Behind the Strudel

We all know what Oktoberfest is. Russtoberfest isn’t exactly that. Although its roots are certainly seated in it, I’ve never taken the time to lay out for people what it is or how it came to be. I’ll give it a shot now.

In the late 90’s, I went to work for Oxford & Associates in the Chicago area, which meant uprooting my life in Wisconsin for one in a cultural melting pot where every ethnic/cultural tradition and celebration is found.

I occasionally lament that I didn’t experience as many of the festivals as I could have, but one that I did get to enjoy was Oktoberfest at Hans’s Bavarian Lodge in Wheeling, IL along with Bill Kiel, Mark Amaral, other coworkers, and consultants in our employ. Oktoberfest, with its giant tent, mix of German and American music, fantastic food, and copious amounts of beer, brought out mischief and merriment in all of us.

I thought it would be something we’d all be doing annually, perhaps forever. It turned out to be 'forever' until Hans’s was purchased by a venture capital company who said that they were going to build a new and improved Hans’, but found it was easier to turn it into a dirt lot and wait for the property value to increase.

More than losing Hans’s, I couldn’t let go of the anticipated jocularity of the Oktoberfests to come. With what I can only describe as a dull thud in my head, I decided screw it, I’ll hold one myself. Of course, there’s a ton that goes into a fest like that, but I could come up with the beer and food which was locally available.

My major obstacle was that I didn’t have any of the traditional Ausstattungen (accoutrements); the tent, the long tables, the garb, the decorations, etc., so I had to make the party my own. How about Russtoberfest? I’m of German descent (along with more Swedish, Danish, and Scottish than I knew – thanks for sharing with me, Ancestry.com!).

Signs could be made, I could purchase a sprinkle of German ones, I could wear lederhosen. Along with the proper food and beer, it would be set

Somehow though, just having my name on the party wasn’t enough. What if I took it a step (or eleven) further?

When I was younger, I took great delight in providing “clever and witty” commentary about nearly everything, often at others’ expense. It hit me at some point that those actions really weren’t that funny and that making fun of myself or circumstances I found ridiculous was much more entertaining. This is the base of the true Russtoberfest spirit. It’s all just “a bit”, folks: the mugs (you are drinking out of my head), the signs proudly celebrating my goofy look, the rug (with my face in it) that you wipe your feet on as you enter our abode…all a joke.

It’s not a rip on me or an effort to tear me off some lofty perch (believe me, my ego isn’t secure enough to seriously name a party after me), but a celebration of us all as the quirky, wacky individuals we are. It’s just more me than you!

While I’m at it, I’m a music nut (Bev says “snob”). The evening always starts with German music, but after a couple of hours, most people are ready to move on from it (some are ready for a switch after about 15 minutes), so I change it up.

You’ll hear a cavalcade of music that has been cultivated over the last 22 years into an essentially 13-hour mixtape. You’ll recognize a bunch of songs, some tunes will be unfamiliar but by bands you know, and others will be by bands I think you might enjoy if given the chance.

Big shout out here to Bill Kiel for annually (over many scotches leading to sleepover events) helping cultivate the list. I invite all of you to keep your ears and minds open because there’s still good music being made that’s not autotuned garbage.

If you hear a tune at Russtoberfest that’s new to you and you dig it, let me know. I’ll make sure you get the song and artist information before you amble off for the night.

There you have it, the entire strudel. Please join us to let your freak flag fly, get a bit silly, get to know people you don’t (there’s a reward in that), eat some German food, put mustard or cheese on an amazing pretzel, have a drink, do a shot-ski, listen to some tunes, and take advantage of the time we can get together. Like Hans’s, we won’t be around forever.