain stature in the eyes of my bride, who for much of our 10-year marriage has desperately longed to expand my horizons beyond Denny’s and the driving range as the ultimate Friday night date.

All of my unbridled enthusiasm aside, for a guy who had managed to experience virtually nothing in five plus years as an Erie County taxpayer, I knew running the table was an unrealistic option. Instead I settled on 75, figuring three out of four isn’t bad. Factor in my berry picking experience and subtract that for time served and you are left with my summer of 74.

For those of you who, like me, had high hopes of a fun-filled summer spent checking items off the list, read on. If you perpetually look at this type of list and say, “Maybe next year,” read on. And most importantly, for those of you who suck up these lists like crab legs at a buffet only to look back three months later and realize the only thing you managed to accomplish was to eat ice cream everyday (No. 1), you must absolutely read on. Live vicariously through my experiences, find some inspiration for next year, or more realistically, enjoy a few good laughs at my expense as I relive my summer of 74.

Things that just aren’t going to happen

Part of my rationale for setting my goal at 74 was knowing my own limitations. Neither the promise of a new experience nor the admiration of my wife was going to get me to do several things on the fabled list. I’m guessing it is these things sprinkled liberally throughout any of these type of lists that may keep many people on the sidelines. So, I worked in reverse and embraced those items I would never do and released them, allowing me to focus on the remainder that lay before me. Among those things that found their way to the scrap heap included: throwing away my papers (No. 6); take a boat ride through the canal locks (No. 24); go kayaking or rafting (No. 77); ride your bike over the Peace Bridge (No. 71); and paint a landscape (No. 73).

My reasoning behind eliminating these items was as follows: love to read, fear drowning in a boating accident, fear drowning in a kayak accident even more, not a big fan of heights, and I can’t even paint our bathroom much less a landscape. With these (and a few other) things out of the way, I was ready to sink my teeth in (literally) to the Artvoice 100 things you must do this summer.

Did I mention I really like to eat?

It’s no accident that as I began to attack the list, I went straight for the food. Conveniently, 25 of the fabled 100 things to do involve food either directly or creatively. Though it was surprisingly tough to do, I did manage to consume ice cream for 63 consecutive days (No.1). While Sweet Jenny’s in Williamsville had the tastiest cream for my money, it wasn’t until I took a trip to the country (No. 7) and visited the Udder Apple that I found ice cream the way god himself intended it to be.

First of all, the place was called the Udder Apple, which in my book is reason enough to love it. But while we were waiting for my Panda Paws in a dish, cone on top, to arrive, I saw something the likes of which you’ll never see in Buffalo. The ice cream stand abutted a giant corn field from which two ATV’s emerged going what looked to be approximately 110 miles per hour. Off hopped four young children who ambled over, ordered their cones, hopped back on their machines, and sped off into the fields as I sat open-mouthed and amazed. Ah, life in the country.

While I’m on food and the country, my trip included a stop at the Strykersville Pub, which according to the list serves up “the best grilled cheese sandwich in Western New York.” Though it took some serious effort to locate the pub, we pulled in with much anticipation, and headed for the door, mouths watering in anticipation of ordering up three of Strykersville’s finest. There was one slight problem—we were greeted with a locked door and a sign announcing, “Closed until further notice.” A stop at the Quik Fill station down the road revealed that the pub had mysteriously closed its doors just days before my arrival. Oh well, as they say, a day late and a sandwich short.

Not to worry, there was plenty of eating still to be done, including appetizers at Root Five enjoyed at sunset (No. 26) where the view is every bit as amazing as advertised; and a gorge fest at the Erie County Fair (No. 20), where I consumed (if I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’) two fried dough, one Chiavettas chicken dinner, two ice cream cones, one delicious bowl of ribbon fries, and, the hands-down best meal at the fair, a pot roast sandwich at Eddie Ryan’s booth that was akin to a sexual experience. The Lancaster eatery is apparently quasi-famous for the feast, having won an award for it at the Taste of Buffalo (No. 27). All I know is it went down easier than…let’s just say it was mighty tasty.

I attempted to top off my food frenzy by breaking into the refrigerated trailer housing the John McCain and Barrack Obama sculptures carved out of butter to have a few licks, but I was turned away at the door before I could even get so much as a nibble of either candidate.

In the end, between the fair, the Eden Corn Festival, excessive ice cream, the Italian festival (No. 43), Canal Fest (No. 79), and all the rest, it has been estimated that I gained 12 pounds, two inches in the waist, and 46 points on my cholesterol, but hey, who’s counting. The food was sinfully good across the board.

Show me some culture (and not the kind in a Petri dish)

While eating myself into a diabetic shock was a whole lot of fun, I knew tackling the list wasn’t going to be that easy; there had to be some heavy lifting, and indeed their was. Though this is the stuff of my lovely wife’s fantasies, I’d be lying if I said I was running red lights to get to our first evening of Shakespeare in Delaware Park (No. 40).

Aside from the fact that I had an immense amount of difficulty even locating Shakespeare Hill, and an even more challenging time figuring out what the heck The Merry Wives of Windsor was about exactly, it wasn’t the worst two hours I’ve ever spent. In fact, with a couple of grilled dogs and a bag of kettle corn from the food cart, I held up pretty well. Though I’m not much of a theater guy, I could appreciate the quality of the show, and if there is one thing I do know, (and this is for the guys) it is this: If you knew how much your significant other would appreciate you enduring an evening of Shakespeare in the Park, the place would be standing room only every single night. As the commercial goes: cost of concessions: $9; cost of donation to the show: $10; cost of the points you score with your spouse for cheerfully attending: priceless.

Having survived the Bard in the Yard, I was feeling pretty good about my new-found cultural side, so it was time to tackle No. 38, visiting the Darwin Martin House and Graycliff in the same day. I knew a little bit about old Frank Lloyd Wright from reading, and I had an idea of what to expect on my tours. I thought if I was going to blend in with the historical-tour-taking type, I’d have to fit the part. So I did what seemed to be the only logical thing to do: I made my way out to shop for a seersucker suit (No. 4).

While it took me a few shots to find one—surprisingly, they aren’t a common, off-the-rack item around these parts—to say it was well worth the wait was an understatement. If you feel like every time you pull on a suit you are your father, or worse, you feel like you should climb into a coffin and lie down, the seersucker is a must. As I stood out on the back lawn at Graycliff and looked out over the lake, I closed my eyes and imagined Darwin and Isabella Martin hosting a grand summer party a la Gatsby. For a moment or two it felt so natural, so perfect. Of course, as I left Graycliff for the drive to the Darwin Martin House, I stopped for a lunch break and downed two Mightys in a seersucker…not so worldly.

I continued my cultural awakening by taking in the baseball classic The Natural in Delaware Park (No. 63), enjoying an amazing film under a tent with 20 or so folks while all around us the rain fell, with a 50-cent box of popcorn. Because we were out of town during the much closer Allentown Art Festival, I bought a wind chime at the Lewiston Arts Festival (No. 98), a trip that cost $168 in gas (or so it seemed). As a side note, I broke the chime attempting to hang it.

And of course, who could forget the family trip to Artpark (No. 64). While some may take issue with my considering Arthur Live! culture, to my three-year-old daughter Zoey, Arthur and his friends could kick the crap out of Willie Shakespeare and his band of tights-wearing sissies any day.

Honorably mentionable

By mid-July I was halfway to hitting my summer of 74. Along the way I had eaten a lot, experienced some new things, and met many colorful folks. And while nothing quite measures up to eating ice cream for 63 straight days—the trick is to keep a half gallon of Perry’s in the freezer at all times in case of an emergency—there were a number of items on the list that deserve at least a mention. Among them: I turned off my TV (No. 5). I missed House and Criminal Minds, but it got me out of watching the Olympics, which was a bonus. Though I already found Jesus back in the mid 1990s, I wasn’t about to pass up a chance to cross an item (No. 11) off the list, so I spent a Saturday afternoon in Williamsville at Evangel Assembly of God partaking in an old-fashioned pig roast. If one had any question as to whether Jesus was there or not, one only had to swallow a forkful of their sweet, tangy pork. Amen.

After spending a good portion of a Saturday at the Museum of Science’s Bubble Fest, I have just one thing to say: If you don’t have children, borrow one or, if you have to, rent one for next year. This will undoubtedly be one of the most fun things you do all summer.

I also found time to whittle—badly (No.85); fish (No. 70); sweat out a few drinks at a variety of outdoor patios (No. 94); take in The Dark Knight on a dark night (No. 19); and ride the rail to a Bison’s game (No. 22), where my eldest spent the entire game fascinated with how tall the right field foul pole was; she thought every batter was going to hit it, and expressed genuine disappointment when they didn’t.

While there are too many to list, as my summer wound down it became clear I wasn’t going to reach the lofty goal of knocking off 74 things from the list. As I prepared to leave for vacation, officially marking the end of my quest, I had accomplished 49 of the 100 must-dos. It might have been 50 except my efforts to do the impossible cost $136,243.34 in food and gas, so I wasn’t able to start saving for my winter heating bills (No. 100).

Come to think of it, I may actually freeze to death this winter, but as I am bundled up and shivering, hopefully I’ll be able to start a fire with my seersucker suit and keep it going by burning the giant pink Go Bisons foam finger, my broken wind chime, and the disfigured walking stick I attempted to whittle. In the meantime, I’m guessing the 12 pounds of blubber I gained gorging on festival food will offer me some protection from the elements.

Matt Chandler is a freelance writer from Blasdell. To read more of his work visit www.mattchandler.net.

So Artvoice Readers, how did you do this summer? Let us know below! If you need a refresher, our Summer 2008 Guide is still available on-line here.